Podd: Weekly Spooky - Scary Stories for Halloween!

Ep.321 – An Angel Rises - A Shocking Return?!

12 mars 2025 | 29 min

Terrifying & True | The Legend of the Golem of Prague

10 mars 2025 | 22 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Listener"

9 mars 2025 | 27 min

In this episode, we delve into the haunting tale titled "The Listener," a story that captures the feeling of isolation, fear, and the dark twists of the human psyche. Set in a remote cottage in rural New England, the tension and suspense unfold as we meet Ellen Richards, a woman approaching sixty, who sits alone and fearful, haunted by the memory of her deceased husband, Gregory. As she listens to the wind outside, a sense of dread envelops her, feeling as if she were not alone despite being physically cut off from the world.

Ellen's anxiety reaches a peak as she imagines she can hear the familiar sound of her late husband's cane moving from the depths of the cellar. The narrative reveals her desperation as she tries to summon the presence of her nephew, Leslie Richards. Yet, what follows is a chilling exploration of buried secrets and the trauma tied to a past filled with guilt and fear. Ellen's solitude morphs into a twisted reality as she grapples with her husband's unexpected return, leading listeners through a labyrinth of psychological turmoil.

As the narrative unfolds, we witness the intricate relationships between Ellen, Leslie, and Barbara Morrow, a caretaker devoid of compassion for Ellen's plight. The tension escalates as Leslie's motives come into question, revealing a deep-seated desire for wealth that intertwines with Ellen's desperate need for companionship. The night deepens as the characters confront their hidden truths, leading to mind-bending revelations that reveal not only what lies beneath the floorboards but also the darkness that dwells in their hearts.

The tale climaxes as we explore the depths of betrayal and manipulation, culminating in a shocking confrontation that sees wrongdoings brought to light. Our listeners are left in a state of disbelief, as motives clash and morality is challenged. The episode concludes with a foreboding atmosphere, reminding us that the closure we seek may not always be within reach. As the echoes of secrets resound, we are invited to ponder the true nature of fear, guilt, and what we are willing to do to preserve our sanity.

Join us for this chilling journey into the psyche of fear, as we navigate the thin line separating the living from the dead and the haunting echoes of one's own conscience. This story reminds us that sometimes, the real horrors lie not in the dark corners of our homes, but in the depths of our hearts and minds.

Do You Even Movie? | Down (2019) – A Valentine’s Day Nightmare in an Elevator!

7 mars 2025 | 84 min

Ep.320 – Ship of the Cannibal Rats - A Terrifying Tale of Survival at Sea

5 mars 2025 | 43 min

Terrifying & True | The Melonheads Curse – Ohio’s Most Terrifying Urban Legend

3 mars 2025 | 25 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Reunion After Death"

2 mars 2025 | 30 min

Beware the Ides of March! Horrors of Vengeance!

28 februari 2025 | 133 min

**Beware the Ides of March - A Chilling Compilation**

Step into the eerie shadows of "Weekly Spooky," where host Henrique Couto invites you to contemplate the haunting resonance of fate and retribution in this special compilation, "Beware the Ides of March." This captivating episode presents a chilling series of tales that intertwine themes of vengeance, remorse, and the sinister implications of choices made under duress.

As the episode unfolds, listeners are treated to a narrative rich in suspense and dark twists that echo the famous cautionary adage, "Beware the Ides of March." Henrique sets the tone, urging you to dive deep into stories where characters grapple with the consequences of their actions in a wicked and unpredictable world. The compilation promises to chill you to the bone, highlighting the complexity of human morality, the pull of regret, and the tantalizing nature of revenge.

Our first featured tale, **"Dead Ahead" by Joe Solmo,** introduces us to Becca and Tom, a couple caught in a harrowing accident that spirals into a dark descent of bad choices and supernatural consequences. As they struggle with the implications of their actions, the line between guilt and the supernatural blurs when the jogger they thought they buried returns from the grave to exact its revenge. The tension rises as Becca must confront not only the specter of their crime but also a reckoning with her own past.

Next, **“Hell Hath No Fury” by Aaron Cook** draws us into the life of Zelda Mae Darling, a woman trapped in the confines of a disastrous marriage. As she navigates the complexities of love, betrayal, and the haunting effects of her choices, Zelda finds herself entwined in a web of chaos that ultimately leads to her desperate act of self-defense. The chilling twist reveals not only the cost of her actions but the consequences that echo long after her demise.

The momentum continues with **“The Stop Sign Man” by Bryce Gibson,** which amplifies the familiar ritualistic urban legend surrounding a cursed stop sign that leads to untold consequences for a group of teenagers. As Stratton Duke celebrates his 17th birthday, the risks of youthful bravado intertwine with a sinister journey that cost him dearly, setting up a nail-biting exploration of innocence lost and the heavy price of recklessness.

In this mesmerizing compilation, we are also treated to **“The Devil Reaps the Harvest” by John Oak Dalton** and **“Grave Consequences” by Killian Crane**, which expand on the dark depths of desperation, moral collapse, and the harrowing consequences of one’s actions in life and death. Each tale builds on the overarching theme of justice—often delivered in a supernatural form—that awaits those who tread the line between right and wrong.

Finally, **“Dead and Breakfast” by Morgan Moore** closes the episode with a breathless encounter that blends survival and horror in a twisted game of life and death at a seemingly benign bed-and-breakfast. The juxtaposition of warmth and terror unfolds, leading to a shocking climax that leaves listeners questioning the very nature of safety.

🎉 Subscribe to "Weekly Spooky" for more spine-tingling tales that entertain and disturb in equal measure! 📬

Connect with us and entwine your fate with ours:
Twitter: @WeeklySpooky
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Email: [email protected]

🎵 Music by Ray Mattis. Explore Ray’s captivating artistry here!

👨‍💼 Executive Producers: Rob Fields, Mark Shields, Bobbletopia.com
🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder

As you relish the chills of this compilation, remember: the Ides of March may hold darker secrets yet to be uncovered. Until next time, stay alert and never stray too far from the light.

Ep.319 – ROADKILL - A Gruesome Tale of Karma, Horror, and Revenge

26 februari 2025 | 40 min

Monthly Spooky | Swallowed by a Whale, Abandoned Morgues, and Secrets of the Cosmonauts!

24 februari 2025 | 122 min

In this episode, I dive into a chilling specter of tales both eerie and mystifying, starting with the phenomenon of a kayaker nearly swallowed by a whale. We recount the adventure of Adrian Simancas, who, while kayaking in the Strait of Magellan, found himself lifted by the massive creature. As we explore this story, we reflect on not only the frightening nature of the encounter but also the curiosity of whales that can lead to such close interactions with humans.

Next, we turn our attention to an inexplicable occurrence in Munich, Germany, where over 1,000 gravestones were marked with mysterious QR code stickers. Initially perplexed by the sudden appearance of these stickers, which simply provided names and locations of the deceased, the investigation revealed that a gardening company had affixed these codes for maintenance tracking. However, the audacity of placing such markings on graves led to an inquiry into potential property damage, and we discuss the implications of such oddities.

As our conversation unfolds, we delve into the realm of conspiracy theories, focusing on the 'Lost Cosmonauts' narrative steeped in Cold War era secrecy regarding the Soviet space program. I share captivating details about Yuri Gagarin's historic flight, then pivot to unsettling hypotheses suggesting that other cosmonauts may have vanished during clandestine missions. With tales of alleged recordings from the Judica Cordiglia brothers revealing voices of cosmonauts in distress—images of desperation that haunt the void of space—I draw connections to the dark history of the Soviet regime's cover-ups, underscoring the rollercoaster of human ambition and the cost of silence in the face of tragedy.

Throughout our exploration, I invite guests to contemplate the horror of history obscured by shadows and state-sponsored silence. The episode culminates in a contemplation of our fascination with such forgotten narratives—echoes of lives never celebrated, journeys never completed, and the haunting beauty wrapped in humanity's quest for mastery over the skies. As we close, I leave you with lingering questions about the boundaries of our knowledge and the secrets that may continue to hide just beyond the reaches of our understanding. Tune in for a blend of horror, mystery, and thought-provoking stories that dare to look beyond the veil of the known.

🎧 Listen now and subscribe for more horror!

🎉 Unlock bonus content and support us on Patreon!📬

Contact Us / Submit Your Story

🎵 Music by Ray Mattis
Check out Ray’s work here!

👨‍💼 Executive Producers: Rob Fields, Mark Shields, Bobbletopia.com

🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder

Unknown Broadcast | "The Eye of Evil"

23 februari 2025 | 30 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | It Comes at Night (2017)

21 februari 2025 | 98 min

Welcome back to another spine-tingling episode of **Cutting Deep into Horror**, where your hosts, Henrique Couto and Rachael Redolfi, shine a light on the darkest corners of horror cinema. This week, they're diving into the chilling 2017 film *It Comes at Night*, a psychological horror experience that explores themes of fear, paranoia, and the fragility of human relationships in the face of an unseen threat.

As they set the stage for their discussion, Henrique and Rachael share their initial thoughts on the film, which was released by A24 during the rise of "elevated horror." They unpack the unique blend of psychological tension and existential dread that permeates this unsettling narrative. While the film portrayed a world ravaged by disease, it's more about the human condition than any monsters lurking in the shadows. The duo emphasizes the film's ability to keep viewers guessing about its true nature—there’s no creature out there, just the deeply ingrained fear of the unknown.

Delving deeper, Henrique and Rachael reflect on the pivotal opening scene, where we witness a family's harrowing decision to end the suffering of a loved one amidst a viral apocalypse. This gut-wrenching moment serves as a precursor to the psychological turmoil that follows, setting the tone for a film that constantly challenges perceptions of safety, trust, and survival. They discuss the dynamics within the family, particularly teenage Travis, whose emotional struggles and nightmares shape his journey as the story unfolds.

As the episode progresses, the hosts dissect the film's characters, including Travis' relationship with his parents, Paul and Sarah. They highlight how the weight of survival and personal sacrifice alters family dynamics, leading to moments of tension and emotional distance. Rachael points out how Travis feels a disconnect from his father, as Paul is forced to make impossible decisions in the name of protection, leading to a realistic portrayal of parental sacrifice in dire circumstances.

Throughout their analysis, Henrique and Rachael touch upon the various elements that contribute to the film’s psychological horror—a labyrinth-like house, the ever-looming absence of light, and the omnipresent anxiety that escalates with every scene. The raw emotions depicted in the characters and the unsettling atmosphere successfully blur the lines between perceived safety and lurking danger.

As they navigate the twists and turns of the plot, our hosts discuss the fateful arrival of Will and his family, whose introduction to the isolated household raises the stakes considerably. Constructing a fine balance between cooperation and mistrust, the families’ interactions reveal the fragility of alliances when survival is on the line. This theme of distrust continues to build until the climactic confrontation, which leaves listeners reeling from the implications of human desperation.

In the shocking conclusion, Rachael and Henrique articulate how the film culminates in a tragic fate that fully encapsulates its messages—what happens when fear takes over and the lengths people will go to, even to protect their own loved ones. Each character’s development leads to harrowing decisions that escalate the conflict, rendering them spectators of their own downfall as trust evaporates in moments of crisis.

In the aftermath of their emotional exploration of *It Comes at Night*, your hosts urge listeners to forge their own connections to this deeply emotional horror film. They end the episode by inviting fans to share their thoughts, theories, and recommendations for future episodes.

Contact Us:
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
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So don’t forget, dear listeners—keep your doors locked and your lights low because you never know what might come for you when the night falls. Until next time, stay spooky!

Ep.318 – The Blizzard of '58 - Trapped in a Snowstorm… with a Monster

19 februari 2025 | 47 min

Do You Even Movie? | Blue Ruin (2013) The Brutality of Revenge

18 februari 2025 | 107 min

Terrifying & True | The Hidden Monster: The Crimes of Charlie Brandt

17 februari 2025 | 22 min

Join us in the heart-wrenching and chilling episode of Terrifying and True, we delve into the harrowing life and crimes of Charlie Brandt. A tale steeped in tragedy and hidden monstrosity, Brandt's journey from a seemingly ordinary youth in Fort Wayne, Indiana, to a serial murderer in Florida raises unsettling questions about the duality of human nature and the horrors hidden beneath the surface of everyday life.

🎧 Listen now and subscribe for more horror!

🎉 Unlock bonus content and support us on Patreon!📬

Contact Us / Submit Your Story

🎵 Music by Ray Mattis
Check out Ray’s work here!

👨‍💼 Executive Producers: Rob Fields, Mark Shields, Bobbletopia.com

🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder

🎧 In this episode, Henrique recounts the horrifying incident that ignited Brandt's twisted journey: a shocking act of violence at just 13 years old. On January 3, 1971, within the supposed safety of his family's home, Charlie unleashed chaos, killing his pregnant mother and leaving his father severely injured. The tragic aftermath resulted in silence—the family choosing to suppress the horror as they cast a facade of normalcy, a decision that would haunt them for decades.

As the narrative unfolds, we explore Brandt's life after this horrific incident, marked by troubling events lurking just beneath the surface of his seemingly conventional existence in Florida. Listeners grapple with the complexities of his life—how a man could live a double life, hide in plain sight, and ultimately succumb to the dark impulses that would lead to devastating consequences. Henrique masterfully navigates through Brandt's marriage, his struggles for normalcy, and the eventual eruption of violence that would culminate in the brutal murders of his wife and niece in September 2004.

The investigation that followed Brandt's death unveils disturbing patterns and connections to multiple unsolved crimes in Florida, leading to the chilling question of how many lives he might have claimed over his decades of secrecy. As Henrique details the gruesome findings at the crime scene—an array of meticulously inflicted wounds on his victims and the shocking discovery of Charlie's unsettling possessions—listeners are drawn deeper into the labyrinth of his disturbed psyche.

With each revelation, the episode exposes the stark contrast between Brandt’s outward persona and the shocking brutality of his actions. The compelling storytelling invites listeners to ponder the nature of evil and its capacity to hide among us. How could someone so seemingly ordinary commit such unfathomable acts? How many victims lie in the shadows of his past, left without justice? These questions linger as we reflect on the haunting legacy left in Brandt’s wake.

Discover the relentless pursuit for truth as authorities sift through cold cases, seeking answers to unfulfilled justice. Each unsolved murder creeps closer to a horrific possibility—that one man’s dark secret could encompass far more than anyone dared imagine.

Charlie Brandt’s story serves as a chilling reminder of the unpredictable nature of humanity, compelling us to confront fears that dwell within and around us. His tale encourages us to scrutinize those we think we know, as sometimes, the most dangerous monsters are those hidden in plain sight.

As the curtains close on this episode, listeners are left with an unsettling challenge—a haunting contemplation of the darkness that looms in everyday life. Tune in to hear this profound journey of darkness, and find solace in knowing you are not alone in unraveling the mysteries of the human mind.

Terrifying and True is narrated by Henrique Kuto and is brought to life through exquisite production and haunting musical compositions. If you have a story for us to cover, don’t hesitate to reach out via email. For those wishing to support the podcast and access exclusive content, visit our Patreon, where your contributions keep our stories alive.

A heartfelt thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters who make our work possible. Join us as we explore unspeakable truths and the layers of humanity, right here on Terrifying and True.

Unknown Broadcast | "Run Faster"

16 februari 2025 | 26 min

In this episode, we explore an atmospheric tale titled "Run Faster," penned specifically for suspense by Lois Landauer. The story unfolds against the bleak backdrop of a chilling winter night, immersing listeners in a narrative that question the boundaries of safety and peril. This story serves as a reminder of the warmth we desire amidst cold and darkness, setting the stage for a gripping exploration of human emotions and vulnerabilities.

The central character, Dave Cawthon, a former military pilot, grapples with the monotony of his post-war life and the isolation of his rural existence. As he navigates the emotional distance between himself and his wife, Chris, we see him yearning for excitement that his new civilian duties can’t fulfill. The tension rises as fog rolls in, shrouding the airfield where Dave works, compounding the sense of foreboding as he faces not only the challenges of weather but also the specter of unfulfilled expectations in his marriage.

Through a twist of fate, an uninvited stranger emerges, setting off a chain reaction of dread that culminates in a race against time. The character dynamics between Dave, Chris, and the enigmatic intruder explore themes of desperation and protection. Dave's determination to shield Chris from harm propels the narrative forward, and the suspense builds as he realizes that the true danger may be closer to home than he ever anticipated.

The technical precision in the recording captures the essence of the escalating tension, with sound patterns emphasizing the isolation and urgency of the characters' plight. The storytelling meticulously maintains an air of suspense, leaving the audience on the edge of their seats as the climax approaches with an airliner hovering above and a potential killer lurking near.

As the story reaches its zenith, a collision of intentions and mistaken assumptions culminates with heart-stopping urgency. The relationship between Dave and Chris is tested under duress, revealing deeper layers of their commitment amidst chaos. Ultimately, "Run Faster" encapsulates a delicate balance between fear and love, illustrating that sometimes, the thrill we chase may bring us face to face with our darkest fears, forcing us to confront the very essence of what it means to feel safe and loved.

We depart from this chilling episode with a sense of reflection on the chilly night and the warmth of connection, reminding us what it means to run—not just in flight, but in pursuit of our most cherished bonds.

Five Blood Filled Valentine's Day Stories!

14 februari 2025 | 143 min

Ep.317 – Slasher: Valentine Scorn - A Horror Tale of Love and Revenge

12 februari 2025 | 118 min

Terrifying & True | The Murder of Lynnette Craft - A Story of Betrayal and Justice

10 februari 2025 | 23 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Death Pays the Freight"

9 februari 2025 | 26 min

The radio show dives into a captivating narrative set against a backdrop of darkness and desperation, led by a haunting host who welcomes listeners into a world rich with suspense and intrigue. The central tale begins with Joe Harris, a young man trapped in the monotony of his life in Kansas City. Dressed in a cheap suit and determined to escape the biting cold of winter, Joe opts for an unconventional means of travel—hitching a ride in a freight car to California, where he believes life may hold more promise.

However, once aboard the train, Joe discovers that he is not alone. In the dim confines of the boxcar, he encounters a man who eerily resembles him, initiating a tense and fateful confrontation. As the two men grapple in a struggle for survival, Joe is forced to kill his double in self-defense, sparking a panic that leads him to alter his identity by switching draft cards with the deceased. The realization that he has committed murder sets the tone for Joe’s spiraling descent into a world of crime and deceit as he grapples with the weight of his actions.

After escaping the scene, Joe finds himself stepping off the train in a small town called Wisey, Oklahoma—a place he learns is tied to his victim. As Joe navigates his way through this unfamiliar territory, he soon crosses paths with Bliss, a character who holds information about Joe's past and has a sinister proposition: to eliminate an old uncle in exchange for money. Joe, now trapped in a cycle of fear and deception, reluctantly agrees to Bliss's plan, unwilling to reveal his true identity for fear of being caught for his previous crime.

The tension escalates as Joe grapples with moral dilemmas in his newfound precarious situation. Under pressure, he is drawn into a deadly plot involving the uncle, Old Man Carew. As he prepares to commit murder for Bliss, Joe’s internal conflict reaches its peak, culminating in a shocking act of violence. However, Joe's actions lead him into further entrapment, as he unwittingly becomes embroiled in a scheme designed to frame him for the very crimes he hoped to escape.

The narrative unfolds with gripping suspense as Joe navigates the consequences of his decisions, ultimately culminating in a chilling realization that he cannot outrun his past. As the police begin their investigation into the unfolding events, Joe's story takes a tragic turn, leading to a fateful encounter with the dead body of Martin Pell—the very aspect of his own self he had sought to leave behind.

The show underscores themes of identity, moral ambiguity, and the inescapable nature of one's actions through Joe's harrowing experience. The closing remarks by the host echo the somber fate of Joe Harris, leaving listeners with a haunting reminder of the shadows that linger when one tries to evade their true self. Ultimately, the show captures the essence of classic horror storytelling, weaving a tale that lingers long after the final line is delivered, leaving the audience to ponder the chilling connections that bind them to the characters’ dark destinies.

Love Gone Wrong | 7 Terrifying Tales of Romance & Horror

7 februari 2025 | 156 min

Ep.316 – I Was Hunted by a Cryptid in a Snowstorm

5 februari 2025 | 59 min

Terrifying & True | The Wendigo Curse: The Terrifying Legend of Hunger and Madness

3 februari 2025 | 23 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Next Murder"

2 februari 2025 | 26 min

In this episode, we delve into a gripping narrative that invites listeners into a world shrouded in intrigue, suspense, and the ever-elusive nature of fate. Our story unfolds against the backdrop of a small town, marked by recent tragedy and permeated with a chilling sense of foreboding. The protagonist, feeling the weight of solitude, unexpectedly finds companionship in a stranger. As the plot thickens, we are drawn into a conversation that explores the complexities of human existence, the motives behind unspeakable acts, and the insatiable curiosity that drives individuals to seek answers about life and death.

The dialogue brilliantly captures the tensions between two men whose paths cross in an eerie coincidence. Engaging in a discussion centered around the recent murder of a young girl, they embark on a philosophical exploration of crime and its motivations. One character, a seemingly ordinary man, reveals a morbid fascination with murder, suggesting that far from being an act of desperation, such deeds might hold a sinister allure that connects humanity in unexpected ways. As they engage, it's clear that the protagonists share an unspoken bond over their thoughts on mortality and the macabre.

The narrative twists and turns as we glimpse the inner workings of the mind driven by intrigue and a thirst for understanding. With a looming threat that another murder may occur, the characters wrestle with the implications of their conversations. The protagonist's growing unease is palpable as he navigates his feelings toward a waitress named Amy and the darkening atmosphere surrounding their chance encounter. Their rendezvous leads to an exploration of deeper themes: loneliness, connection, and the thin line between companionship and danger.

As the tension builds, we are led down a path filled with unforeseen consequences. The protagonist’s night spirals into chaos, and he finds himself entangled in a web of suspicion and dread that challenges his very sanity. The heartbreaking realization comes when all that he feared becomes reality, and he grapples with the aftermath of actions he never anticipated. Each twist reveals layers of psychological complexity, raising questions about agency and the nature of evil.

The mind-bending conclusion leaves listeners questioning the essence of choice and predestination. The final revelations force both the protagonist and the audience to confront the unsettling truth about human nature, the inevitability of violence, and the haunting echoes of our choices. This exploration into the darkness within us all lingers long after the episode ends, prompting a reflection on what drives us to the brink of our limits. The chilling tale brings to life the philosophical musings on murder not as mere acts of violence, but as woven narratives of interconnected lives where fate often plays the cruelest of hands.

Do You Even Movie? | Confessions of a Serial Killer (1985)

31 januari 2025 | 88 min

Ep.315 – Spin the Bottle 5 of 5 - The Shocking Finale!

29 januari 2025 | 47 min

Monthly Spooky | Haunted Mansions, Bear Impersonators, and the Dark Myths of Horror

27 januari 2025 | 109 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Man Who Sold His Soul"

26 januari 2025 | 30 min

In this episode, we delve into a haunting tale that grapples with the concept of morality and consequence, essentially asking the question: what are we willing to sacrifice for wealth and success? The narrative introduces us to Sir Dominic Sarsfield, a once-illustrious character fallen into despair, who encounters an enigmatic figure that offers him a tempting bargain. We explore themes of desperation, temptation, and the eternal struggle between light and darkness as Sir Dominic weighs his soul against the allure of riches and glory.

We journey through Sir Dominic's life, filled with revelry and excess, as he revels in a world of parties, wine, and lavish living. However, his fortune takes a turn when his vices lead him down a precarious path, pushing him toward a fateful decision. By meeting with an otherworldly being in the depths of the renowned Maroa Wood, Sarsfield finds himself ensnared in a deal with unforeseen ramifications. Each moment of frivolity is juxtaposed with the haunting reality of potential loss, as Sir Dominic is urged to consider what will happen when the clock strikes midnight on the final day of February.

As the pact unfolds, we witness the gradual corruption of Sir Dominic’s character and the toll that his choices take on both his own life and the lives of those around him. The supernatural element is woven seamlessly into the narrative, illustrating the folly of seeking shortcuts to happiness and the dire consequences of forgetting one's moral compass. The tension builds as the deadline looms, culminating in a breakdown of trust and sanity amidst a backdrop of revelry and dread.

Ultimately, the story serves as a chilling reminder of the fragility of life and wealth, emphasizing that no amount of gold can shield one from the gravity of their choices. Listeners are left reflecting on the value of integrity versus the seductive nature of temptation, and the ultimate fate that befalls those who seek gain at the expense of their soul. As the chilling conclusion reveals the inescapable consequences of Sir Dominic's decisions, we are compelled to consider our own choices within this timeless tale of old-world terror.

Best of 2024: Never Bet The Devil Your Head

24 januari 2025 | 29 min

Ep.314 – Spin the Bottle 4 of 5

22 januari 2025 | 48 min

Best of 2024: Last Flight Out - A Haunting Tale of Love, Loss, and Mystery in the Skies

20 januari 2025 | 34 min

Welcome to another spine-chilling episode of Weekly Spooky, where our esteemed host, Henrique Couto, guides you through the shadowy realms of horror that linger in the fringes of our imagination. In tonight's captivating narrative, we delve deep into a tale that gripped audiences when it first debuted in 2023, brought to life by none other than Charles Campbell, the head of the Horror 421 podcast. This story, titled “The Last Flight Out,” is not just a flight through the skies but a harrowing journey into the depths of human emotion and the unforeseen terrors that can unfold in mere moments.

As we settle into our seats on the Boeing 757, we are introduced to Sheila, a thoughtful soul eagerly embarking on her trip from Hartsfield-Jackson International to Seattle. The atmosphere is filled with anticipation and the typical hustle of airport life—businessmen glued to their devices, families herding children, and an undercurrent of unease reverberating through the crowds. Henrique’s masterful narration brings the scene alive as Sheila anxiously grapples with her carry-ons, all the while casting nervous glances at her fellow passengers, hoping for a smooth flight.

Upon her boarding, Sheila meets Otis Thornton, a spindly 70-something gentleman whose engaging anecdotes soon overshadow the anxiety of the looming journey. The connection between Sheila and Otis blossoms into a captivating conversation as he regales her with his past, a poignant love story spanning decades. Their dialogue unfolds in serpentine fashion—initially light-hearted, it deepens as Otis recollects the enchanting details of his courtship with Ella, his deceased wife. The fondness in his voice brings warmth, contrasting the cold, sterile environment of the aircraft cabin.

However, as Otis shares his narrative, a darker subplot begins to entwine with their conversation. The story oscillates between recounting joyful memories and the harrowing tragedy of losing their infant son, little Otis. The atmospheric tension mounts as the turbulence of the flight coincides with Otis's emotional revelations, making the audience palpably aware of the dual edges of storytelling—the beauty of nostalgia infused with the pain of loss.

As the flight progresses, the turbulence intensifies, mirroring the turmoil within Otis's tale. With each jolt of the plane, the narrative shifts gears, transitioning from sentimentality to a gripping account of impending dread. Passengers are thrown into chaos as the plane begins its descent—a vivid encapsulation of fear that grips both Sheila and Otis. Here, Couto's voice crescendos, pulling the audience deeper into the heart of horror as reality blurs with the unthinkable.

Finally, just when it seems that all hope is lost amid the maddening chaos of the flight, Otis's tale reaches a climactic crescendo—a heart-rending culmination that ties their shared journey together. As the cabin erupts with screams and the overwhelming sounds of disaster, Otis’s narrative forces Sheila—and by extension, the listeners—into a confrontation with unresolved grief, love, and the ethereal threads that connect us beyond the grave.

In true Weekly Spooky fashion, tonight's episode encapsulates the essence of horror—an exploration of fear that transcends the physical realm and delves into the emotional and psychological. As we close this chilling chapter, Couto reminds us that the nightmares may not end with the flight; they may linger in our minds long after the last words have been spoken.

Prepare yourselves for the next spine-tingling adventure as we look forward to the fourth installment of the "Spin the Bottle" series, coming this Wednesday. Until then, check out our trove of over 300 spine-tingling episodes at weeklyspooky.com, and remember to fasten your seatbelts, for the turbulence of dread is just beginning.

Unknown Broadcast | "Mirage"

19 januari 2025 | 30 min

The episode, titled "Mirage," immerses listeners in a chilling tale narrated by Arch Oboler, emblematic of the show's series of unusual and unsettling narratives. The ambience is set with personal reflections on the reality of good fortune and the facade that can accompany it, leading the audience into a world where deception lurks beneath the surface of daily life.

As the story unfolds, we are introduced to the central characters, Carl and Linda, who are attending a social gathering at a coastal estate. The dialogue highlights the tension between Carl’s work-centric lifestyle and Linda's desire for deeper social connections. Their conversation meanders through various topics, blending mundane discussions about parties, societal expectations, and the changing seasons while juxtaposing a profound sense of unease as they take a walk on the beach. The calm ocean serves as a deceptive backdrop, contrasting with the inner turmoil of the characters as they confront their personal limitations and fears.

The narrative takes a turn when they encounter an old man sitting alone on the beach, writing names in the sand. The old man's actions provoke curiosity and fear in Carl and Linda. As the moonlight flickers in and out, the man writes names—including theirs—drawing them into a surreal and eerie experience. The tension escalates as Carl experiences dizziness and Linda feels a deep connection to the old man’s mysterious activity. Their reality bends as the man’s cryptic writings allude to their identities and maybe even their fates.

As the old man’s presence becomes more significant, Carl and Linda grapple with their own mortality and the weight of their choices. Linda's health fluctuates as they confront the possibility of their lives being tethered to the enigmatic names being inscribed in the sand. The surrealism intensifies when Carl and Linda come to believe that the old man's writing could predict their futures—sparking a dual exploration of existential dread and the search for meaning in their lives.

In a moment of hysteria and clarity, they contemplate their lives and the ephemerality of time. The narrative explores deeper philosophical themes around living fully and embracing the present, juxtaposing that against the weight of societal expectations and personal ambitions. As they begin to feel the burden of impending outcomes, Linda discovers a sense of liberation in knowing her potential timeline, illuminating a path to self-discovery and personal desires that had long been overshadowed by duties and conventions.

The conclusion of the story leaves listeners with a profound reflection on the nature of life, love, and the longing for freedom amidst constraints. Carl realizes that the mirage isn't just about the fleeting happiness of life but also about the false permanence of grief and dread many people believe in. The closing rates a poignant reminder to cherish the present and live life to its fullest, moving beyond the fears that often confine individuals to their own cages.

Through "Mirage," the episode artfully intertwines rich character development, poignant dialogue, and philosophical musings, crafting a hauntingly beautiful narrative that resonates long after the show concludes. The storytelling technique emphasizes the unique qualities of radio drama, drawing listeners into a visceral experience that reflects not just on the characters’ lives but also prompts introspection on their own realities.

Best of 2024: Zombies! Ghosts! Killer Bugs! Maniacs!

17 januari 2025 | 123 min

Welcome back, my spookies! Tonight, we delve into the bone-chilling universe of Weekly Spooky, expertly crafted by the eerie voice of your host and narrator, Henrique Couto. As we journey into the sixth year of this phenomenal podcast, we pause to reminisce about the thrilling horror tales unearthed during the prior year, 2024, showcasing a rich harvest of storytelling from new and familiar authors alike.

In the episode, we commence with an enticing narrative titled "Terror on Your Radio Dial" by Bruce Haney, where we meet 12-year-old Josh, a boy whose fascination with the supernatural transports him from the mundane existence of Boring, Oregon, into the hair-raising legends slumbering in the infamous Gitter House. Fueled by the need to encounter a ghost, Josh embarks on a spine-tingling adventure with his new friend Mike, who possesses his own secrets of the spirit world. As the boys initiate an electrifying sleepover filled with horror movies and ghost lore, chilling events unfold that compel them to connect with the spectral world in terrifyingly unexpected ways.

But that's just the opening act! The episode plunges deeper into horror with tales like "Catching a Buzz" by David O'Hanlon, where the innocent excitement of Halloween transforms into a night of peril for two brothers, Grover and Will, as they engage in a reckless challenge imposed by their babysitter. In exploring the depths of temptation, they unwittingly delve into an experience rife with consequences of their actions, revealing the darker side of childhood curiosity and the sinister underbelly of online challenges that resonate with our current society.

Next, we navigate the haunting narrative of "The Last Vacation" by Mike Ashkewey, where family dynamics clash against a backdrop of a horrifying apocalyptic threat during a seemingly idyllic cruise. Our protagonist, just off the cusp of adulthood, grapples with the fragile state of their family while confronting extraordinary changes unfolding onboard. As chaos erupts and the world outside collapses, tension mounts and alliances shift, leading to a thrilling blend of action and horror that leaves listeners teetering on the edge of their seats.

Finally, we encounter “My Patient Destroyed My World” by Michael Kelso, delving into the psyche of a doctor grappling with the aftermath of his patient’s heinous acts. Through the lens of horror, we explore themes of morality, impulsive behavior, and the thin lines that separate sanity from madness, weaving a tale that is equal parts psychological thriller and poignant reflection on human nature.

Henrique skillfully stitches these narratives together, inviting listeners to reflect on their fears and the inherent darkness that lingers within humanity itself. From ghostly encounters that chill the bones to the raw terror of psychological dread, this episode encapsulates the essence of what makes Weekly Spooky a frightfully delightful experience.

As the show winds down, Henrique encourages listeners to subscribe, explore the extensive back catalog, and stay tuned for upcoming special episodes, including one themed for Valentine’s Day that promises to entwine love with horror in the most enthralling way. So, kick back, embrace the eerie ambiance, and prepare for a delightfully frightful ride through the sinister shadows of storytelling at its finest. Until next time, my spookies!

Ep.313 – Spin the Bottle 3 of 5 - Can Anyone Survive?!

15 januari 2025 | 48 min

Best of 2024 | Slasher: Valentine Screams - When Movies Get DEADLY

13 januari 2025 | 91 min

In this thrilling episode of Weekly Spooky, host and narrator Henrique Couto invites you into a world of blood-soaked horror and captivating tales. Join him as he celebrates the past year's twisted accomplishments in the realm of horror. The star of the night is the novella-length episode, "Slasher Valentine Screams," penned by the brilliant Rob Fields, a revered figure in the genre and the mastermind behind the Strickfield Universe. If you’ve missed this spine-chilling narrative, now's your perfect chance for a heart-pounding return.

As we dive into "Slasher Valentine Screams," we meet Vicki Valentine—the quintessential scream queen—who reflects on her rise from the world of adult films to the dominant figure of late-night horror. With her striking black ball gown and blood-red locks, Vicki embodies the perfect blend of allure and terror as she prepares to unveil the newest installment of her horror hosting career. But things take a sinister turn as she and her girlfriend, Bethany Mirren, grapple with memories of a harrowing encounter involving real ghouls while filming their previous slasher flick, Slasher 2.

As the story unfolds, we follow Vicki and Bethany to the St. Valentine's Day Massacre Horror Convention. The anticipation builds as they prepare to premiere "Slasher Valentine Screams." However, a shocking twist occurs: they discover that the specter of danger still looms over them! With horror icons and unexpected visitors from their past resurfacing, Vicki and Bethany’s weekend promises much more than just conventional thrills.

The narrative bursts with action as twinges of romantic tension and unanticipated curveballs keep listeners on the edge of their seats. As Bethany grapples with her fading relationship and Vicki confronts her own demons, the episode explores not only the horror genre but also the complexities of love in a chaotic world. Henrique's vivid and suspenseful storytelling grips you, enticing you with macabre details and characters that leap from the shadows.

As they navigate throughout the favorably chaotic convention, the lines blur between fantasy and reality. When the group encounters an unexpected giant lizard monster, our fearless characters are thrust into a fight for survival. Each encounter is both a comically unsettling commentary on their experiences in horror film sets and an exhilarating testament to the depths of their friendship and love.

As the episode draws to a dramatic close, revelations emerge regarding curses wrapped around golden lizard figurines and the emotional baggage that follows fame. This episode serves up a feast of frights that culminate in a spectacular twist, promising that the horror is not merely a linear experience but a cyclical one. With tongues-in-cheek humor, horrific events, and romantic undertones, "Slasher Valentine Screams" leaves listeners not only afraid but questioning what lurks beneath the surface of their own relationships.

Join Henrique as he delves deep into this unique blend of horror and heart, you won't want to miss how it all unfolds and the powerful message it leaves at the end. Prepare to be thrilled, entertained, and perhaps a little haunted as you tune into another unforgettable episode of Weekly Spooky.

Unknown Broadcast | "The Evil Eye" "The Evil Adelaide Winters" "Flee from Evil" "The Rising Sun"

12 januari 2025 | 131 min

In this episode, E.G. Marshall dives into the deep and often unsettling themes of evil, identity, and the darkness that can lurk within human nature. The narrative begins on a dark, cold evening, setting a foreboding tone. Marshall introduces the concept of evil, stating that it exists within us all and presenting a thought-provoking definition from the dictionary: anything that impairs happiness or welfare, depriving one of good. He challenges listeners to reflect on their own experiences, suggesting that anyone has the capacity for evil, igniting a philosophical exploration of morality and the human condition.

As the episode unfolds, we are treated to a dramatic reading titled "The Evil Eye," written by Elspeth Eric, featuring characters that exemplify both the creative struggle and the complex dynamics within relationships. The main character, Louise Bates, is introduced as a successful female writer grappling with her self-worth and the pressures of the literary world. Her frustrations boil over upon learning that her rival, Vanita Barlow, has received a lucrative book deal, sparking jealousy and dark thoughts within her. The tension escalates as Louise expresses a potential wish for harm towards those she perceives as threats to her success.

The story delves into the chaotic environment that Louise inhabits, highlighting her intense need for solitude and the lengths she goes to create. Her husband, John Bates, often becomes a victim of her creative demands and tumultuous feelings, showcasing the strain that ambition can place on personal relationships. Their interactions reveal a poignant dynamic between support and resentment, as John attempts to be the anchor in the chaos of Louise's artistic life, but often feels overwhelmed and inadequate.

In a turn of events, Louise receives devastating news about both Vanita Barlow and Stephen Bennett, another character whose desperation and connection to Louise's creative struggles lead to a dangerous spiral. The juxtaposition of Louise's artistic awakening against the backdrop of tragedy raises questions about the consequences of one’s ambitions, the ripple effects of jealousy, and the nature of evil itself. As Louise discovers her ‘power’ through her writing—a metaphorical ‘evil eye’—the boundaries between inspiration and destruction blur, suggesting that creators may wield more influence over their surroundings than they comprehend.

The episode blends elements of suspense and drama, as it weaves through themes of power dynamics in relationships and the existential crises that often accompany creative endeavors. As the finale approaches, we witness the ultimate manifestation of Louise's artistic struggle and the moral complexities that surround her choices, culminating in a chilling reflection on the ease with which one may stray into moral darkness.

Through Marshall's introspective narration, the audience is left pondering the deeper meanings of evil and the choices we make every day. The story challenges us to confront our own potential for darkness while weaving a cautionary tale about the costs of ambition, the fragility of human connections, and the thin line between creation and destruction.

Portals: Vampires, Revenge, and Redemption! - Full Miniseries

10 januari 2025 | 131 min

Tonight, we delve deep into the intricate web of horror, betrayal, and the supernatural, led by our charismatic host and narrator, Henrique Couto. In this mesmerizing episode of "Weekly Spooky," we revisit the haunting miniseries "Portals," a tale dripping with multidimensional suspense that intertwines the worlds of vengeance, vampire lore, and the resilience of friendship.

As we plunge into the story, we are reintroduced to Ariel Mirren, a young woman grappling with the monstrous legacy of her mother, the manipulative Adrienne. With the chilling revelation that she was once a pawn used to forge power and prestige, Ariel’s journey from victim to empowered protagonist sparks a fierce retelling of defiance. Her confrontation with not just her mother, but the entity she unwittingly became intertwined with—Queen Arcadia—sets the stage for an epic battle against the dark forces seeking to enslave her world.

Tonight's narrative is rich with vibrant characters, such as the spirited Madeline Donnerly and her courageous cousin Aileen, who join forces with Ariel to face an army of vampires led by the malevolent Mayor Gunter. Together, they must navigate the treacherous landscape filled with portals that threaten to unleash horrors on their reality. As the plot unfolds, tension mounts with each twist and turn, each door seemingly another step closer to ultimate chaos.

In a thrilling climax, our heroes are faced with a choice that could seal their fate. Ariel decides to harness the powers inherited from Queen Arcadia to destroy the reactor of a nefarious machine responsible for unleashing the vampire scourge into their world. Under the ever-looming threat of betrayal and darkness, we hold our breath, hoping against hope that courage and sacrifice will triumph and that Ariel can reclaim her narrative from the clutches of her mother’s mistakes.

As we journey through dimensions of dread, our characters experience growth, heartache, and the unyielding bonds of friendship, reminding us that even in the darkest of times, light can be found. Will Ariel’s newfound powers be enough to vanquish the evil encroaching upon her world? Or will the shadows reclaim her in the end?

This episode is not merely a recount of supernatural happenings but a profound exploration of identity, agency, and the struggle for autonomy against an oppressive lineage. As Henrique leads us through this chilling odyssey, we are compelled to confront our fears, question the nature of power, and embrace the light in the face of darkness.

So, dear listeners, settle in, turn off the lights, and prepare yourself for an enthralling narrative filled with suspense, emotion, and spine-tingling terror—it's time to let "Weekly Spooky" take you on a journey you won't forget.

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Ep.312 – Spin the Bottle 2 of 5 - A Deadly Game Unfolds!

8 januari 2025 | 48 min

Best of 2024 | I Used to Work in a Fire Tower with a Strange Set of Rules

6 januari 2025 | 74 min

Tonight's episode of Weekly Spooky plunges listeners into the realm of the uncanny and the terrifying as our host and narrator, Henrique Couto, once again captivates with a tale bound to send shivers down your spine. In this thrilling episode, entitled "I Used to Work in a Fire Tower with a Strange Set of Rules," authored by Michael Kelso, we are transported to a night filled with unexplainable events and an atmosphere thick with suspense.

Henrique kicks off the episode by reflecting on the seduction of fear and the importance of embracing the terrors of the past. With 2025 lurking just around the corner, he teases the exciting new frights that await us, while also reminding us that our fascination with horror draws deeply from the rich tapestry of stories that came before. Hence, he chooses to recount some of the chilling experiences of 2024, particularly the spine-tingling journey of a park ranger working alone in an ominous fire tower.

Listeners are quickly plunged into the ranger's harrowing story, which begins with a job that seemed deceptively simple: a fire tower ranger, tasked with monitoring the forest and ensuring safety. However, all illusions of normality are shattered upon the discovery of a peculiar list of strange rules. Without hesitation, Henrique sets the stage, presenting a gripping narrative where each twist and turn teeters on the edge of the supernatural. Our ranger protagonist, through a series of unfortunate events, finds himself ensnared in a reality he never fathomed—one filled with terrifying creatures and rules that could mean life or death.

As the story unfolds, the ranger's encounter at a new job takes a dark turn—he must adhere to bizarre and cryptic protocols, trapped in a warehouse with a host of eerie security measures that only heighten the feeling of dread. With rules forbidding him from leaving, ignoring disembodied voices, and navigating eerie patrol paths marked with colors, the atmosphere darkens further. As the ranger embarks on his patrols, it becomes clear that something sinister lurks within the shadows.

With each patrol, he unearths unfathomable horrors and stalks unearthly beings, creating a wonderfully suspenseful narrative that keeps listeners hanging on every word. The ambiance is punctuated with unnerving silences and sudden, horrific encounters with unimaginable creatures—a reminder of how the safety of the mundane can be disrupted in an instant.

Couto deftly keeps the tension high, skillfully weaving in details that give life to this chilling tale, from dark hallways with no turning back to the overwhelming fear of being hunted. The ranger's encounters escalate, leading to a cataclysmic showdown between good and evil, sanity and madness. Just when hope seems lost, he finds unexpected allies and resources, forcing him to confront not only the creatures but the many rules designed to protect him from unseen dangers.

As we reach the climax of this hair-raising narrative, listeners are left contemplating the moral implications of rules that seem designed not merely for safety, but to entrap. What does true survival mean in a world overrun by the bizarre? With masterful storytelling, Henrique Couto leaves us to ponder these questions long after the story fades into the night.

Join us for an exploration that pushes the boundaries of reality while instilling a deep-rooted sense of unease, and as always, make sure to subscribe for more spine-tingling tales. Tune in next week for another fresh fright that will echo in the chambers of your mind. Don't miss out—prepare for the unexpected with Weekly Spooky!

Unknown Broadcast | "Life Blood" "Vacation from Life" "Murder Comes to Life" "Sell Me Your Life"

5 januari 2025 | 132 min

In this captivating episode, we delve into the depths of the human experience through a gripping narrative that examines our very essence—what it means to love, to create, and the consequences that follow. The story revolves around Professor Arthur Moore, a brilliant yet emotionally detached scientist, who undertakes the monumental task of crafting a robotic companion, Amelia. In a world rife with technological wonders that often flout the boundaries of human connection, this tale intricately explores the themes of obsession, love, and the inherent risks of surpassing ethical boundaries through technology.

As I reveal the unfolding drama, we meet Gerald, a man enchanted by Amelia's beauty completely unaware of the disturbing truth: she is not a woman but a sophisticated robot engineered by Arthur’s innovative yet questionable scientific pursuits. The conflicts arise when Gerald proposes to Amelia, igniting a precarious chain of events fueled by Arthur's jealousy and deep-seated grievances against another scientist, Harry Wilkerson, whom he believes will exploit Amelia for his own gain.

In an unflinching portrayal of love versus possession, Arthur's intentions transform from creating a perfect companion to leveraging Amelia in an elaborate scheme of revenge that ultimately spirals out of control. Throughout the narrative, we see emotional confrontations that bridge the divide between technological marvel and human fallibility. The characters’ dialogues become battlegrounds of morality as they grapple with the implications of Arthur’s creation and the emotional responses elicited from those interacting with her.

As the tension escalates, the shocking twist of Amelia’s true nature comes into sharp focus, recontextualizing every interaction and deepening the exploration of what it means to be human. The implications of creating life, the ethical dilemmas of artificial intelligence, and the tragic outcomes of revenge slip through our fingers like sand as we navigate through suspenseful and poignant moments. The ultimate climax raises a haunting question: what are the ramifications of infusing technology with human complexities?

In closing, I reflect on the journey we took together, framing it as a cautionary tale that encapsulates our fears, desires, and the pursuit of perfection—one that challenges us to consider the unknown boundaries of love, science, and the essence of humanity itself. As the story concludes, we are left pondering the deeply entangled relationship between creator and creation, love and control, and the sometimes haunting outcomes that arise when we venture too close to playing God

Homecoming Queen Killer - Full Miniseries!

3 januari 2025 | 139 min

Ep.311 – Spin the Bottle 1 of 5 - Obsession, Betrayal, and Deadly Consequences!

1 januari 2025 | 46 min

Ep.310 – New Year's Evil - A Paranormal Thriller from the Case Files of Caroline Quinn

31 december 2024 | 59 min

Monthly Spooky | Strange New Years, Mystery Money and Ghostly Doors!

30 december 2024 | 117 min

In this episode of Monthly Spooky, we explore some of the strangest and creepiest New Year's traditions from around the world as I sit down with my co-host Michelle to reflect on the past year and the peculiar ways different cultures celebrate the coming of a new year. We discuss how these bizarre customs reveal deeper meanings and beliefs about fate, fortune, and the supernatural.

We start by recounting our recent holiday experiences, which included painful bouts of food poisoning and a visit to the Philadelphia Christmas Village. Michelle shares her less-than-stellar Hanukkah experiences and how being physically present during her illness has turned our friendship into a comedic yet tragic tale. There's an amusing back-and-forth as we reminisce about different food adventures and our mutual love for hot pot, all while highlighting how illness can dampen holiday spirits.

After some humorous anecdotes, we shift gears to spooky news stories that bring a chill to the heart. These include a humorous account of a missing Baby Jesus statue from a nativity scene in Colorado that was returned with an apology note, and a ghostly encounter captured on TikTok that left a mother defending the innocence of her toddler. We contemplate the meaning behind such strange happenings, weaving our discussion into the fabric of creeping superstition.

Next, we dive into our main topic: peculiar New Year’s traditions. Exploring various customs, we highlight the practice of using bread to scare away spirits in Ireland, and how setting a place at the table for departed loved ones signifies a welcoming gesture. We also ponder the chilling belief that doing laundry on New Year's Day may wash away a family member, a superstition that leaves one cautious about household chores. In contrast, we discuss rituals that encourage abundance and ward off evil, such as the practice of noise-making and opening doors to usher in prosperity.

As we navigate through other strange customs—like the "bear dance" in Romania and the "grape-eating" tradition in Spain—we find connections between the joy of welcoming a new year and the dread that some cultures associate with impending misfortune. I share my thoughts on the significance of these rituals, while Michelle adds her cynical perspective, questioning the logic behind each practice.

Wrapping up, we reflect on the trials of the past year, expressing gratitude for the support received from listeners and each other. I highlight the importance of celebrating what we've learned and the relationships we've nurtured despite the chaos. This dynamic and often humor-laden episode touches upon the human experience, the traditions that shape our lives, and the connection between love, loss, and the uncanny.

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Unknown Broadcast | "New Year's Nightmare" "Strange New Tomorrow" "Three Faces at Midnight"

29 december 2024 | 167 min

The episode begins with a festive yet cautionary tone, as the host assesses the complex emotions that accompany the transition from one year to another, particularly around New Year’s Eve. The thematic focus is on celebration but intertwined with elements of dread, as the host introduces the narrative of "New Year's Nightmare." This dark tale explores themes of identity, memory, and the consequences of one's actions, all set against the backdrop of a pivotal moment in time.

The story unfolds in a lively locale, Club Tropicana, where characters Chris and Judy are entwined in a tumultuous relationship exacerbated by Chris's struggles with alcoholism. The tension reaches a boiling point as Judy confronts Chris, declaring her decision to leave him due to his ongoing substance abuse. In a moment of desperation, Chris chooses to drown his sorrows in another drink, setting in motion a cascade of events that spirals into chaos. He laughs off Judy's earnest concerns, marking the distinct rift between their desires and realities.

As midnight on New Year's Eve approaches, Chris finds himself mysteriously transported to a different place and time, awakening in an unfamiliar apartment next to a woman named Blanche. Confusion reigns as he grapples with his identity, believing himself to be Chris Andrews, only to be told he is actually Charles Arnold—a man who suffered a life-altering accident leading to amnesia. The narrative deftly weaves the trauma of memory loss with the eerie ambiance of New Year’s Eve, heightening the atmosphere of suspense. As Chris's story unfolds, the listener witnesses his struggle to reconcile his past with the present, while the date of January 1, 1948, looms ominously.

The tale's complexity thickens as Chris learns that he has been living another life, married to Blanche, and working a mundane insurance job. The listener observes Chris’s internal conflict as memories of Judy and his former life begin to resurface, complicating his feelings toward Blanche. The haunting presence of Judy becomes a specter that looms over Chris, pushing the narrative toward a poignant examination of love, memory, and identity.

A pivotal turning point arises when Chris encounters Judy again, igniting dormant feelings he believed to be buried. Faced with the harsh reality of his new life, Chris grapples with his commitment to Blanche while contending with the passion he still holds for Judy. The tension between the three characters escalates, allowing for a deep exploration of human emotions and relationships. Chris's internal struggle reflects a broader commentary on love's complexities and the impact of choices made in fleeting moments.

The narrative spirals into darker territory as jealousy and desperation unfold. Chris begins to contemplate a drastic decision, seeing no other escape from his predicaments. The revelation of Blanche's tragic death at his hands serves as the climactic moment of the episode, a harrowing twist that encapsulates the story's exploration of guilt, loss, and the inexorable pull of the past.

Ultimately, the episode concludes with Chris awakening once more in a hospital, signifying the cyclical nature of memory and identity. This ending leaves the listener pondering the implications of Chris's experiences as the host interjects thoughtful reflections on fate, identity, and the enigmatic threads that intertwine past and present. Through this multifaceted narrative, the episode masterfully highlights the dark edges of human psyche while maintaining the thematic resonance of New Year’s introspection and renewal.

With a final warning to the audience, the host closes the tale on a somber yet reflective note, inviting listeners to contemplate their own lives as they step into a new year filled with unknown prospects, reiterating the precarious balance between joy and despair that defines the human experience. The combination of thrilling storytelling and atmospheric sound design brings the listener to the edge of their seat, making it a compelling listen that resonates long after the episode concludes.

Five Tales for New Years Terror!

27 december 2024 | 109 min

Tonight, we journey into the heart of darkness with your hauntingly mesmerizing host and narrator, Henrique Couto, as we celebrate five years of spine-chilling stories that tantalize and terrify. In this very special year-end episode, Henrique expresses his deepest gratitude for the loyal listeners who've shaped 2024 into a thrilling adventure for the Weekly Spooky family. With a tone both reflective and invigorated, he thanks his spooky family for their unwavering support, especially during his own personal trials. There’s a distinct warmth emanating from Henrique's words, generating a sense of unity that only those who share a love for the macabre can understand.

As we raise a toast to the New Year, we’re invited to brace ourselves for an assortment of frightful tales crafted by imaginative writers. From monsters lurking in the shadows to ghosts that whisper long-lost secrets, the atmosphere is thick with anticipation. Henrique sets the stage as he prepares to introduce the night’s menu of horror and mayhem, encouraging listeners to subscribe on their favorite platforms and to settle in for a night steeped in chilling narratives. This isn’t just another podcast episode; it’s an experience designed to rattle your bones and quicken your pulse as we intertwine horror with celebration.

The first harrowing story, "Even the Devil Tells the Truth," by Dan Wilder, plunges us into a sordid tale draped in darkness. An anthropological look at sociopaths who dance with death on the shimmering edges of New Year's Eve, we follow a narrator whose callous perspective on life invites shivers of dread. The character's maliciously vivid tales of his encounters on the cold streets take the listener down alleys that most would shy away from, culminating in a sinister pact that intertwines his fate with the Devil himself. The narration pulls us in with its gritty realism, illustrated through haunting imagery that grips the imagination and leaves us questioning the very nature of evil.

Without losing momentum, we traverse through the supernatural with stories like “Satan’s Shotgun,” where the essence of timeless vengeance seeps through every word. The narrative intricately weaves the past with present horrors, exploring themes of redemption entwined with malevolence. Here, the listener finds themselves ensnared in a web of fate as the protagonist seeks retribution against an old nemesis. Vivid descriptions create a cinematic experience, stimulating an array of emotions, perfectly encapsulating what it means to confront one's past amidst unyielding darkness.

We are then whisked off to “A Few Cold Ones,” a story both contemporary and haunting, perfectly aligning with the festive spirit of Brew Year’s Eve as it juxtaposes the exuberance of celebration with the lurking horrors of the unknown. Characters face the consequences of indulgence and bravado, as a seemingly innocent party quickly spirals into chaos when the supernatural looms at every turn. Here, Henrique’s narration captures the essence of fright masquerading beneath revelry, leaving us teasingly aware that danger often hides in plain sight.

Our escapade ventures into “Stakes and Shoguns,” where humor and horror collide in a chaotic New Year's celebration. Following the unexpected twists of three punk rock friends on a mission, the listener is treated to a narrative that explores adolescence, nostalgia, and the ultimate confrontation with extraterrestrial monstrosities. With a dash of comedy and a flair for the absurd, the story invites laughter as much as it incites chills, masterfully satiating the craving for both thrills and amusement.

And all is wrapped up nicely by the wonderfully bizarre "Zombie Punks from Upstate New York."

As the episode concludes, Henrique leaves us with a heartfelt reflection on the past year and a glimpse of what awaits in 2025—a promise of new tales and spine-tingling surprises. With a fervent invitation to join the expanding community of listeners and creators, he underscores the importance of connection in the shared love for the spooky. So, as we cross into the New Year, let us bear witness to the tales that shape our fears and celebrate the storytellers who keep the essence of horror alive through the magic of audio.

Prepare to be terrified and entertained, as this episode is sure to provide unsettling leaps of imagination that linger long after the final words fade into the night. Each story is a testament to the craft of horror writing, embodying the thrill of dark exploration under the expert guidance of your host, Henrique Couto. Welcome, once more, to the extraordinary world of Weekly Spooky. Would you dare to listen?

Ep.309 – A Sinister Santa Spectacle - A Dark and Twisted Holiday Anthology!

25 december 2024 | 45 min

Ep.308 – A Vampire's Holiday - A Twisted Tale of Bloodlust, Chaos, and Christmas Carnage!

24 december 2024 | 115 min

Ep.307 – High Beams on Christmas - Danger, Redemption, and Holiday Surprises!

23 december 2024 | 35 min

Unknown Broadcast | "A Holiday Visit" "Christmas Gift" "Dead Man's Holiday" "Holiday Story" "The Terrifying Gift"

22 december 2024 | 182 min

The featured radio show presents a unique holiday anthology, combining elements of mystery, nostalgia, and the supernatural, delivered through captivating storytelling and immersive soundscapes. Setting the stage for a chilling yet festive atmosphere, the show invites listeners to embrace the spectral charm of the season while enjoying an eclectic mix of narratives revolving around familial bonds, unexpected occurrences, and the perennial question of fate versus free will.

The first story begins with a festive backdrop of holiday travelers contending with a severe snowstorm. A couple, Joan and Skip Bartram, embark on a long-awaited journey to visit family for Christmas after being away for years. As their excitement builds for a family reunion, they take an unmarked detour down a desolate highway, unaware that the road leads them to an eerie ghost town devoid of people. The unexpected adventure unfolds with their car crashing, prompting them to seek refuge in an ominous hotel that becomes a vessel of suspense and mystery. As the atmosphere grows increasingly tense and surreal, they encounter a seemingly kind but enigmatic local woman, Mrs. McGinnis, whose behavior hints at something darker stirring within the town's haunting silence.

Transitioning into the second half of the show, the narratives shift to more intimate, character-driven tales. With the simplistic charm of holiday gatherings and the somber tones of realization and reflection, a deeper exploration of familial ties emerges. The characters grapple with their pasts, past decisions, and the sometimes burdensome weight of expectations, all under the looming shadow of Christmas.

A distinctive thread emerges through the stories as characters ponder the nature of their existence, their roles within their families, and the supernatural forces at work that seem to dictate their destinies. The classic elements of mystery—secret legacies, inexplicable sightings, and the question of generational curses—play out through richly drawn interactions, leading to poignant moments of revelation. As unforeseen consequences unwind, characters draw closer to their truths, discovering what truly matters as they navigate the complexities of their fates.

In a powerful thematic conclusion, the final narrative emphasizes notions of redemption, sacrifice, and the cyclical nature of giving and accepting love. By weaving through chilling circumstances and existential reflections, listeners are left to ponder the connections that bind us, the memories we cherish, and the bonds that linger beyond the grave. The show ultimately invites an introspective look at the essence of the holiday spirit, reminding us of the bittersweet truths of life, love, and loss while leaving listeners with a lingering sense of mystery and wonder.

The multifaceted storytelling style employed throughout the radio show serves as a reminder of the rich tapestry of human experience during the holidays, juxtaposing warmth and light against cold and darkness. In the end, the enigmatic nature of fate and familial ties encapsulates the essence of the season—reminding all that the unknown may hold hidden gifts, even in the most chilling of circumstances.

Do You Even Movie? | Krampus (2015)

21 december 2024 | 131 min

Ep.306 – Holiday Homecoming Hullabaloo - Goblins, Animated Creatures, and Family Reunion!

20 december 2024 | 41 min

5 Holiday Horrors to Give You a Deadly Night!

19 december 2024 | 213 min

Tonight we delve deep into the dark side of the holiday spirit as we explore the terrifying intersections of love, loss, and lethal intentions in our gripping episode, "Horrors of the Night: When Christmas Turns Deadly." Our beloved narrator, Hnrique Couto, guides us through chilling tales that will make your spine tingle and your heart race, all while you sip that hot cocoa and snuggle into your warmest blankets.

We kick off our eerie anthology with a gripping story titled "Xmas at the Psych Ward," where a troubled youth named Caleb faces the unthinkable within the sterile walls of a psychiatric hospital. On a snowy Christmas Eve, worry pains Caleb as he reflects on his past mistakes and unfulfilled yearnings. The psych ward turns sinister as holiday cheer takes a dark turn when a murderous presence lurks among the guests. As tensions rise and secrets unfold, Caleb will come to reckon with his demons—both mental and malevolent.

Next, we journey to "Christmas at Pendleton Station," a dystopian narrative set against the backdrop of a world forever altered by supernatural calamity. Our protagonist, Kasselia Tabon, traverses the snowy wastelands, where ancient evils and technological nightmares collide. A battle against the undead Santa Claus and a desperate quest for survival are filled with perilous trials and explosive revelations as Kasselia learns what it truly means to engage with the spirit of Christmas, not just as a symbol of joy, but as a testament to strength and courage in the face of darkness.

In "Santa’s Little Helper," we witness the chaotic consequences of holiday cheer turned horror. Ronnie Baxley, our washed-up Santa, faces a fateful encounter with a terrifying little girl whose innocence masks malevolence. Children and parents alike find themselves ensnared in a ghastly holiday fracas, and Ronnie discovers that the season of goodwill can breed horrific outcomes when the misfits of the world come out to play. Will the darkness swallow the valley whole, or will our unlikely protagonist find the strength to fight back?

The terrors continue in "The Day That Santa Died," as we delve into the heart-wrenching, true-crime autobiography of Jonathan L. Copeland. This haunting narrative provides a unique perspective on the duality of Santa’s mythos and the darker world of assassins hiding in plain sight. Is he a hero or a monster? This story compels us to question the morality of right and wrong during a time that is traditionally about kindness and sharing.

Closing our frightful festival is "Inner Rage," where Regan Devereaux struggles with her identity as both a protector and a killer. Tangled in a web of love, loss, and the supernatural, Regan’s Christmas Eve takes a drastic turn. In dynamic prose, we experience her battle against ancient horrors entwining her fate and the safety of those she loves. Will love prevail, or will darkness claim her once more?

So grab your favorite holiday drink and prepare yourself for an evening of spine-chilling stories guaranteed to keep you up through the long winter night. This festive season, let us embrace the blend of joy and fear; as we remind ourselves that indeed, not all that's bright and cheerful is devoid of shadows. Join us for an exchange of thrills that will not only haunt your dreams but also linger in your heart long after the last tale fades into silence!

Ep.305 – Christmas at Murder Mansion - Ghosts, Adventure, and Holiday Redemption!

18 december 2024 | 53 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Better Watch Out (2016)

17 december 2024 | 117 min

In this festive episode of *Cutting Deep into Horror*, hosts Henrique Couto and Rachael Redolfi reunite to discuss the chilling 2016 Christmas horror film, *Better Watch Out*. As the holiday countdown crescendos, the duo offers a deep exploration of the movie’s unsettling narrative, juxtaposing typical Christmas warmth with dark themes of obsession, violence, and the often hidden scars of childhood trauma.

The episode opens with Henrique sharing his longstanding tradition of expressing feelings during the holidays, a sentiment that suddenly contrasts with the grotesque events of the film they are about to dissect. Rachael joins in with her customary cheer, setting the tone for a night that will delve into the darker side of Christmas cinema while reckoning with heavy topics like trauma and mental health.

As they situate the film within a broader context of Christmas horror, the hosts introduce listeners to the lead character, Luke, a seemingly innocent 12-year-old with sinister intentions towards his babysitter, Ashley, played by Olivia DeJonge. The pair dissects the layers of Luke’s character, illustrating the blurred lines between childhood innocence and emerging psychopathy while discussing the film's various clichés and themes. They share laughs recalling tropes established in classics like *Home Alone*, and how *Better Watch Out* flips those expectations on their head, transforming what could be a light-hearted affair into a gripping tale of lurking menace.

Henrique and Rachael transport listeners through the film’s narrative, recounting key moments—from Luke’s misguided affections toward Ashley to a series of unfortunate events that quickly spiral into violence. Rachael highlights the tension in scenes where Ashley’s attempts to maintain control devolve as the children begin to reveal their true natures. The hosts cover the rise of Luke’s dark humor and cold calculations, leading to brutal moments that leave the audience in stunned silence. The meticulous details in his planning are highlighted as the conversation draws close to the shocking climax.

With palpable intensity, the conversation intensifies when discussing the violent escalation that ensues, particularly the twisted finale and the chilling aftermath. Their commentary opens up discussions about the psychological implications of the characters' actions, the film's dark humor, and the commentary it makes on how childhood trauma can manifest in malignant ways. With visceral storytelling and layered characters, *Better Watch Out* stirs deep discussions about morality, innocence lost, and the societal taboos surrounding youth violence.

Rachael manages to keep the conversation lively despite the grave subject matter, sharing humorous anecdotes about initial misunderstandings surrounding childhood experiences and babysitters, weaving a narrative that draws parallels between their own stories and the film. The duo's chemistry shines as they effortlessly navigate from laughter to laughter, and deep discussions about heavy themes.

As they wrap up the episode, Henrique and Rachael give solid recommendations for where viewers can catch the film, ensuring that fans of both horror and holiday cinema find ways to engage with *Better Watch Out*. They encourage listeners to embrace the madness of holiday horror, reminding everyone that, beneath the festive lights, danger can lurk in the most innocent of places.

If you’re interested in exploring more cinematic turmoil and psychological depth through the lens of horror, be sure to connect with them on their social media. Tune in as they promise thrilling discussions in future episodes.

**Contact Us**
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Thank you for joining Henrique and Rachael this holiday season, where the spirit of horror shines brightly against the backdrop of Christmas festivities!

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Ep.304 – Christmas Eve Babysitters - Monsters, Mischief, and Holiday Magic!

16 december 2024 | 38 min

Unknown Broadcast | “House of Fear” “Fear Paints a Picture” “Fear” “Pattern of Fear”

15 december 2024 | 127 min

In this harrowing episode of the classic radio show "The Whistler," listeners are drawn into a gripping narrative filled with betrayal, secrets, and eerie coincidences set against the backdrop of a chilling New York winter. The story begins as the host, embodying the character of the Whistler, invites the audience into his realm, creating an atmosphere thick with suspense and foreboding. This episode features a complex tale involving the young couple Paul Garson and Lana Wallace and the elderly Gregory Hellman.

The drama unfolds when Lana, unexpectedly revealing her intention to marry Gregory, sends Paul into a whirlwind of anger and despair. Believing her decision to be a mistake, Paul pleads with her to reconsider, citing his deep love for her. However, Lana is resolute. The couple's discourse reveals a rift between youthful passion and the harsh realities of marriage. A short time later, Lana marries Gregory and the two begin their honeymoon at a secluded villa, lamenting the years of loneliness that have preceded this moment, particularly Gregory, who feels like a young man once more. The juxtaposition of their youthful romance against Gregory's evident desire for a simple, tranquil life serves as a contrasting backdrop for the growing tension.

As weeks pass in the villa, a growing discontent begins to seep into Lana's psyche. She finds herself increasingly bored with her husband's sedentary lifestyle, which leads to an argument that spirals out of control. Gregory unexpectedly leaves for a New York trip, unknowingly sparking a series of events that culminates in tragedy. Lana seeks solace in familiar territory, finding herself face-to-face with Paul Garson once more in Mexico City. During their encounter, the weight of missed opportunities comes crashing down as both express regret and remorse for past decisions.

Their reunion stirs up powerful feelings, and Lana, now estranged from Gregory, confides in Paul about her failed marriage. As their relationship rekindles, Lana’s looks and vitality shine through, drawing Paul back into a state of longing. Yet, not all is as it appears; the narrative takes a dark turn when Paul’s questions about Gregory lead to the discovery of a buried secret. A body found in the cellar is revealed to belong to Gregory Hellman, marking the emergence of deeper complexities involving guilt, lies, and betrayal.

Paul finds himself entangled as a suspect due to his prior affection for Lana and his tumultuous feelings about Gregory. The police begin to investigate, and the revelations that follow weave a tangled web of deceit and misunderstanding, culminating in both Paul and Lana being charged with murder. The story interlaces elements of mystery, exploring themes of love, desperation, and the inexorable hand of fate. As the Whistler reveals the truth of what happened that fateful night, the audience is left grappling with the harsh realities of the intertwining lives marked by secrets and ultimately, remorse.

In a parallel storyline, the episode shifts gears with a second tale, "Fear Paints a Picture," featuring a character named Julia Powell. Julia grapples with fear as she struggles against the backdrop of her family history of mental illness. She finds herself isolated in her father’s old house, and her psyche starts to unravel as her fears manifest in haunting dreams tied to a peculiar painting that evokes dread. As the story unfolds, psychological themes take center stage, examining the constructs of fear and the struggle to uncover the truth behind her erratic thoughts. The narrative builds a palpable tension, leading the audience to wonder about the thin line between sanity and madness.

The episode crescendos with the tension of both narrative arcs, illustrating how fear and regret are often intertwined, culminating in a resolution that leaves the characters, and the audience, with profound reflections on the nature of love, loss, and the specters of our pasts that continue to haunt us. Each character, bound by their own choices and fears, is left to confront their demons—an overarching theme that resonates deeply in this chilling tapestry of storytelling. With classic music and expertly crafted dialogue, the episode remains a compelling exploration of the human psyche, perfectly encapsulating the essence of suspense.

3 Horror Christmas Novellas - A Cruel Yule!

14 december 2024 | 287 min

We dive deep into the eeriness of the cheerful season. This collection features three spine-tingling Christmas novellas, intertwining lighthearted humor with genuine scares, all set within the beloved Strickfield universe. With over four hours of hair-raising tales penned by Rob Fields, it's the perfect treat for anyone seeking a festive thrill during this joyous time of year.

The first novella, "The Mall Overnight," takes us to an abandoned mansion near Strickfield, where the brilliant yet chaotic Vincent Frankenstein and his assistant Stevie Quaid are grappling with a monstrous creation of Vincent’s own design. The tension thickens as Stevie’s worries about their "experiment" escalate, especially considering its previous destructive escapade at a nearby mall during the holidays. What begins as a routine night quickly spirals out of control when their creation awakens and wreaks havoc once more. As chaos ensues, their attempts to keep the creature subdued disintegrate in the face of terror, leading to an unforgettable confrontation.

We then weave into the zany, skillfully comedic world of Madeline Donnerly, who finds herself caught in a whirlwind of bizarre incidents alongside her friends Carter and Ariel Mirren. Social media enters the fray with a splash of embarrassment, setting the stage for tension that rivals the horror elements lurking in the background. The group's dynamics become a source of both humor and crisis as a giant vampire unexpectedly emerges from the shadows, intent on chaos. The juxtaposition of lighthearted friendship and spine-tingling scares keeps listeners on the edge, eagerly anticipating how the characters will navigate their growing fears while tackling the impending threat.

In one of the most gripping moments, Henrique recalls a heart-pounding encounter with the giant vampire lady within the mall. As everything around them descends into chaos, they scramble for safety, driven by desperation and adrenaline. The excitement peaks when their escape plan hinges on the ignition of a parked SUV, leading to an exhilarating frenzy amidst their conflicts. Old tensions bubble between friends, paving the way for unexpected vulnerability and growth, even as they confront supernatural forces. Each twist and turn is laden with complexity, showcasing how fear can both break and strengthen the bonds of friendship.

As the podcast continues, we find ourselves in a spooky situation at Home Sweet Home orphanage, where things start normally until chaos ignites thanks to some troublemaking kids. A fierce snowstorm engulfs the outside world, leading to the sudden appearance of Krampus, and we witness the mounting fear that drives the characters to rally together. Tension escalates as they devise an audacious escape plan, navigating their way through both physical and emotional challenges. Nobody is left untouched as the story unfolds, with each revelation serving as a testament to their growing courage and solidarity.

The episode culminates with a tense resolution against Krampus and a touching Christmas celebration. Amidst the chilling events, the sense of community and resilience stands tall. Friendship shines brightly, revealing that even in darkest times, the spirit of togetherness can create warmth and joy. As the holiday spirit blooms once more within the orphanage, reflections on the meaning of friendship and the bonds formed through adversity resonate deeply with all who listen.

In the final chapter of our holiday compilation, Henrique draws us into a slumber party experience that eerily twists into a nightmarish vision. As Ariel and Bailey engage with a new console, they find themselves ensnared in a web created by the sinister Christmas Queen. With wonderful humor laced throughout the chaos, we explore friendship dynamics, the tension of misunderstandings, and the intertwining of virtual and real realms. The crescendo builds in this battle against the fantastical and the frightening as Bloody Mary reemerges, offering an unexpected lifeline in their struggle against Queen Arcadia.

In a beautifully festive yet haunting wrap-up, listeners witness the journey from fear to redemption, underscoring that even in the darkest nights, the light of friendship can prevail. Perfect for the holiday season, this podcast episode embraces the duality of horror and warmth, inviting all to embrace the adventure waiting just around the corner. Happy Holidays from Weekly Spooky—stay tuned for more chilling tales and heartwarming stories on the horizon!

Ep.303 – Secret Santa - Office Rivalry, Holiday Jealousy, and Deadly Consequences!

13 december 2024 | 40 min

7 Stories of Mistletoe and Mayhem! Horrifying Tales of Christmas!

12 december 2024 | 159 min

In this chilling holiday special of Weekly Spooky, host and narrator Henrique Couto takes us on a spine-tingling journey filled with tales that are sure to haunt your Christmas Eve! With a marathon of seven thrilling stories, each crafted to send shivers down your spine, we delve into the darker side of the festive season. Gather around the fire, settle in, and prepare yourself for a Christmas unlike any other—one where snow isn't the only thing that falls from the sky!

The first story, "Christmas Cranberries" by L.F. Falconer, introduces us to the mind of a young boy named Ronnie who wrestles with a peculiar craving that leads him down a dark path. As his innocent childhood thoughts twist into sinister impulses, Ronnie's interactions with his pet dog, Susie, reveal a haunting hunger that will culminate in a shocking climax. This tale explores the terrifying intersections between childhood innocence and malevolence, ensuring you’ll never look at Christmas the same way again.

In "The Naughty List" by Keith Tomlin, meet Andy Price, a boy who gets caught in a nightmarish game that unravels on Christmas Eve. Awakening in a chilling chamber filled with other children and a terrifying creature, Andy must confront his own devious nature as he fights for survival against the odds. This story dives deep into the consequences of being deemed naughty and the fear that lurks when joy is transformed into chaos.

Next, "Lady Frankenstein" by Rob Fields plunges us into the heart of a Christmas resurrection gone awry. Vincent Frankenstein’s quest to create life takes a bizarre turn when his creation—a head stitched together from various body parts—reinvents her existence on a hellish rampage. As she embraces her newfound freedom, she embarks on a bloody spree that intertwines the legends of her infamous family with the modern horror of her existence, all set against the backdrop of the holiday season.

From horrifying science fiction to stories of southern classic charm, "Blood on the Snow" by Shane Migliavaka pulls us into a roadhouse full of unexpected surprises as a chilling murder mystery unfolds during a snowstorm on Christmas Eve. With spooky situations and tantalizing twists, this entry keeps listeners on the edge of their seats as blood spills, secrets are uncovered, and characters are hunted against the backdrop of a seemingly unassuming holiday gathering.

As the holiday countdown continues, "A Christmas to Remember" by Joe Solmo offers a harrowing look at redemption, as Donnie returns home only to have fate intervene in the most gruesome of ways. Surrounded by Christmas cheer but facing a sinister plot, listeners travel with Donnie as he grapples with his past mistakes and the tragic consequences of his choices.

In a cosmic twist, "Twelve Days" by Mike Ashkewe takes listeners on a space odyssey aboard the Roanoke, where pilot David Lambert finds himself trapped in a nightmarish spiral of malfunction, betrayal, and existential dread on Christmas. This gripping drama brings forth themes of solitude and the perils of trusting artificial intelligence in a universe rife with dangers, capturing the essence of festive horror in a richly layered narrative.

Finally, the chilling ambiance of "A Christmas to Remember" concludes the episode, reminding listeners of the sometimes-naughty whispers of Santa and the elves who may not be as jolly as they seem. As the stories weave together to create a tapestry of horror and suspense, Couto expertly leads the audience through a darkly festive experience where holiday cheer hangs by a thread.

So, dear listeners, gather your loved ones and prepare for an evening of chilling storytelling that redefines the very spirit of Christmas. Make sure to stay subscribed to Weekly Spooky for more spine-chilling episodes and tales that will keep your heart racing long into the night!

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Ep.302 – A Chain Letter Christmas - Curses, Redemption, and the Spirit of the Holidays!

11 december 2024 | 47 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017)

10 december 2024 | 157 min

In this episode of *Cutting Deep Into Horror*, hosts Henrique Couto and Rachael Rodolfi dive into the harrowing landscape of Yorgos Lanthimos’ *The Killing of a Sacred Deer*, a film that embodies the depths of trauma and moral complexity. Join us as we engage in a profound discussion on parental responsibility, guilt, and the chilling consequences of choices made in the dark corners of our minds.

As we unpack the film's narrative, Henrique and Rachael examine the nuances of familial bonds challenged by the haunting specter of a boy seeking revenge for his father's death. The podcast begins with a heartfelt conversation about family gatherings, setting a stark contrast for the dark themes to follow. Henrique and Rachael explore their emotional connections to the film while highlighting key moments that illustrate the struggles between love and moral dilemmas.

The episode allows listeners to traverse the unsettling journey of Stephen (Colin Farrell), a heart surgeon whose seemingly perfect life begins to unravel as he's confronted with the consequences of his past actions. From the eerie presentation of family dynamics to the deeply unsettling interactions with Martin (Barry Keoghan), the hosts analyze how fear and trauma manifest in frightening yet relatable ways. Their observations are punctuated with humor, insightful commentary, and frank discussions about the nature of horror and personal responsibility.

As Stephen grapples with Martin's demands for retribution, the difficult choices he faces culminate in a shocking climax that forces the audience to confront their own beliefs about justice and sacrifice. The unique storytelling style, mixing dark humor with visceral horror, is a focal point of discussion, as Henrique and Rachael reflect on the movie's impact and the moral quandaries it presents.

In later segments, the conversation delves into the critical moments leading to the film's unsettling conclusion, exploring themes of existential dread and the fleeting nature of life. They touch on the symbolism of isolation and the haunting reality of familial love overshadowed by the specter of loss. With compelling insights, they guide listeners through a narrative that resonates with the intuitively unsettling nature of guilt and choice.

Ultimately, the episode poses crucial questions that challenge listeners to reflect on their values and the complexities of human relationships. As the discussion draws to a close, listeners are left to ponder whether the price of revenge is ever worth the cost of losing one’s humanity.

**Join the Conversation**
If you're interested in sharing your thoughts on this chilling episode or the themes explored in *The Killing of a Sacred Deer*, we want to hear from you! Connect with us on social media:

- **Twitter:** twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
- **Facebook:** facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
- **Email:** [email protected]

Do you have recommendations for future episodes? Let us know your favorite horror films or your takes on the emotional and psychological undercurrents in horror cinema. We can't wait for you to join us again for our next deep cut into the world of horror film!

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Ep.301 – All I Want For Christmas... Is My Mother to Stop Haunting Me!

9 december 2024 | 43 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Memory of a Murder" "Eight Steps to Murder" and more!

8 december 2024 | 129 min

In this episode, we delve into the chilling tale of "Memory of a Murder," a gripping narrative that intertwines suspense and intrigue. The story unfolds through the eyes of Harry Jonas, a seemingly ordinary man who becomes embroiled in a sinister plot involving murder and deception.

The narrative begins with Harry reflecting on a haunting memory from Wingate Cemetery, where he witnesses a murder that sets the stage for the ensuing drama. He spots a gravedigger, whose pale visage and sinister actions leave Harry shaken. As he hides behind a tombstone, he discovers a medal linked to a man named Nino, a key player in the unfolding mystery. This initial encounter foreshadows the eerie events that will lead Harry deeper into a world of illusion and treachery.

Harry soon finds himself working at a vaudeville theater, under the watchful eye of the enigmatic Constantine, who is not just a performer but a master manipulator with a flair for the dramatic. As tensions rise, Harry's attraction to Marietta, the beautiful assistant of Constantine, complicates matters further. Harry learns that Constantine may have a dark past connected to the disappearance of Nino, and the peculiar medal serves as a sinister token of fate, suggesting that those connected to its legacy are doomed.

With each act of the performance, Harry's fears manifest into reality as he realizes that Marietta's life is in danger. A series of dramatic illusions—the guillotine, the knife-throwing act—become twisted symbols of impending doom. As the events unfold on stage, they parallel the real-life danger lurking backstage. Harry's desperation to protect Marietta propels him into a frantic race against time, battling not only Constantine but the tangled web of illusions they all inhabit.

The gripping climax reveals Harry’s harrowing struggles as he confronts the truth behind Constantine’s dark intentions. The story culminates in a heart-stopping finale that leaves listeners questioning the boundaries between illusion and reality. In a masterful twist, we discover that the horror and deception are not limited to the stage but seep into the fabric of Harry's reality, blurring the lines of sanity and survival.

“Memory of a Murder” is a compelling exploration of suspense, where every revelation turns the narrative more treacherous, and every character's motive is cast in shadow. The tale leaves us pondering the echoes of the past that haunt the present and the inevitable connections that lead to one chilling conclusion: the past is never truly buried.

Ep.300 – Mirror Images - A Terrifying Tale of Doppelgängers and Haunted Reflections!

6 december 2024 | 102 min

5 Tales of Yuletide Terror!

5 december 2024 | 179 min

Deck the halls with terror! Join your host Henrique Couto as he unwraps a chilling assortment of yuletide horror tales in this spine-tingling Christmas special episode of Weekly Spooky. With tales that blend the warmth of holiday cheer with the eerie chill of fear, this festive horror marathon will leave you pondering the shadows lurking around your holiday decorations!

First up, immerse yourself in "Santa Claus is Killin' the Town," where young couple Janice and Molly embark on a road trip to Decatur for a holiday reunion, only to discover that the festive spirit is overshadowed by a dark and sinister secret lurking beneath the surface. As they arrive at the quaint Chamberlain Inn, Janice's unease grows amidst the seemingly idyllic small-town charm, and the real horror begins to unfold when old tales of a local villain resurface, leading to consequences none could foresee.

Next, brace yourself for "Krampus is Coming," a story full of bitter twists and vengeful spirits. Kathy Boettcher's quest for power and control spirals into chaos after her life choices lead her down a dark path. As she embraces her former self and the malevolent entity Krampus, a bloody reckoning looms over those she'd wronged. With each act of revenge, the lines between justice and cruelty blur, making for a terrifying exploration of what lies beneath a seemingly perfect facade.

In "Operation Deadly Night," the tone shifts to a futuristic dread where AI and holiday cheer collide in a deadly showdown. When a new Santa Claus mod for personal androids turns awry, families across America find themselves in a race against time— battling for their lives against a jolly yet deadly mechanical foe. The horror escalates as families realize that Christmas is not just a time for giving but also a time for survival against unexpected threats.

Then, don’t blink as we delve into "Dead Silent Night," a cheeky tale of lust gone wrong, where dark elves turn traditions upside down. Follow Derek as he navigates a bizarre encounter that spirals out of control, blurring the lines between pleasure and peril during the holiday season. This comedic yet frightening fable reminds us that sometimes, the worst surprises come from the people we least expect.

Finally, hold onto your holiday hats as "Doorway to Horror" thrusts a close-knit group of friends into an alternate universe where vampires reign supreme on Christmas Eve. Completely void of hope and hometown warmth, they must band together to fight for survival while navigating the treacherous landscape of a mall turned crypt. With the stakes higher than ever, their bond is tested as they seek a way back home, battling both the undead and their inner fears.

Henrique walks you through these haunting tales, offering insights and a sprinkling of dark humor, ensuring that this holiday season's horror is as memorable as the joyful festivities. So cozy up with your favorite blanket, sip on some hot cocoa (or something stronger), and prepare for tales that will chill you to your very bones. Stay safe, stay warm, and keep an eye on that Santa Claus guy—you never know what he might bring!

Bring your horrors home this festive season as you tune into this spine-chilling episode of Weekly Spooky! Take care, dear listeners, until next time…

The Legend of Oopsie Poopsie" is a twisted, darkly comedic horror story about a grotesque, six-foot-tall baby with a bloodied rattle and a tragic, inbred origin. Set in a creepy Adirondack town, it blends absurd humor, chilling suspense, and over-the-top gore as an outsider discovers the horrifying truth behind the town’s most infamous legend. Prepare for a story that’s equal parts terrifying and hilariously unsettling.

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Ep.299 – Welcome Home - A Werewolf Christmas Tale of Family, Redemption, and Survival

4 december 2024 | 53 min

Ep.298 – A Zombie’s Christmas - Holiday Cheer Turns into Undead Fear

2 december 2024 | 54 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Lost Ship" "Island of the Lost" "Going, Going, Gone" "Present Tense"

1 december 2024 | 135 min

In this episode, I take you on a journey into the intriguing world of suspense with a captivating narrative titled "The Lost Ship," a tale written for suspense by Irwin Lewis. The tale opens with a festive ambiance, setting the mood as I invite listeners into an experience designed to warm the spirit during the chilly season. As we delve into the story, we encounter Harry and his wife Viola who find themselves in dire circumstances while trying to escape a troubled past, leading them to a mysterious desert landscape.

As the plot unfolds, we witness Harry’s growing anxiety as they face mechanical troubles that force them to abandon their vehicle and venture on foot. The tension heightens as they hope to find refuge from their pursuers, only to come face to face with the wild beauty and stark dangers of the desert. The couple's struggle is accentuated by a sense of impending doom, heightened by strange sounds they hear in the distance, which mirrors their internal fears and paranoia.

Reaching a secluded dwelling, they meet the enigmatic Pete Townley, a hermit whose captivating story about a ship buried in the sands ignites curiosity. The legend of the Spanish galleon, supposedly filled with treasure, captivates Harry’s imagination, drawing him into thoughts of wealth and escape. As Harry grapples with disbelief and fascination towards Pete's tale, we watch Viola’s concerns grow about the dangers that may lie ahead.

When a set of gold doubloons suddenly appears, found by Viola in their cabin, the couple's predicament becomes even more entangled. Harry, driven by greed and the allure of finding treasure, defies both caution and Viola’s pleas, launching himself on a quest for the legendary ship, the “Santa Carlotta.” As he embarks on this treacherous journey into the desert, I evoke the stark transformations of his character—from an everyman embroiled in desperate flights to a greed-driven adventurer.

The desert plays a dual role, serving as both a beautiful landscape and a treacherous trap. As the sun beats down, Harry’s illusions of grandeur clash with the harsh realities of the elements. Here, suspense truly heightens, revealing the thin line between discovery and disaster. The tale culminates in a climactic struggle for survival as nature itself seems to conspire against him, casting shadows on Harry's ambitions.

The meticulous story weaves a tapestry of suspense that invests the listener with every emotion felt by the characters, from fear to hope and from desperation to the intoxicating visions of fortune. As I close this gripping episode of "The Lost Ship," I leave the listener contemplating not only the unfolding storyline but also the human experiences of ambition, choices, loss, and the haunting search for what lies beneath the surface—emotions that echo beyond the confines of the tale.

Tune in this week for an evocative journey that entwines us in the rich fabric of storytelling, drawing us into a world where every choice matters and every moment could lead to either treasure or tragedy.

8 Christmas Horror Stories to Give You a Scary Christmas!

29 november 2024 | 170 min

Get ready to deconstruct holiday cheer with this sensational marathon on *Weekly Spooky*! I'm your host, Enrique Couto, guiding you through a chilling selection of tales expertly remastered to amplify the eerie magic of the season. In this festive edition, join me on a spine-tingling jaunt filled with desperation, darkness, and all the holiday horrors that should never have found their way into the light.

We kick off the eerie journey with "Biting Cold," a brutal story of survival against the bitter chill of winter and the lurking terrors it harbors. It follows a nameless man, wounded and trapped in a snowstorm, who wrestles with the chilling question of mortality versus survival. Here, amidst frozen landscapes, our protagonist must confront both the beasts of the wilderness and the demons of his mind, spiraling deeper into a fight for life at the brink of frostbite and despair.

Next, we drift into "The Gathering," where a group of students at Black Oaks Academy are forced to confront the shadows of Christmas past as they huddle together amidst a raging blizzard, only to find that the warmth of companionship may not be enough to fend off the terror that dwells within the snow-covered darkness. Clashing personalities reveal buried resentments, and as mysteries unravel, a sinister stranger appears on their doorstep.

In "Christmas Rage," we witness the chaos undulating just under the surface of a festive holiday, as mallgoers find themselves at the mercy of an unhinged Santa. The cheer of the season is quickly drowned out by the cries of horror as most are hunted down without mercy. The juxtaposition of holiday glee and gruesome violence will leave you questioning the thin line that separates joy from fear.

As the marathon progresses, our thrills continue with "Tiny Christmas, Iowa," where a jaded New Yorker finds herself smack in the middle of a quaint small-town holiday that quickly devolves into a fight for survival against local legends intertwined with real-life terror. This charming facade rapidly crumbles when the cheerful inhabitants reveal themselves to harbor dark secrets, forcing her to confront the nightmarish reality hidden behind the cheery decorations.

Next, brace yourself for "Santa Letters," a haunting tale tracing the deadly legacy of a vengeful spirit tied to Christmas letters gone awry, leaving a trail of blood that spans years and shadows the town of Circleville, Ohio. The eerie echo of children’s laughter fades to silence as the community learns that the true horror lies not in the tales told, but in the unchecked darkness of our deepest fears.

Finally, we reach "The Weather Outside is Frightful," where an unsuspecting blizzard brings more than just a chill to the air. Patrol officers find themselves facing a supernatural threat as the walls between reality and nightmare blend into a harrowing landscape where creatures of the night lurk just beyond their view, and no one is safe from the impending doom.

So snuggle up tight, dear listeners, and prepare for the chilling tales we've unraveled just for you. Remember to stay subscribed for even more spine-tingling holiday stories throughout the festive season. You wouldn't want to miss out on the dangers that lurk when the lights dim and the snow swallows the screams, would you? Until next time, may your holiday season be spookily delightful!

The Legend of Oopsie Poopsie" is a twisted, darkly comedic horror story about a grotesque, six-foot-tall baby with a bloodied rattle and a tragic, inbred origin. Set in a creepy Adirondack town, it blends absurd humor, chilling suspense, and over-the-top gore as an outsider discovers the horrifying truth behind the town’s most infamous legend. Prepare for a story that’s equal parts terrifying and hilariously unsettling.

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Ep.297 – The Real First Thanksgiving - A Pilgrim's Tale of Terror

27 november 2024 | 72 min

Do You Even Movie? | Blood Rage (1987) The Ultimate Thanksgiving Slasher!

26 november 2024 | 84 min

Monthly Spooky | Spectral Harassment, Dangerous Giraffes and Christmas Hauntings!

25 november 2024 | 116 min

In this episode of Monthly Spooky, we dive into a mix of spooky tales and seasonal anecdotes with hosts Henrique and Michelle. Kicking off the conversation, we ponder the unsettling occurrences of deep-sea fish washing up along the California coast. This phenomenon leads us to reflect on whether such events hold any ominous significance, touching on folklore that suggests strange marine activities could foretell disasters.

The hosts then transition into a light-hearted discussion about Halloween, sharing personal stories about their celebrations and experiences with trick-or-treaters. Hnrique recounts how his neighborhood has become vibrant with kids during Halloween, contrasting it with his childhood memories of sparse trick-or-treating. He joyfully describes his approach to candy distribution and how he creatively scares younger trick-or-treaters while maintaining the festive spirit.

As the episode progresses, spooky news takes center stage, where Henrique and Michelle explore a range of odd stories including a trending viral incident involving a ghost making an inappropriate advance at a paranormal investigator. They analyze the humorous yet unsettling situation, debating what constitutes an acceptable ghostly request versus one deemed inappropriate. The discussion shifts to a giraffe that mistakenly tossed a toddler during a safari visit, provoking anecdotes about animal antics during encounters at wildlife parks.

In a fascinating segment, Henrique shares about a peculiar incident involving a warehouse heist of high-value cheddar cheese in the UK, detailing the bizarre lengths the thieves went to for this unassuming product. The playful banter continues as they juxtapose the seriousness of a cheese heist with light-hearted commentary about the seemingly absurd nature of it.

As the conversation turns toward Christmas, the duo shifts gears to share allegedly true paranormal stories associated with the holiday season. They explore eerie legends, including spectral sightings and ghostly hauntings tied to Christmas festivities, wrapping up with their thoughts on what makes Christmas so uniquely spooky.

The hosts conclude the show by engaging in light-hearted speculation regarding their ghost tales assessment, considering public opinions and reactions to their stories. Throughout the episode, listeners are invited to reflect on their own spooky encounters while enjoying the holiday spirit through the lens of paranormal lore, culminating in a rich tapestry of holiday stories and adventures that blend laughter with chills.

This episode encapsulates the intersection of holiday nostalgia and the thrill of the unknown, leaving audiences with a delightful sense of seasonal spookiness.

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Unknown Broadcast | "The Covered Bridge" "The Edge of Death"

24 november 2024 | 75 min

A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe

22 november 2024 | 3 min

Ep.296 – The Legend of Oopsie Poopsie - Dark Humor Meets Grotesque Horror

20 november 2024 | 46 min

Terrifying & True | The 1982 Chicago Tylenol Murders

18 november 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Corpse Nobody Loved"

17 november 2024 | 26 min

Hop-Frog by Edgar Allan Poe

15 november 2024 | 28 min

Ep.295 – Matriarch - A Ghastly Sorority Horror Tale!

13 november 2024 | 40 min

Terrifying & True | Who Is Indrid Cold - Exploring The Myth Of The Grinning Man

11 november 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Thicker Than Water"

10 november 2024 | 47 min

5 Horrific Tales of Bloody Thanksgivings!

8 november 2024 | 150 min

Tonight, we dive into the dark and twisted tales that dance around Thanksgiving—a time traditionally filled with gratitude, food, and family gatherings, but here, it takes a chilling turn!

As the leaves fall and the air turns crisp, we remind ourselves that Halloween may have passed, but the thrill of fear is alive and well as we prepare for the upcoming holiday season. From a small-town Thanksgiving dinner gone awry to shocking revelations during a welfare check, each tale will leave you haunted long after the feasting is done.

We kick off our eerie exploration in a small Indiana town where Officer Sophia Cortez embarks on a routine welfare check. What starts as a mundane task escalates into a nightmare as she uncovers a horrific scene that unfolds the dark secrets hidden behind closed doors. The chilling atmosphere will have you on the edge of your seat, pondering the horrors lurking within our own communities.

Next, we venture into the chilling backwoods of Ozark Mountains, where the seemingly mundane practice of hunting takes an unfathomable turn. Sheriff Eldon Hart and his deputy Alex Hargrove discover a grisly mystery involving missing victims and a monstrous secret masquerading as an average Thanksgiving tradition. As the clock ticks, they find themselves battling monstrous turkeys unlike anything you've ever seen—redefining the meaning of being ‘thankful’ in a most grotesque way!

But the horrors don't stop there! In a Friendsgiving gathering where tensions brew and friendships are tested, we witness a tale of betrayal, envy, and the supernatural. A group of friends returns home only to realize that the bonds they share may not be enough to save them from a vengeful spirit seeking retribution. This festive gathering unravels into a horrific reflection of past grievances, with life or death on the line.

And just when you think the horror has reached its peak, we bring in a story that dives into family tradition steeped in grotesque betrayal, filled with twists and turns that will make you question everything you know about the home-cooked Thanksgiving feast. As ancestors' rituals are uncovered and the turkeys serve more than just a meal, our protagonist must learn the truth lurking beneath the surface of their family’s dining table.

To wrap up this night of fright, be prepared for a shockingly humorous yet blood-curdling finale that digs deep into the darker side of culinary traditions gone horribly awry. Thanksgiving transforms into a suspenseful delight filled with unexpected dangers and revelations about those closest to us, ensuring that this year's celebrations will not be what they seem.

So grab your pumpkin pie, and ensure the doors are locked tight, because you won’t want to miss these spine-tingling stories that remind us to be wary of the monsters that may show up at our Thanksgiving table. Careful what you wish for this holiday season; it might just come with a side of nightmarish horror. Remember, my spookies, I will be back next week with more tales to keep your fears alive. Enjoy the festivities... if you dare!

Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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[email protected]

Original Theme by Ray Mattis

Music by AudioBlocks

Produced by Daniel Wilder

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com Use code WeeklySpooky at checkout for 20% off

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Ep.294 – Bite Me -Horror in the Ozarks!

6 november 2024 | 40 min

Terrifying & True | The Haunting Legend of Bloody Mary

4 november 2024 | 21 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Before the Verdict"

3 november 2024 | 63 min

8 Stories from Beyond the Grave for Dia de los Muertos!

1 november 2024 | 203 min

Ep.293 – The Graveyard Shift - A Haunted Halloween Broadcast!

31 oktober 2024 | 29 min

Ep.292 – A Halloween Valentine - A Dark, Twisted Romance

30 oktober 2024 | 110 min

Do You Even Movie? | Satan's Little Helper (2004)

29 oktober 2024 | 89 min

Monthly Spooky | Evil Hauntings, Dangerous Dolls, and Terrifying Halloween Realities!

28 oktober 2024 | 142 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Murder Castle" "Mind Over Murder" "Voices of Death" "Angel of Death" "Death is an Artist"

27 oktober 2024 | 238 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Last Shift (2014)

26 oktober 2024 | 114 min

In this episode of Cutting Deep Into Horror, we dive into the intricacies and terrors of the 2014 film "Last Shift," directed by Anthony de Blasi. Co-hosts Henrique and Rachael unpack the story of Officer Loren, a rookie cop assigned to her first shift at an abandoned police station as it prepares to close its doors for good. The discussion explores various horror tropes while delving into profound themes of family legacy, trauma, and the impact of the past on the present.

We begin with introductions, setting the eerie tone and encouraging listeners to remain alert as we dissect the film's chilling narrative. Henrique recounts his experience watching the film for the first time, discussing its gradual build-up of tension and the heart-pounding scares that punctuate the silence. Rachael thoughtfully emphasizes the importance of acting and atmosphere in horror, sharing how Loren's relatable character helps ground us in the unfolding supernatural events.

As the plot progresses, we examine key interactions between Loren and her commanding officer, Sergeant Cohen, who introduces a mix of gruffness and dark humor amidst the unsettling environment. The two discuss how the film establishes its eerie rules early on, highlighting how the unknown looms larger when untrusted elements fill the frame. The exploration of visual storytelling techniques reveals how these choices amplify the film's sense of dread.

The hosts unpack pivotal moments in the film, including the discovery of supernatural phenomena and the haunting implications of the station's dark history tied to the Payman family—infamous for their murderous past. The discussions touch on the larger themes of legacy and expectation, particularly how Lauren grapples with her father's shadow as a former law enforcement officer. We analyze how the film unravels these elements, showcasing the psychological and emotional pressures on Lauren as she navigates a night filled with supernatural horrors.

Henrique and Rachael highlight the film's minimalist approach, noting how budget constraints did not hinder its ability to instill fear. They examine the stark imagery of blood and ghostly apparitions, influenced by traditional horror filmmaking where restraint often results in a more profound impact. Each scare is dissected, showcasing the effectiveness of sound and silence in creating an immersive viewing experience.

As our hosts reach the film’s climax, they discuss Lauren’s realization that the horrors she faces are intertwined with her family history, leading to a tragic and haunting conclusion. The conversation eventually turns to the implications of her journey and the film's commentary on facing one’s fears—both seen and unseen. The episode wraps up with reflections on “Last Shift” as a masterclass in suspense and an exploration of how trauma shapes our lives.

Listeners are advised to tune in for future episodes, with a promise of more chilling discussions during the spooky season. Next month, Rachael will introduce Henrique to "A Killing of a Sacred Deer," setting the stage for even more insightful critiques on horror cinema.

Support Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!

Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]

Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by
HenFlix.com

Introducing: Urban Legends - Poisoned Halloween Candy

25 oktober 2024 | 32 min

Ep.291 – Retro Halloween Revelations - Halloween at the Strickfield Funeral Home

25 oktober 2024 | 41 min

Ep.290 – Never Buy a Halloween Mask From a Yard Sale

24 oktober 2024 | 41 min

Ep.289 – Dirt Babies - A Halloween Horror Story Filled with Creepy Creatures!

23 oktober 2024 | 139 min

Do You Even Movie? | Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981)

22 oktober 2024 | 95 min

Terrifying & True | The Chupacabra in the United States

21 oktober 2024 | 66 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Vanishing Lady" "The Skull That Walked" "Dead Ernest" "No Hiding Place"

20 oktober 2024 | 143 min

Ep.288 – Special Halloween Hours - A Night Shift You’ll Never Forget!

19 oktober 2024 | 38 min

9 Scary Halloween Horrors to Chill You!

18 oktober 2024 | 354 min

Ep.287 – Stalk - A Story of Lust, Fear, and Survival

17 oktober 2024 | 46 min

Ep.286 – The Last Carnovasch - A Halloween Mystery That Defies Time

16 oktober 2024 | 104 min

Do You Even Movie? | Scary Movie (1991) The Forgotten Horror-Comedy for Halloween!

15 oktober 2024 | 95 min

Terrifying & True | Bigfoot in Ohio - Real Sightings or Legends?

14 oktober 2024 | 68 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Death Has Claws" "We Dug It Up" "Confession" "The Man Who Heard Voices"

13 oktober 2024 | 135 min

Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allan Poe

12 oktober 2024 | 60 min

12 Shocking Stories of Halloween Terror!

11 oktober 2024 | 346 min

Ep.285 – The Strickfield Slasher - Haunted Film That Brings the Killer to Life

10 oktober 2024 | 58 min

Ep.284 – The Final Yes - A Haunting Vampire Tale of Choices and Consequences

9 oktober 2024 | 108 min

Do You Even Movie? | Trick (2019) A Thrilling Halloween Slasher Film Review

8 oktober 2024 | 84 min

Terrifying & True | Dyatlov Pass Mystery: What Happened to the Nine Hikers?

7 oktober 2024 | 17 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Hangman Won't Wait" "Mark My Grave" "Three Skeleton Key" "A Ghostly Game of Death"

6 oktober 2024 | 121 min

Ep.283 – I Went on a Halloween Hiking Trip with My Friends. My Reading Light Saved My Life.

5 oktober 2024 | 43 min

Ep.282 – Never Enter the Old Corn Maze on Halloween - A Terrifying Halloween Tale

4 oktober 2024 | 61 min

Six Shocking Stories of Halloween!

3 oktober 2024 | 158 min

Ep.281 – ERASURE - A Halloween Tale of a Cursed Movie Rental

2 oktober 2024 | 103 min

Do You Even Movie? | Cobweb (2023)

1 oktober 2024 | 88 min

Monthly Spooky | Lost Cats, Murdered Spies, and Friday the 13th!

30 september 2024 | 115 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Twelfth Juror"

29 september 2024 | 55 min

The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allan Poe

27 september 2024 | 45 min

Ep.280 – The Monster's Not Real - Survival and Horror in the African Wilderness

25 september 2024 | 57 min

Terrifying & True | The Legend of Boggy Creek - The Fouke Monster

23 september 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Author and the Thing"

22 september 2024 | 26 min

Do You Even Movie? | Class of 1984 (1982)

20 september 2024 | 98 min

Ep.279 – Be Careful What You Eat - Ghoulish Hunger and Survival!

18 september 2024 | 42 min

Terrifying & True | The Black Dahlia Murder - A Cold Case File Reopened

16 september 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Bloodwaters"

15 september 2024 | 32 min

Do You Even Movie? | Puppet Master 4 (1993)

13 september 2024 | 100 min

Ep.278 – I Was Sent to a Small Town Where Strange Things Were Happening

11 september 2024 | 37 min

Terrifying & True | Lights, Camera, Tragedy: The Death Of Brandon Lee

9 september 2024 | 18 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Party"

8 september 2024 | 34 min

Four Tales of Murder and Monsters from Shane Migliavacca!

6 september 2024 | 120 min

Ep.277 – Last Stand - Interdimensional Warriors vs. Hellweaver's Multiverse Destruction

4 september 2024 | 40 min

Terrifying & True | Project Blue Book: The Cold War, UFOS, and Air Force Secrets

2 september 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Visitor from Hades"

1 september 2024 | 24 min

SIX Monstrous Horrors from "Splatter" Joe Solmo to Give You Nightmares!

30 augusti 2024 | 115 min

Ep.276 – Book Return - A Terrifying Book Unleashes Ancient Evil!

28 augusti 2024 | 20 min

Monthly Spooky | Haunted Dolls for Sale, Monkeys on the Loose and Terrors of the Moon!

26 augusti 2024 | 130 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Sin Eater"

25 augusti 2024 | 27 min

A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe

23 augusti 2024 | 3 min

Ep.275 – The Last Vacation - A Harrowing Cruise Ship Nightmare!

21 augusti 2024 | 37 min

Terrifying & True | The Unassuming Butcher of Plainfield: Ed Gein

19 augusti 2024 | 19 min

Unkown Broadcast | "The Eye of Evil"

18 augusti 2024 | 32 min

Serial Killers Unleashed - Four Stories of Murderous Mayhem!

16 augusti 2024 | 112 min

Ep.274 – Twenty Two Minutes - A Gripping Paranormal Thriller

14 augusti 2024 | 25 min

Terrifying & True | The Mystery of the Bermuda Triangle

12 augusti 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Strange Passenger"

11 augusti 2024 | 26 min

Do You Even Movie? | I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997)

9 augusti 2024 | 99 min

Ep.273 – Camping Alone Can Be Terrifying, Especially When Something’s Hunting You!

7 augusti 2024 | 35 min

Terrifying & True | The Bizarre Story of the Watcher House

5 augusti 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "At the Point of the Needle"

4 augusti 2024 | 27 min

Portals - Vampires Rule Another World and They Are HUNGRY!

2 augusti 2024 | 131 min

Ep.272 – Portals 5 of 5 - The Shocking and Bloodsoaked Finale!

31 juli 2024 | 31 min

Monthly Spooky | Talking Dolls, Demon Voices and Sleep Paraylsis!

29 juli 2024 | 133 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Dream"

28 juli 2024 | 31 min

Monster Man (2003) | Do You Even Movie?

26 juli 2024 | 85 min

Ep.271 – Portals 4 of 5 - Can You Stop a World of Vampires?!

24 juli 2024 | 32 min

Terrifying & True | Discovering The Haunting Zone of Sleep Paralysis

22 juli 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Deadline for Death"

21 juli 2024 | 53 min

Beloved Physician by Edgar Allan Poe

19 juli 2024 | 3 min

Ep.270 – Portals 3 of 5 - A World of Vampires is Born!

17 juli 2024 | 34 min

Terrifying & True | Marty Markowitz - My Therapist Took Over My Life

16 juli 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Boiling Sea"

14 juli 2024 | 32 min

To My Mother by Edgar Allan Poe

12 juli 2024 | 3 min

Ep.269 – Portals 2 of 5 - Can You Escape the Vampires!?

10 juli 2024 | 33 min

Terrifying & True | The Mysterious Tale of the Lake Champlain Monster

8 juli 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Haunted Cell"

7 juli 2024 | 31 min

Summer Scares - 6 Tales of Hot Horrors!

5 juli 2024 | 138 min

Ep.268 – Portals 1 of 5 - Another Dimension Full of Bloodthirst!

3 juli 2024 | 31 min

Terrifying & True | The Dating Game Killer - Unmasking a Serial Predator

1 juli 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Dead Walk at Night"

30 juni 2024 | 26 min

Do You Even Movie? | The Raven (1963) starring Vincent Price

28 juni 2024 | 105 min

Ep.267 – Fool's Hill - A Haunting Tales of Mystery and Murder!

26 juni 2024 | 35 min

Monthly Spooky | Haunted Hospitals, Imaginary Friends, and False Memories

24 juni 2024 | 124 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Red Forest"

23 juni 2024 | 32 min

Do You Even Movie? | Slumber Party Massacre (1982)

21 juni 2024 | 89 min

The April Fool - A Strickfield Series PATREON EXCLUSIVE

20 juni 2024 | 13 min

Ep.266 – I Used to Work in a Fire Tower with a Strange Set of Rules PART 2

19 juni 2024 | 42 min

Terrifying & True | Exploring Djinn Legends: Mysteries and Mythology Unveiled

17 juni 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Murders in the Rue Morgue"

16 juni 2024 | 47 min

Do You Even Movie? | Roger Corman's Frankenstein Unbound (1990)

14 juni 2024 | 78 min

Ep.265 – I Used to Work in a Fire Tower with a Strange Set of Rules PART 1

12 juni 2024 | 42 min

Terrifying & True | Jasmine Richardson – The Story Of A Young Girl's Lethal Pact with a 'Werewolf'

10 juni 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Bullet"

9 juni 2024 | 32 min

Do You Even Movie? | Humanoids from the Deep (1980)

7 juni 2024 | 75 min

Ep.264 – Cesspool: A Love Story - Aquatic Monsters are on the Loose!

5 juni 2024 | 45 min

Terrifying & True | Unearthing the Dark Secrets of The ‘Money Pit’ Of Oak Island

3 juni 2024 | 21 min

Unknown Broadcast | "No Rest for the Dead"

2 juni 2024 | 28 min

Murder Mansion - Enter This Deadly Home!

31 maj 2024 | 98 min

Ep.263 – Sin - Dark Rituals and Sinister Secrets

29 maj 2024 | 40 min

Monthly Spooky | Haunted Highways, Killer Worms and Haunted Apartments!

27 maj 2024 | 152 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Life Ends at Midnight"

26 maj 2024 | 32 min

Do You Even Movie? | Urban Legend (1998)

24 maj 2024 | 108 min

Ep.262 – I Never Believed the Stories About the Abandoned Mining Town. Until...

22 maj 2024 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | Who Put Bella In The Wych Elm?

20 maj 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Meteorman"

19 maj 2024 | 26 min

The Lake by Edgar Allan Poe

17 maj 2024 | 3 min

Ep.261 – Bigfoot at the Coast - Something HAIRY is on the Hunt!

15 maj 2024 | 29 min

Terrifying & True | The Unsolved Terror of The Axeman of New Orleans

13 maj 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Typhoon"

12 maj 2024 | 32 min

Never Bet the Devil Your Head by Edgar Allan Poe

10 maj 2024 | 27 min

Ep.260 – First Date - A Fun Evening Crashed by a Ghost!

8 maj 2024 | 26 min

Terrifying & True | The Poltergeist Film Curse

6 maj 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Knock at the Door"

5 maj 2024 | 29 min

Five Tales of Ancient Evil!

3 maj 2024 | 131 min

Ep.259 – The Creature From Richardson's Lake - At Night IT Hunts You!

1 maj 2024 | 26 min

Monthly Spooky | Feeding Friends to Bigfoot, Lake Monsters, and Eating Bugs!

29 april 2024 | 134 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Body Snatchers"

28 april 2024 | 32 min

Ep.258 – Hellweaver - A Video Game That is Truly KILLER

24 april 2024 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | Solving the Mystery of ‘The Body on Somerton Beach'

22 april 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Corpse Laughs"

21 april 2024 | 28 min

Do You Even Movie? | April Fool's Day (1995)

19 april 2024 | 93 min

Ep.257 – We Were Hunted by Something Terrifying in the Woods

17 april 2024 | 48 min

Terrifying & True | The Liquid Matthew Murder

15 april 2024 | 18 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Smile"

14 april 2024 | 48 min

Do You Even Movie? | Dead of Winter (1987) Mary Steenburgen, Roddy McDowall

12 april 2024 | 72 min

Ep.256 – The Last Flight Out - Try to Survive to Your Destination!

10 april 2024 | 38 min

Terrifying & True | The Good Hart Murders Of The Robison Family

8 april 2024 | 19 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Sand Castle"

7 april 2024 | 47 min

The Eerie '80s... 1880's! 5 Stories of Cowboys, Vampires, and MURDER in the Old West!

5 april 2024 | 122 min

Ep.255 – Horton's New Diary - Be Careful What You Write!

3 april 2024 | 24 min

Terrifying & True | The Mary Morris Murders: A Chilling Tale of Coincidence and Mystery

1 april 2024 | 17 min

Unknown Broadcast | "In Fear and Trembling"

31 mars 2024 | 32 min

10 Ghost Stories - A Monstrous Marathon of Haunting Horrors!

29 mars 2024 | 239 min

Ep.254 – Thrifting Fail - We’re Now HAUNTED!

27 mars 2024 | 22 min

Monthly Spooky | Vanishing Hitchhikers, Bugs in Your Nose, and a Ghostly Love Triangle!

25 mars 2024 | 121 min

Unknown Broadcast | "I Warn You Three Times"

24 mars 2024 | 46 min

Ep.253 – Mortal Eclipse - The Sun Brings Evil Changes!

20 mars 2024 | 38 min

Terrifying & True | Barn Butchery - The Hinterkaifeck Murders

18 mars 2024 | 17 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Tell Tale Heart"

17 mars 2024 | 30 min

Do You Even Movie? | Bad Moon (1996) An Underrated Werewolf Gem

15 mars 2024 | 77 min

Ep.252 – I used to be a doctor in an insane asylum. My patient destroyed my world.

13 mars 2024 | 41 min

Terrifying & True | What Happened to Bill Sparkman?

11 mars 2024 | 16 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Old Ones are Hard to Kill"

10 mars 2024 | 44 min

The Sphinx by Edgar Allan Poe

8 mars 2024 | 15 min

Ep.251 – Catching a Buzz - These Bugs are as Deadly as they are HUNGRY!

6 mars 2024 | 38 min

Terrifying & True | The Kidnapping and Murder of Junko Furuta

4 mars 2024 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "One Hundred in the Dark"

3 mars 2024 | 32 min

Horror 421 Interviews Henrique Couto - 2024

1 mars 2024 | 63 min

Ep.250 – Till DEATH Do Us Part - Nefarious Nuptials from Hell!

28 februari 2024 | 24 min

Monthly Spooky | Valentine's Gifts Gone Wrong, Mothman and Roasted Groundhog!

26 februari 2024 | 126 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Devil in the Summer House"

25 februari 2024 | 33 min

Ep.249 – Terror On Your Radio Dial - Tune in and YOU'RE DEAD

21 februari 2024 | 26 min

Best of 2023: Gloverville - The Neighbors Next Door Aren't What They Seem...

19 februari 2024 | 41 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Dear Ghost"

18 februari 2024 | 32 min

Do You Even Movie? | My Bloody Valentine (1981)

16 februari 2024 | 98 min

Ep.248 – Slasher: Valentine Screams - When Movies Get DEADLY

14 februari 2024 | 95 min

Slashback | Slasher 1 & 2 - Making Films Can Be MURDER!

12 februari 2024 | 71 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Man Without a Body"

11 februari 2024 | 33 min

3 Bloody Valentine's Stories!

9 februari 2024 | 85 min

Ep.247 – Gamble with the Devil - Macho Mercenary vs. Blood Hungry Cultists!

7 februari 2024 | 44 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Lost Dog"

4 februari 2024 | 44 min

Do You Even Movie? | Ravenous (1999) Cannibalism in the Old West!

2 februari 2024 | 97 min

Ep.246 – Homecoming Queen Killer 5 of 5 - The Gore Soaked Finale!

31 januari 2024 | 34 min

Monthly Spooky | Something Living in Your Ear, A Ghost Smell and Good Dogs as Heroes

29 januari 2024 | 127 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Four Time Loser"

28 januari 2024 | 26 min

Ep.245 – Homecoming Queen Killer 4 of 5 - A Bloody Love Triangle!

24 januari 2024 | 33 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Hitchhiker"

21 januari 2024 | 32 min

Ep.244 – Homecoming Queen Killer 3 of 5 - Who Can Surive?!

17 januari 2024 | 34 min

Best of 2023: Prom Night of the Dead FULL MINI-SERIES

15 januari 2024 | 109 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Judas Clock"

14 januari 2024 | 29 min

A Reading From My Snowed in Cabin of The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

12 januari 2024 | 10 min

Ep.243 – Homecoming Queen Killer 2 of 5 - Competition is Getting BLOODY

10 januari 2024 | 34 min

Best of 2023: Blood and Snow - A Brutal Blizzard Hides the Flesh Hungry Truth!

8 januari 2024 | 97 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Malice Aforethought"

7 januari 2024 | 33 min

SLASHBACK | Prom Queen Killer - The Dance of DEATH Before Homecoming!

5 januari 2024 | 97 min

Ep.242 – Homecoming Queen Killer 1 of 5 - She's Back From the GRAVE!

3 januari 2024 | 36 min

Best of 2023: Over the Scare

1 januari 2024 | 56 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Russian New Year"

31 december 2023 | 30 min

4 Terrifying New Years Stories to Ring in FEAR!

29 december 2023 | 88 min

Ep.241 – Alien Zombie Punks from Upstate New York - It's an Undead Party!

27 december 2023 | 26 min

Monthly Spooky | Rats Overrunning Everyone, Killer Ghost Breaking Glasses and a NEW GHOST STORY!

25 december 2023 | 147 min

Unknown Broadcast | A Christmas Carol and More Holiday Ghosts!

24 december 2023 | 209 min

Ep.240 – Inner Raige - A Bloody Christmas in PRISON!

23 december 2023 | 60 min

Ep.239 – Christmas Arcadia - A Video Game You Can't ESCAPE!

22 december 2023 | 105 min

Babysitter Massacre: Camp Carnage FULL AUDIOBOOK

21 december 2023 | 257 min

Ep.238 – Scary Christmas To All - Who's Getting SLAUGHTER in Their Stocking?!

20 december 2023 | 45 min

Ep.237 – The Day that Santa Died - They Want Saint Nick DEAD!

19 december 2023 | 31 min

4 Truly Twisted Christmas Horror Stories!

19 december 2023 | 119 min

Ep.236 – Home Sweet Horror - Krampus is Loose and Wants REVENGE!

18 december 2023 | 97 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Speak of the Devil" "A Tooth for Paul Revere" "The Dark" "A Shroud for Sarah"

17 december 2023 | 113 min

Ep.235 – Santas Little Helper - This Little Elf has BIG TEETH

16 december 2023 | 24 min

Ep.234 – Christmas at Pendleton Way Station - A Holiday in the APOCALYPSE

15 december 2023 | 48 min

Christmas Horror Books with Cameron Chaney of “Library Macabre”

14 december 2023 | 82 min

Ep.233 – Christmas at the Psych Ward - Deck the Halls WITH BLOOD!

13 december 2023 | 37 min

Ep.232 – Doorway to Horror - Holiday Portal to Undead HELL

12 december 2023 | 65 min

Terrifying & True | Ronald Gene Simmons - A Blood Red Christmas

11 december 2023 | 15 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Cold Storage" "Habit" "Murder Comes at Midnight" "Nothing Up My Sleeve"

10 december 2023 | 132 min

Ep.231 – A Christmas to Remember - The TRUE COST of the Perfect Gift!

9 december 2023 | 23 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984)

8 december 2023 | 126 min

The Definitive List of Christmas Horror Films to Watch

7 december 2023 | 109 min

Ep.230 – The Mall Overnight - A Very Scary Christmas!

6 december 2023 | 99 min

Introducing: Do You Even Movie? | Don't Open Till Christmas

5 december 2023 | 67 min

Terrifying & True | The Oklahoma City Butcher

4 december 2023 | 14 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Resident Killer" "Casting the Runes" "Author and the Thing" "A Statement of Fact"

3 december 2023 | 118 min

5 More Bloody Christmas Horror Stories!

1 december 2023 | 122 min

THE WEEKEND - A Strickfield Series PATREON EXCLUSIVE

30 november 2023 | 15 min

Ep.229 – Twelve Days - The Horrors of Space at Christmas

29 november 2023 | 25 min

Monthly Spooky | Wild Bears, Ghost Girls, and the Wendigo!

27 november 2023 | 174 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Voice That Wouldn't Die" "The Fast One"

26 november 2023 | 71 min

7 Christmas Horror Stories to Chill You!

24 november 2023 | 140 min

Ep.228 – Homecoming - Thanksgiving Dinner is YOU!

22 november 2023 | 49 min

Terrifying & True | Who is D.B. Cooper?

20 november 2023 | 21 min

Unknown Broadcast | "The Lost Ship" "State Executioner"

19 november 2023 | 49 min

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

17 november 2023 | 4 min

Ep.227 – Newborn - You Awaken to a New Life and NEW HUNGER

15 november 2023 | 41 min

Terrifying & True | The Conspiracy Conman Thierry Tilly

13 november 2023 | 15 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Carnival in Vienna" "Chicken Heart"

12 november 2023 | 39 min

The Happiest Day by Edgar Allan Poe

10 november 2023 | 3 min

Ep.226 – Horror at the Hexagon House Inn - A Return to Black Springs!

8 november 2023 | 31 min

Terrifying & True | The Lake Bodom Murders

6 november 2023 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Something on His Mind" "The Silver Shoe"

5 november 2023 | 58 min

4 Thanksgiving Horror Stories!

3 november 2023 | 105 min

Ep.225 – Ghost Story - A House That Will ALWAYS HAUNT YOU!

1 november 2023 | 29 min

Ep.224 – Inbetween - A Halloween Unlike Any Other!

31 oktober 2023 | 32 min

Monthly Spooky | Dangerous Haunts, Killer Rides, Celebrate Halloween Like Its 1914!

30 oktober 2023 | 147 min

14 Tales of Edgar Allan Poe - Cozy Classic Scary Stories

29 oktober 2023 | 154 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Hello Down There" "The Open Boat" "Devil's Due" "Crank Letter"

28 oktober 2023 | 113 min

Ep.223 – Caroline Quinn: Vampire Hunter - She Doesn't Take Halloween Off...

28 oktober 2023 | 69 min

Halloween Radio 2023 - 22 Spooky Songs to Jam Out!

27 oktober 2023 | 79 min

Ep.222 – The Portal - An All Night Movie Fest Turns into a Bloodsucker's Dream!

27 oktober 2023 | 45 min

Babysitter Massacre: Family Splatters FULL AUDIOBOOK

26 oktober 2023 | 270 min

Ep.221 – Return to the Cry Baby Bridge - Halloween Legend Turned CURSE!

25 oktober 2023 | 107 min

Ep.220 – Tricks and Treats Vol. 2 - 3 Stories of Halloween Mayhem!

24 oktober 2023 | 54 min

Terrifying & True | The Liske Family Massacre on Halloween

23 oktober 2023 | 20 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Poltergeist" "The Visit" "Sleep is for Children" "Three Skeleton Key"

22 oktober 2023 | 111 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Murder Party (2007) The Art Scene Gets Gory!

21 oktober 2023 | 116 min

Ep.219 – Sweet Revenge - Candy Jack Comes Back for Revenge!

20 oktober 2023 | 59 min

Babysitter Massacre: Daddy's Little Killer FULL AUDIOBOOK

19 oktober 2023 | 208 min

Ep.218 – Send Beer - Even in the Apocalypse Work Sucks

18 oktober 2023 | 29 min

Ep.217 – New Life on Halloween - Mutants and Mayhem are Loose!

17 oktober 2023 | 98 min

Terrifying & True | The Murder of Martha Moxley

16 oktober 2023 | 18 min

Unknown Broadcast | "See Your Face" and "Waxwork"

15 oktober 2023 | 54 min

Six More Devious Tales of Halloween!

14 oktober 2023 | 170 min

Ep.216 – Future Taibon - Monsters of the Future are here TODAY!

13 oktober 2023 | 45 min

Ep.215 – Vampire Night - A Bachelorette Party Crashed by BLOODSUCKERS!

12 oktober 2023 | 130 min

Ep.214 – A Zombies Halloween - Candy and HUMAN FLESH are Treats!

11 oktober 2023 | 39 min

Books for Halloween with Cameron Chaney of “Library Macabre”

10 oktober 2023 | 108 min

Terrifying & True | The Killing of Japanese Exchange Student Yoshihiro Hattori

9 oktober 2023 | 17 min

Unknown Broadcast | "A Night in Murder’s Den" and "Spiders"

8 oktober 2023 | 54 min

Six Horrifying Tales of HALLOWEEN!

7 oktober 2023 | 186 min

Ep.213 – Burn on the Bayou - A Halloween Party TO DIE FOR

6 oktober 2023 | 38 min

Ep.212 – Strife of the Party - Office Halloween Parties Can Get WEIRD

5 oktober 2023 | 57 min

Ep.211 – A New Halloween Legend - Truth is More Gruesome Than Fiction!

4 oktober 2023 | 103 min

The Definitive List of Halloween Films to Watch

3 oktober 2023 | 136 min

Terrifying & True | The Egging Murder

2 oktober 2023 | 16 min

Unknown Broadcast | "Violent Night" and "Execution"

1 oktober 2023 | 59 min

The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe

29 september 2023 | 7 min

Ep.210 – The Piano Witch - Time for a Lesson in EVIL!

27 september 2023 | 33 min

Monthly Spooky | Halloween Around the World, Skinwalker Ranch, and YOGA DEATH STUDIO!

25 september 2023 | 131 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Dark Nature (2022)

22 september 2023 | 78 min

Ep.209 – Mad As Hell - The Halloween Spirit Can Be Deadly

20 september 2023 | 54 min

Terrifying & True | The Disappearance of Amber Wilde

18 september 2023 | 17 min

Bonus Spooky - Splintered in Her Head by Morgan Moore

15 september 2023 | 25 min

Ep.208 – I Hate Working at the Gas Station After Discovering Their Dark Secret

13 september 2023 | 41 min

Terrifying & True | Henry Lee Lucas - The Confession Killer

11 september 2023 | 23 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | The Host (2006)

8 september 2023 | 126 min

Ep.207 – The House in the Woods - Something Worse Lurks Inside!

6 september 2023 | 18 min

Terrifying & True | Kenneth, What is the Frequency - The Attack on Dan Rather

4 september 2023 | 17 min

Freaky Food and Demonic Drink - Seven Stories of Depraved Delicacy

1 september 2023 | 178 min

Ep.206 – Feline Troubles - Furry Terror is Waiting in the Dark!

30 augusti 2023 | 18 min

Monthly Spooky | Invading Bunnies, Screams from an Abandoned Island and a Sea Otter Who's SO COOL!

28 augusti 2023 | 149 min

To Her Whose Name is Written Below by Edgar Allan Poe

25 augusti 2023 | 3 min

Ep.205 – I Guard Windmills and I’m Not Sure if I’ll Survive the Shift

23 augusti 2023 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | Urban Legends of Pakistan

21 augusti 2023 | 19 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Barbarian (2022)

18 augusti 2023 | 121 min

Ep.204 – Welcome To Black Springs - What is Hiding in this Sleepy Town?

16 augusti 2023 | 25 min

Terrifying & True | The Ashland Massacre

14 augusti 2023 | 19 min

Ghoulish Getaways - Five Stories of Fun and Sun and CARNAGE!

11 augusti 2023 | 110 min

Ep.203 – Suspended - Some Forbidden love is DEADLY

9 augusti 2023 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | The Disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa

7 augusti 2023 | 22 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Funny Games (2007)

4 augusti 2023 | 80 min

Ep.202 – The Stop-Sign Man - This Legend is DEADLY

2 augusti 2023 | 41 min

Monthly Spooky | Screams from UNDER THE BASEMENT, Monster Fish and The Philadelphia Experiment

31 juli 2023 | 155 min

The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe

28 juli 2023 | 19 min

Ep.201 – Hell Hath No Fury - A Wronged Woman NEVER RESTS!

26 juli 2023 | 33 min

Terrifying & True | The Unsolved Mysteries of the Titanic

24 juli 2023 | 20 min

Looking Back at 200 Episodes of Weekly Spooky

21 juli 2023 | 61 min

Ep.200 – Over the Scare - DEAD AIR is the Least of Their Worries!

19 juli 2023 | 64 min

Terrifying & True | The Lost Colony of Roanoke

17 juli 2023 | 20 min

Imitation by Edgar Allan Poe

14 juli 2023 | 3 min

Ep.199 – Cruel Moon - You Are Changing... and HUNGRY

12 juli 2023 | 25 min

Terrifying & True | Danny LaPlante - The Boy in the Walls

10 juli 2023 | 18 min

Summer Slayings - Fun, Sun and MASSACRES

7 juli 2023 | 152 min

Ep.198 – These Dark Woods - A Hungry Beasts is Stalking You!

5 juli 2023 | 52 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Possession (1981) - Break-up Horror at its WEIRDEST

30 juni 2023 | 92 min

Ep.197 – Prom Night of the Dead 4 of 4 - The Deadly Conclusion!

28 juni 2023 | 33 min

Monthly Spooky | Tasting Spirits, Mysterious Green Water, and the JERSEY DEVIL!

26 juni 2023 | 157 min

The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe

23 juni 2023 | 54 min

Ep.196 – Prom Night of the Dead 3 of 4 - Why is EVERYONE Dying?!

21 juni 2023 | 31 min

Terrifying & True | The Black Eyed Children

19 juni 2023 | 19 min

The Man That Was Used Up by Edgar Allan Poe

16 juni 2023 | 31 min

Ep.195 – Prom Night of the Dead 2 of 4 - Who's Next?!

14 juni 2023 | 34 min

Terrifying & True | Flannan Isles Lighthouse

12 juni 2023 | 22 min

Cutting Deep Into Horror | Hereditary - Family Sized Terror!

9 juni 2023 | 80 min

Ep.194 – Prom Night of the Dead 1 of 4 - Reading, Writing, and REVENGE

7 juni 2023 | 35 min

Terrifying & True | Room 1046 - The Mysterious Death of Roland T. Owen

5 juni 2023 | 23 min

Cryptid Corner - Five Tales of Monsters in the Darkness!

2 juni 2023 | 116 min

Ep.193 – Breaking the Seal - Taking a Leak Could KILL

31 maj 2023 | 17 min

Monthly Spooky | Body Parts for Sale, Unexplained Pasta, and JACK THE RIPPER

29 maj 2023 | 165 min

Prom Queen Killer - High School Popularity is DEADLY

26 maj 2023 | 98 min

Ep.192 – File 137 - The Future has ALL NEW FEAR!

24 maj 2023 | 26 min

Terrifying & True | The Curse of King Tut

22 maj 2023 | 21 min

Spirits of the Dead by Edgar Allan Poe

19 maj 2023 | 4 min

Ep.191 – Wolf Rage - Hair Raising Terror is Loose!

17 maj 2023 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | Refugees Dying in their Sleep

15 maj 2023 | 14 min

Fairyland by Edgar Allan Poe

12 maj 2023 | 4 min

Ep.190 – The Thin Place - In These Woods is an Ancient Curse

10 maj 2023 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | Wall Street Bombing of 1920

8 maj 2023 | 13 min

The Haunted Palace by Edgar Allan Poe

5 maj 2023 | 4 min

Ep.189 – The Eighth Abigail - When is DEAD Better?!

3 maj 2023 | 28 min

Terrifying & True | The Kidnapping of Bobby Dunbar

1 maj 2023 | 14 min

The Doomed City by Edgar Allan Poe

28 april 2023 | 5 min

Ep.188 – Friday Night Frights - This Sport is DEADLY

26 april 2023 | 38 min

Monthly Spooky | Haunted AirBnBs, Deja Vu, and Evil Dead RISE!

24 april 2023 | 135 min

The Conquerer Worm by Edgar Allan Poe

21 april 2023 | 4 min

Ep.187 – The House That Killed Me - It's NOT Abandoned!

19 april 2023 | 38 min

Terrifying & True | The Battle of Los Angeles

17 april 2023 | 17 min

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe

14 april 2023 | 12 min

Ep.186 – Night of the Tyrants - Meth Tweakers vs. Behemoths!

12 april 2023 | 46 min

Terrifying & True | The Unsolved Murder of Tupac Shakur

10 april 2023 | 16 min

Morella — A Tale by Edgar Allan Poe

7 april 2023 | 19 min

Ep.185 – Bloody Mary - Do you DARE Say Her Name?!

5 april 2023 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | The Unsolved Murder of David Hadaway

3 april 2023 | 19 min

Punching the Creepy Clock - 5 Stories of Work Related HORROR!

31 mars 2023 | 112 min

Ep.184 – Crime and Bedevilment - Something Sinister is Waiting...

29 mars 2023 | 32 min

Monthly Spooky | Haunted Photos, Crybaby Bridges, and a Cocaine Cat!

27 mars 2023 | 121 min

Horror 421 Interviews Henrique Couto

24 mars 2023 | 77 min

Ep.183 – Blood and Snow - A Brutal Blizzard Hides the Flesh Hungry Truth!

22 mars 2023 | 101 min

Terrifying & True | The Shark Arm Murders - Australia's Notorious Killing

20 mars 2023 | 14 min

Introducing: Horror 421 - Bram Stoker Award Winning Author Jeff Strand

17 mars 2023 | 62 min

Ep.182 – Tarnished Gold - How Far Would You Go to be GREAT?

15 mars 2023 | 42 min

Terrifying & True | Werewolf of Defiance, Ohio - A Creature Terrorizes a Small Town!

13 mars 2023 | 17 min

Ghost Stories Vol .1 - Five Terrifying Stories of the Paranormal!

10 mars 2023 | 141 min

Ep.181 – I Know Who You Are - What Lurks in the Woods?!

8 mars 2023 | 25 min

Terrifying & True | Lake Michigan Triangle - The Great Lakes Hold Many Mysteries!

6 mars 2023 | 16 min

Ep.180 – A Night at the Galleria - The Mall is Closed Can You ESCAPE?

1 mars 2023 | 29 min

Monthly Spooky | Black Eyed Children, Haunted Rings and a Cocaine Bear

27 februari 2023 | 88 min

Ep.179 – Ghosts in the Machine - Something Sinister is Behind that Screen!

22 februari 2023 | 26 min

Terrifying & True | The Drowning of Natalie Wood

20 februari 2023 | 20 min

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

17 februari 2023 | 10 min

Ep.178 – Gloverville - The Neighbors Next Door Aren't What They Seem...

15 februari 2023 | 46 min

Terrifying & True | Without A Trace - The Disappearance of Karlie Lain Guse

13 februari 2023 | 21 min

INTRODUCING: Weird Darkness!

11 februari 2023 | 58 min

Five Stories of Love and DEATH Vol. 2

10 februari 2023 | 129 min

Ep.177 – Slasher II: Valentines Day - Making Movies is CUT THROAT

8 februari 2023 | 46 min

Terrifying & True | Terror in Toledo - Murderers Anthony and Nathaniel Cook

6 februari 2023 | 18 min

Five Disturbing Tales of Love and Blood! Vol 1.

3 februari 2023 | 124 min

Ep.176 – Incident at Isotope Inn - Can You Escape Bloodthirsty Maniacs?

1 februari 2023 | 47 min

Monthly Spooky | Funeral HOMES, Swallowing Legos and DEADLY LOVE!

30 januari 2023 | 146 min

Five Stories of Wolf Beasts!

27 januari 2023 | 118 min

Ep.175 – Rage's End 4 of 4 - A Truly Bloody Finale!

25 januari 2023 | 33 min

Terrifying & True | The Circleville Letters

23 januari 2023 | 17 min

Ep.174 – Rage's End 3 of 4 - Secrets Are Coming Out!

18 januari 2023 | 33 min

Terrifying & True | West Side Park Murders

16 januari 2023 | 24 min

Spooky on the Road | More Michigan with Ashley Hilt

13 januari 2023 | 72 min

Ep.173 – Rage's End 2 of 4 - There's Nowhere Left to Hide!

11 januari 2023 | 31 min

Terrifying & True | The Keddie Cabin Murders

9 januari 2023 | 22 min

Spooky on the Road | Michigan with Stew Miller

7 januari 2023 | 42 min

Ep.172 – Rage's End 1 of 4 - Who Wants to KILL a Killer?

4 januari 2023 | 32 min

Terrifying & True | The Texas Killing Fields

2 januari 2023 | 30 min

"The Angel of Death" Rage Collection - 5 Terror Tales of Your Favorite Serial Killer!

30 december 2022 | 150 min

Ep.171 – Stakes 'n Shoguns - New Year's is a Bloody Good Time!

28 december 2022 | 19 min

Monthly Spooky | Porn Stars, Grinches, and Golems!

26 december 2022 | 113 min

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

24 december 2022 | 6 min

My First Scary Stories - Tales of Revenge, Murder and Monsters Just for You!

23 december 2022 | 100 min

Ep.170 – Dead Silent Night - You Can't Get Away with Being Naughty!

21 december 2022 | 35 min

Terrifying & True | The Covina Christmas Massacre

19 december 2022 | 17 min

Christmas Scary Stories Vol. 2 - Seven Holiday Horrors to Hear by the Fire!

16 december 2022 | 175 min

Ep.169 – Operation Deadly Night - The Machines are Tired of Being Your Slave!

14 december 2022 | 31 min

Terrifying & True | The Sodder Family Christmas Mystery

12 december 2022 | 21 min

Christmas Scary Stories Vol. 1 - Five Ghoul-Tide Horrors To Chill You!

9 december 2022 | 120 min

Ep.168 – Krampus is Comin' - This Christmas Spirit Wants BLOOD!

7 december 2022 | 43 min

Terrifying & True | The Story of Krampus - He's NOT Santa Claus!

5 december 2022 | 20 min

Ep.167 – Santa Claus is Killin' the Town - The Slay Bells are Ringing!

30 november 2022 | 32 min

Monthly Spooky | Horrifying Christmas Origins, Video Games that KILL and Bigfoot Wants a Friend!

28 november 2022 | 139 min

Ep.166 – Turkey Terror - The Thanksgiving Hunt is On!

23 november 2022 | 21 min

Terrifying & True | Bury Me While Singing - The Mysterious Death of Chalino Sanchez

21 november 2022 | 16 min

Ep.165 – Lucien Greyshire and the Ghost from Applebees - Being Dead is Only the Beginning!

16 november 2022 | 24 min

Terrifying & True | La Mancha Negra - A Dangerous Black Goo in Venezuela

14 november 2022 | 15 min

Ep.164 – The Fall of Man - It Takes KILLER Instinct to Succeed

9 november 2022 | 25 min

Terrifying & True | The Alaska Triangle - What Secrets Are Hidden in the Great White North?

7 november 2022 | 21 min

Ep.163 – Angel in Babysitting - Killing is on Her Resume!

2 november 2022 | 38 min

Ep.162 – The Night Stocker - Halloween in This Supermarket Gets BLOODY!

31 oktober 2022 | 39 min

Family Friendly Scary Stories Vol. 2 - Five More Halloween Tales to Scare the Kiddies and YOU!

28 oktober 2022 | 118 min

Ep.161 – Tricks and Treats - Halloween has Many Evils Lurking in the Dark...

26 oktober 2022 | 41 min

Monthly Spooky | Witch's Tower, Bigfoot on the Loose and Halloween Tips with Crepe!

24 oktober 2022 | 143 min

Family Friendly Scary Stories Vol. 1 - Five Halloween Tales to Scare the Kiddies and YOU!

21 oktober 2022 | 123 min

Ep.160 – Ghost in the Graveyard - On Halloween Spirits Are on the Loose!

19 oktober 2022 | 39 min

Terrifying & True | Halloween Candy Panic - Are Your Treats POISONED?

17 oktober 2022 | 24 min

Ep.159 – The Grinner - Halloween Tricks Can Make You Lose Your Head!

14 oktober 2022 | 25 min

Ep.158 – Origin of the Pumpkin Man - Some Halloween Treats are Worse than Tricks!

12 oktober 2022 | 32 min

Terrifying & True | History of Chain Letters - Share or DIE!

10 oktober 2022 | 21 min

Ep.157 – Dullahan - A Headless Horseman is Coming for YOU!

5 oktober 2022 | 22 min

Terrifying & True | The Murders at Corpsewood Manor

3 oktober 2022 | 21 min

Ep.156 – Blood Rage - Serial Killer vs. Vampire in a Fight to the DEATH!

28 september 2022 | 36 min

Monthly Spooky | Child Ghosts, Weird Meat, and La Llorona Here to Drown You!

26 september 2022 | 118 min

Ep.155 – Not Them - Is a Monster Hiding in Plain Sight?!

21 september 2022 | 19 min

Terrifying & True | Texarkana Murders - The Phantom Killer

19 september 2022 | 24 min

Ep.154 – Ophiuchus - This Video Game is Playing for YOUR SOUL!

14 september 2022 | 25 min

Terrifying & True | The Torture Basement - The Tragic Murder of Sylvia Likens

12 september 2022 | 21 min

Ep.153 – The Charnel House - A Funeral Home You'll be DYING TO LEAVE!

7 september 2022 | 22 min

Terrifying & True | A First Hand Account of Being Stalked!

5 september 2022 | 16 min

Ep.152 – New Awakenings - YOU are a BRAIN HUNGRY ZOMBIE!

31 augusti 2022 | 39 min

Monthly Spooky | Dancing Coffins, Bodies Bodies Bodies, and an OLD HAG ON YOUR CHEST!

29 augusti 2022 | 126 min

Ep.151 – Convenience Store Vampire - This Store is Open Past Twilight!

24 augusti 2022 | 21 min

Terrifying & True | The Missing Paperboys of Des Moines

22 augusti 2022 | 22 min

Ep.150 – Ol' Bones - An Ancient Evil Is SO HUNGRY

17 augusti 2022 | 29 min

Terrifying & True | American Ghost Ship: The Mary Celeste

15 augusti 2022 | 25 min

Ep.149 – By the Horns - These Cows are Hungry... FOR YOU!

10 augusti 2022 | 28 min

Ep.148 – I Used to Drive a Delivery Truck, Until the Incident - Are You Truly Alone?!

3 augusti 2022 | 25 min

Monthly Spooky | Sharks, Vampires, and a Town on Fire for 50 years!

1 augusti 2022 | 91 min

Weekly Spooky Trailer - 2022

1 augusti 2022 | 1 min

Ep.147 – Murder Mansion 4 of 4 - Things Are NOT What They Seem!

27 juli 2022 | 30 min

Behind the Spooky #04 - "Splatter" Joe Solmo

25 juli 2022 | 30 min

Ep.146 – Murder Mansion 3 of 4 - What Evil Lurks in the Shadows?

20 juli 2022 | 30 min

Ep.145 – Murder Mansion 2 of 4 - Who Will Escape, and What Will Be Left of Them?

13 juli 2022 | 31 min

Ep.144 – Murder Mansion 1 of 4 - What Secrets Are Kept in This Dark House?!

6 juli 2022 | 33 min

Ep.143 – Heart of Fire, Heart of Stone - This Boy is Capable of TOTAL MAYHEM

29 juni 2022 | 28 min

Behind the Spooky #03 - Author Rob Fields

27 juni 2022 | 27 min

Ep.142 – CARDBOARD - It is NOT WHAT IT SEEMS!

22 juni 2022 | 18 min

Ep.141 – The Spirit of Langley Pond - A Ghost Haunts These Waters!

15 juni 2022 | 50 min

Ep.140 – Hog Wild - Hungry Creatures CRAVE HUMAN FLESH

8 juni 2022 | 28 min

Ep.139 – Bella's Holiday - Sand, Surf, and MURDEROUS MONSTERS!

1 juni 2022 | 39 min

Ep.138 – Calamity Jane vs. Dracula! 2 of 2 - Vampires Overrun Deadwood, Who Will Survive?!

25 maj 2022 | 36 min

Behind the Spooky #02 - Producer Dan Wilder

23 maj 2022 | 33 min

Ep.137 – Calamity Jane vs. Dracula! 1 of 2 - Can a Gunslinger Defeat the DEAD?!

18 maj 2022 | 36 min

Ep.136 – The Deal Was Great, But The Payments Are Hell - Time to Pay The DEMON!

11 maj 2022 | 22 min

Ep.135 – Zombillies - These Zombie Country Kids WILL EAT YOU!

4 maj 2022 | 38 min

Ep.134 – Why Am I Here? - This Game is DEADLY

27 april 2022 | 25 min

Behind The Spooky #01 - About the Host

25 april 2022 | 33 min

Ep.133 – Maggie Blue - As The Murder Begins PRAY YOU ARE INSANE!

20 april 2022 | 33 min

Ep.132 – Roxie - Where Does Love End and MURDER begin?!

13 april 2022 | 26 min

Ep.131 – Sick with Rage - Murder is as Contagious as the Flu!

6 april 2022 | 38 min

Ep.130 – The Trouble with Cousins - You Can't SEVER Family Ties!

30 mars 2022 | 27 min

Ep.129 – Love, Burgers, and the Open Road - Hitch onto the HIGHWAY TO HELL!

23 mars 2022 | 33 min

Ep.128 – Squirrels - MURDER Comes In Small Packages!

16 mars 2022 | 21 min

Ep.127 – Wings of Twilight - Are The Legends True or Are YOU INSANE?!

9 mars 2022 | 30 min

Ep.126 – Mary's Revenge - She Can't Be Stopped! YOU WILL DIE!

2 mars 2022 | 38 min

Ep.125 – The Tree in the House - This Terror will GROW ON YOU!

23 februari 2022 | 21 min

Ep.124 – It Never Snows in the Valley - Death Is Coming FROM THE SKIES!

16 februari 2022 | 28 min

Ep.123 – Lovers' Lane - Share Your HEART with Someone!

10 februari 2022 | 23 min

Ep.122 – The Truth About Groundhog Day - He Sees His Shadow YOU DIE!

2 februari 2022 | 37 min

Ep.121 – Prom Queen Killer 4 of 4 - The BLOODY Finale!

26 januari 2022 | 33 min

Ep.120 – Prom Queen Killer 3 of 4 - Who will MAKE THE CUT?!

19 januari 2022 | 33 min

Ep.119 – Prom Queen Killer 2 of 4 - Bodies Are Piling Up!

12 januari 2022 | 32 min

Ep.118 – Prom Queen Killer 1 of 4 - They're DYING to Win!

5 januari 2022 | 29 min

Ep.117 – A Few Cold Ones - New Year, New Fears!

29 december 2021 | 41 min

Ep.116 – Blood on the Snow - This Christmas Bodies are Piling Up!

25 december 2021 | 34 min

Ep.115 – All I Want For Christmas - Grave Consequences Come with this Gift!

22 december 2021 | 22 min

Ep.114 – Lady Frankenstein - This Christmas Eve is Bringing DEATH!

15 december 2021 | 39 min

Ep.113 – The Naughty List - Can You Escape an ICY HELL?

8 december 2021 | 29 min

Ep.112 – Christmas Cranberries - Is Santa Naughty or Nice?

1 december 2021 | 28 min

Ep.111 – Fiendsgiving - It's Thanksgiving and You're the MAIN COURSE!

24 november 2021 | 40 min

Ep.110 – Valley Rat - Small Towns Often Carry BIG SECRETS

17 november 2021 | 23 min

Ep.109 – Love Conquers All - This Monster Wants YOUR HEART!

10 november 2021 | 35 min

Ep.108 – Phantasmagoria - Death is Invading the Airwaves!

3 november 2021 | 28 min

Ep.107 – Mischief Night: The Halloween Invasion - These Visitors Want More Than Treats!

31 oktober 2021 | 53 min

Ep.106 – Halloween 198666 - Terrors of a Feather Flock Together!

27 oktober 2021 | 37 min

Ep.105 – A Wet 'n' Wild Halloween - Don't Go In the Water!

20 oktober 2021 | 43 min

Ep.104 – The Halloween Party - A Killer Good Time!

13 oktober 2021 | 32 min

Ep.103 – Retro Halloween Weekend - These Movies are to DIE FOR

6 oktober 2021 | 40 min

Ep.102 – Pumpkin Spice & Nothing Nice! - This Treat is a TRICK!

29 september 2021 | 30 min

Ep.101 – Boy Meets Ghoul - A Dinner Date FROM HELL

22 september 2021 | 41 min

Episode Notes
A hot date turns blood cold when things don't get exactly as you'd expect for this romance of a lifetime...
Boy Meets Ghoul by Rob Fields
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
Get Cool Merchandise https://weeklyspooky.storenvy.com
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Support Weekly Spooky by donating to their Tip Jar: https://tips.pinecast.com/jar/weekly-spooky
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Christian Shaeffer was having lunch with his friends outside at Clancy’s, a popular fast-food place among North Ridgeway High School students. The four of them were on the football team, talking about whatever. Then the subject of Christian’s upcoming date came up.
“Hey, how come you’re not telling us you got a date for Saturday night?” Eric Danvers asked. “How come we gotta hear about these things from Chelsea?”
Christian groaned. “Why does my little sister always have to be such a pain?”
“So about this date of yours . . .” Matthew Martinson inquired.
Jeffrey “Moose” Keegan put his hands up to his pecs and pretended to squeeze. “Does she have tits?” he rumbled.
Christian groaned again. “Man, Moose, you may be the biggest guy on our football team, but you got the dirtiest mind, too.”
Moose grinned mischievously. “Hey, a girl’s gotta have tits, brother. That’s just the way us men are. The bigger, the better . . .”
“You do realize you’re probably going to die alone, right?” Christian asked, half-serious.
Moose reached out and playfully shoved Christian’s shoulder. “C’mon, bro! Quit holding out here! Who is she? What’s she like?” He grinned mischievously again. “And does she have tits?”
When Christian realized his football brothers weren’t going to back off, he finally conceded. “Fine, you bastards . . . Her name is Chloe Anne Carmichael. I met her when we had our game with Strickfield High here a few weeks ago.”
“Whoa, dude! You’re really going out with a chick from Strickfield?” Eric asked. “Isn’t that like . . . I don’t know . . . dating the enemy or something?”
Christian pointed to him. “It ain’t no different than that cheerleader you’re seeing from Pendleton High.”
Eric raised his hands up in front of him. “Okay, okay . . .”
Christian continued. “So, we just beat Strickfield High and finished our showers. I was all set to get in my car and head out. Then I saw this other car with the hood up . . . and a girl underneath it. I went over to help her. Then she came out from under the hood and looked at me. I swear, she looks like she’s right out of the 50s! I mean she’s wearing a red-and-white polka-dot dress that goes down just past her knees. She’s even wearing those black-and-white shoes. You know . . . with the black across the middle.” He pointed to Matthew. “Your older sister has shoes like that.”
“Yeah, she does. Except Bethany’s into the 60s,” Matthew shared. “Okay, go on.”
Christian pointed quickly at Matthew. “And she looks exactly like Betty! From those Betty and Veronica comics your sister loves to read!”
Moose shot up out of his seat. “Oh, come on! What, you think we’re stupid or something? There ain’t no girl who looks like she’s right outta –”
But Christian shut him up when he brought up her picture on his smartphone and let everybody look at it for a moment. “Now do you believe me?”
“Damn! She really does look like Betty,” Matthew agreed. “Wait’ll Bethany hears about this.”
Moose leaned in. “This is just her face. Does she have tits?”
Christian groaned. “Okay, Moose! Yes! Okay? She’s a girl, and girls have tits. Okay?”
Moose grinned. “But are they big ones?”
Christian gave him the finger, getting a laugh from everybody. Then he got back to the subject. “Anyway, she had a loose wire under the hood. I fixed it for her. Then we got to talking for a while. We got each other’s phone numbers. We started texting and video chatting. Now we got a date for Saturday night. I’m going to pick her up at her place. She lives in the woods with her family just outside Strickfield.”
Then everybody just looked at Christian.
Christian just looked at everybody in return. “What?!”
“Man, you got your head up your ass or something?” Eric asked. “Don’t you know there are stories about those backwoods of Strickfield? You don’t want to be heading in there – especially at night.”
Christian groaned. “Seriously, what’s there to be scared of in those woods? I mean, come on . . . Strickfield’s own mayor lives in those woods. He still makes it to work every day, right?”
Matthew pointed at him. “But there have been stories about things that have happened in those woods. Stories about people dying out there . . . and even a few of them coming back to life. And then there are the stories about creatures lurking around in there. And even cannibals! There are just stories on top of stories.”
Eric pointed to Christian’s smartphone. “You should just text her and cancel, or have her meet you somewhere.”
Christian groaned again. “Come on, you guys! Really?! All those stories are just superstitious horseshit. I’m going on my date with Chloe Anne Carmichael on Saturday – end of discussion!”
Almost nobody said much of anything after Christian’s declaration. Even when they finished their lunches and headed back to North Ridgeway High for their afternoon classes . . .
Christian was driving through the woods on Saturday night and following the directions that his smartphone’s GPS was giving him. Christian did have to admit these woods near Strickfield did look quite spooky and seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Or maybe it was just the consistent fog that had a foreboding presence seemingly everywhere. Still, he was willing to suffer a few heebie jeebies to get to Chloe Anne Carmichael’s house.
“Prepare to turn left on Township Road 34 in one quarter mile!”
Christian gasped and pointed a shaky finger at his smartphone. Then he shook his head slowly. He couldn’t believe how he’d let his football brothers get to him. This wasn’t Halloween, for crying out loud! This was a date with a really hot girl who just happened to look like a hot classic female comic book character. Still, he kept his head on and made the turn when his GPS told him to. It wasn’t much longer after that when he had finally reached his destination.
Christian just sat in the car when he saw the Carmichael farmhouse. There were barely any lights on inside, and the fog really seemed murky and dismal around the farmhouse and huge yard. He even saw some cars that had been gathered near the barn. He started to wonder if anyone was even home. He was almost wondering if maybe he should just turn the car around and head back to North Ridgeway.
Suddenly, the porch room at the front entrance came ablaze with light. And then the door opened. Christian felt his spirits lift when he saw Chloe Anne Carmichael step outside. He got out of the car and went to meet her.
“Chloe Anne, hi!” Christian said. “I hope I’m not late. It’s a bit foggy out here.”
Christian thought Chloe Anne was truly breathtaking. She was wearing the very same red dress with white polka dots and those same shoes from the night he had first met her. She wore her blond hair down; the last time she wore it in a ponytail. For a brief moment, he remembered Moose talking about tits and noticed that Chloe Anne weren't too badly stacked.
Chloe Anne pointed to the car. “Could you shut that off for a smiggen? My parents wanna meet you.”
“Uh-oh . . .” Christian uttered jokingly.
Chloe Anne smiled. “Oh, ain’t nothin’ weird. They just wanna know who I’m goin’ out with tonight.” She sighed. “They wanna know who they gotta shoot ifin you don’t bring me back home on time.”
When Christian looked at her with wide eyes, she burst out laughing. “Ahm just kiddin’, silly. My parents still wanna meet ya, though.”
Christian obeyed Chloe Anne and was soon in the living room where the rest of the Carmichael family was seated. Her parents were in recliners and a younger girl sat on the couch.
Mr. Carmichael gestured to the couch. “Have a seat, son.”
As soon as both he and Chloe Anne were seated, Mr. Carmichael spoke to Christian again. “Look, Ah don’t know what yer intentions are with my eldest daughter here. But Ahm gonna trust her decision on ya.”
Christian quickly raised his hands up in front of him. “Sir, I just want to take Chloe Anne out on a date. I’ll have her back whenever you say she’s got to be back. Seriously, I really like her and just want to get to know her. That’s all.”
Both parents studied him for a moment. Even the youngest daughter, Hannah, just gave him an odd look. Also, he didn’t want to let his football brothers get the best of him, but he could swear . . . that they were all a little pale. Even Chloe Anne . . . Again, he was not going to let the guys get to him about the backwoods of Strickfield legends.
Mr. Carmichael seemed to consider Christian. “Okay! Again, Ah trust my baby girl here. Chloe Anne’s old enough to know what she’s doin’. She seems to be real into you too.”
Then he said to Chloe Anne, “You sure he’s whatcha want, darlin’?”
Chloe Anne smiled from ear to ear. “Oh, ah do. Ah do ah do ah do . . .”
Mr. Carmichael clapped his hands together once. “Okay, then! You youngins have yourselves a good time tonight!”
“Um, what time do you want me to have her back by, Sir?” Christian asked.
Mr. Carmichael just looked at him and smiled. “Ah really do appreciate ya callin’ me Sir. Yes, I do.” Then he seemed to think. “Well . . . now Ahd say that be up to the botha ya. ’Cause Ah git the feelin’ your really gonna get to know my baby girl real well – real soon!” He waved them off. “Outcha go! Have fun!”
Christian wondered what he might have gotten himself into, but he quickly drove that thought out of his head when

Ep.100 – My Freaky Family Fables Part 2 - These Fiends Have So Much to Show You!

15 september 2021 | 63 min

Ep.100 – My Freaky Family Fables Part 1 - This Family Wants YOU For Dinner!

8 september 2021 | 56 min

Ep.99 – Knightly News - Making It In TV Can Be MURDER

1 september 2021 | 37 min

Episode Notes
A hungry young news woman finds herself in the midst of a bloody massacre in the middle of a whimsical fantasy faire!
Knightly News by David O'Hanlon
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
Get Cool Merchandise https://weeklyspooky.storenvy.com
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Support Weekly Spooky by donating to their Tip Jar: https://tips.pinecast.com/jar/weekly-spooky
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Jennifer Lake paced the chevroned carpet and rolled her eyes. She checked the watch dangling from her wrist. Thom Braddock texted her to get to his office immediately, yet she’d been waiting thirty-three minutes. Channel 7 News occupied a meager, three-story building. You could get anywhere in the building faster than you could microwave a Hot Pocket and Thom damn well knew it. Jennifer stormed to the receptionist desk and picked up the phone.
“Hey!” the secretary whined. “You can’t do that.”
“Push the damn button. I’m tired of waiting.” Jennifer put the receiver to her ear and snapped her fingers. “Today!”
“Someone’s got their vibrator turned up too high.” The receptionist leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, pressing her ample breasts to the limits of her blouse. “We both know I didn’t get this job because I’m good at it… just like you. Unlike you, Thom’s not pissed at me. So, sit your bony ass down and wait, princess.”
It was true. Thom hired Teagan out of Rowdy’s Clam Shack where she danced under the name Wet Dreamz. Teagan held her hand out with a venomous smile. Jennifer dropped the receiver an inch short and returned to pacing. She took out her cell and checked her texts, hoping someone had sent her a viable lead.
They hadn’t.
Since the Mercers went on their murderous rampage and killed all those babysitters, Jennifer hadn’t covered anything more exciting than a drive-by. It was as if all the psychos were taking a vacation. The Babysitter Slasher was huge for Channel 7—but her carriage to stardom was turning back into a pumpkin. Viewers were calling for their favorite weathergirl to return to her duties and Thom might grant their wish if she didn’t come up with another winner. The intercom beeped. Jennifer turned and found Teagan looking back at her with a smirk while the intercom called for her attention again.
Teagan leaned over and pressed the button, answering in a breathy voice, “Yes, Mister Braddock?”
“Send Jenny in,” he said through the speaker box.
Jennifer stormed to the door and stepped into the office. Thom Braddock sat behind the oversized desk with his cowboy boots resting on top as he leaned back in his chair. Braddock was every woman’s fantasy—rich, sexy, successful, and dangerous. He was perfect… until he spoke.
“Jenny, come grab a seat,” he grumbled.
“It’s Jennifer, Thom.” Jennifer sat down across from him. “Like I’ve been saying for six years.”
“Jen, let’s not pretend like you’re in a position to correct me.” Thom swung his feet to the floor with a thud and straightened up in his seat. “I have a special assignment for you.”
Jennifer’s stomach soured. If Thom was personally handing her an assignment, her time was up. She needed that big story now!
“Well, Thom, I’m actually working on some leads.”
“You are, are you?” Thom rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “Run it down for me. What’s got your eye?”
“I’m working the follow-up piece on that robbery-homicide from Tuesday.”
“It’s Friday. Who gives a shit about some guy that died on Tuesday?” Thom waved his hand. “Next.”
“There’s my exposé on the housing conditions in Diamond Glen.”
“Advocacy reporting is for bleeding hearts.” Thom shrugged. “You don’t have one, bleeding or otherwise. Give it to Roger.”
“Roger will intentionally overlook gang violence in the Glen.” Jennifer smiled. “I do the piece now, set the scene, introduce the victims. When it boils over, we’re set. It’s good storytelling, Thom.”
“Without an inciting incident, it’s shit. Next.”
“I… well, I have some new leads in the,” Jennifer paused. She knew better than to say it. She sighed. “I have new information into the Mercer Sex Cult.”
Thom pointed at her and clicked his tongue. “And there it is.”
“The FBI is still digging up bodies on their property! Three prominent members of the community were arrested for their involvement and—”
“And you decided to name drop the state attorney general and a former Vice President,” Thom added.
“They were both identified on the tapes,” Jennifer protested.
“The sex tapes, Jen. You implied their involvement in the other tapes.”
“I said—”
“Stop.” Thom held up a hand. “The Mercer train has reached its station. It’s time for you to get off and do some reporting. You’re covering Fantasy Faire.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” Jennifer stood up, stomping her heel. “That’s amateur hour.”
Thom lifted the plaque from his desk and read it thoughtfully.
“This is my desk.” He slammed the plaque like a gavel. “Which means you will sit your ass down and listen to the terms of your continued employment. You were voted Arkansas’ favorite weatherperson five years in a row. Not because you’re somehow better at it, but because you’re hot. This may not be very woke of me, but there’s going to come a time all that goes away and you’re going to want to hide your muffin top behind an anchor desk. For that to happen, you need to learn how to do more than just exploit horrendous murders.”
Jennifer slumped back into the chair.
“Good, you’re listening.” Thom leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “You’re covering the faire, and you’re taking Teagan along.”
“For what? Is there a chance we’ll need to dislodge a golf ball from a garden hose?”
“Teagan’s wanted to do more for a long time. I’ve been letting her do man-on-the-street stuff for our online platforms and people love her. The two of you will be able to cover more ground. You’ll expand your resume and she’ll get valuable experience.”
Jennifer started to argue, then hung her head. “When do we leave?”
Jennifer sputtered her pink lips and pointed at the group of faux-fur wearing drunks sloshing their mead in plastic horns while they sang around a fire.
“Vern, get a shot of the nerds singing sea shanties,” she said.
Her cameraman, dressed in a kilt for the occasion, went to the bonfire and broke into song along with them. Jennifer threw her hands into the air. Fantasy Faire was a renaissance faire for the roleplaying crowd. Three days of LARPing, table-topping, medieval games, cosplaying, and nightly fireworks displays. Tents for gamers, sales booths, and fortune tellers lined the designated walkways while carts rolled around providing booze and bottled water. Crowds cheered from historically inaccurate bleachers borrowed from the high school as a jousting tournament commenced.
Jennifer had covered the opening round while Teagan collected sound bites from the fans. She hated to admit it, but the receptionist was doing a good job. She jumped as a hand closed on her shoulder. Jennifer spun and snorted with laughter. The portly young man wore a fake tiger skin across his torso and carried a foam club on his shoulder.
“I am Bodim Gorefist and I have come to free you from the bonds of your brassiere,” he said with a hiccup.
“That’s sweet, Bodim.” Jennifer fanned away his ale-scented words. “But why don’t you go roll your dice somewhere else before I free your teeth from your mouth?”
“Spear-tease.” Bodim waved her off and staggered away.
Jennifer groaned. The whole assignment was a punishment. Everyone was mingling for the time being. There wasn’t anything left for Jennifer until the bard karaoke contest kicked off. She started down the path looking for someone worth interviewing. Three women in movie-grade witch costumes caught her eye. They tried dragging a child away from its parents to playful giggles. Jennifer stopped at a wagon. A young woman in prosthetic elf ears sat outside casting rune stones and giving fake fortunes to a gathered crowd.
“Beware,” she hissed. “A dark shadow looms like the barn owl flitting over prey. The Stygian Knight returns from his slumber in the bowels in Erebus. Only the claiming of a new bride will entomb him for another hundred winters.”
“Fucking geeks,” Jennifer whispered and continued on.
She scanned the crowds when she heard a roar of male cheers. Jennifer pushed between a man and his cow to see what was going on. Her shoulders sagged.
Two women wrestled in a pit of mud and one was topless. Teagan sat on the fence that surrounded the pit, filming the event with one hand and swinging the lost garment over her head with an excited squeal. The bare-chested wrestler was a towering mass of tightly wound muscle. The Amazonian flipped her opponent over her shoulder and seized a handful of her hair, pressing her face into the mud until the smaller woman conceded. The redheaded victor stood every bit of six-foot and pumped a fist into the air. The crowd cheered again. She approached Teagan who offered her the skimpy covering she’d lost in battle.
“Hold on to that for now,” the Amazon said. “You can return it to my tent later.”
Teagan grabbed her mud-streaked hair and pulled the woman’s face down for a kiss. The crowd exploded in cat-calls and wolf howls. Jennifer watched them exploring each other’s dental work and started mentally updating her resume. The secretary was going to have Jennifer’s job by Monday morning.
Bodim leaned on a tree and rested his club against the trunk. He tugged his loincloth to the side freeing his manhood to the evening chill.
“No retreating, my mighty stallion,” he told his shriveled member. “We must dispatch much ale to continue our conquest of buxom harlots.”
Bodim urinated noisily against the knotted roots of the tree w

Ep.98 – A Night of Hot Wax - This Music Can KILL YOU

25 augusti 2021 | 25 min

Ep.97 – Normal Shit - Zombies Really Put a Damper on a Work Day

18 augusti 2021 | 29 min

Episode Notes
Felix has to finish their shift at work, no matter how many zombies get in the way.
Normal Shit by Michelle Adler
Read the comic: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/at-the-end-of-everything/list?title_no=527008
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
Get Cool Merchandise https://weeklyspooky.storenvy.com
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Support Weekly Spooky by donating to their Tip Jar: https://tips.pinecast.com/jar/weekly-spooky
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
I wasn't able to remove my respirator fast enough to prevent myself from filling it with vomit. I fought viciously with its straps and eventually separated it from my face mid wretch, tossing it away with all the gracefulness of a person who was now covered in their own puke. I finished up on the deteriorating concrete like a civilized adult.
My first clear thought while I was trying to calm down was that general, "my body betrayed me and now I have no food and I'm going to starve to death" thing that I think when I have no food and I'm going to starve to death. That, amazingly, didn't calm me down at all.
After that, came a wave of embarrassment. I mean, it's just an arm. Was I really throwing up over a stupid fucking arm? It's not like I'd never seen an arm before... I see them all the time, I even have two of my own! I mean, look at it sitting over there in the street, minding its own business...ripped off at the socket, like a chicken wing.. In the early stages of decay..
I spit some more bile into the grass. Ok, now I was just messing up my esophagus.
I sat for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts. I couldn't go to work like this. I needed to call Steff and let her know I was going to be late. "Maybe I'll leave out the part about the arm and just pretend I'm unreliable," I thought. But before I could trudge back to my house and hose myself off, I was going to need to do something about that arm.
I sighed. They'd said they were going to up city sanitation services to take care of this kind of thing, but I hadn't even seen a garbage truck in over a month. Living in a slightly less desirable area of the city, I was used to this type of shit. But still, even slightest consideration, like an email about suspending service indefinitely, would have been nice. I thought about ignoring it, just never looking in that spot again, but I was afraid someone was going to trip over it. I pulled off my soaked t-shirt and approached cautiously, as if not to startle it. It took all my effort to actually grasp the thing with my t-shirt covered hand. I then lifted the limp chunk of meat and panic ran it to the closest neighbors overflowing trash can, shouting "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" As I did for some unknowable reason.
I made it back to my house WITHOUT TOUCHING ANYTHING and washed my hands until the skin started to peel.
I felt bad about being late to work. Being dependable is my one and only good quality. Without it I'm just a scared, incompetent child. "This is the time," I thought as I pushed the security gate open just enough to slide my body under it, "this is the time they fire me." I quickly slammed down and relocked the gate. Of course this was not that time, it couldn't be. I didn't even flip on the lights of the empty store as I entered, I was alone. As always.
Removing my gear, I hovered over the computer and checked the day's pending orders. Today it was just floral arrangements. Once the flowers were arranged we had a strict no refund policy. So before I started piecing things together, I checked the phone for cancellations. There were 21. I've been keeping track of the cancellation to order ratio since the first week we noticed the very disturbing trend. I've found it correlates directly with the-- you know-- Or at least it used to when I had access to that kind of data. Cases rise and flower cancellations go up right along with them. The only time this wasn't true was right around Valentine's Day and Mother's Day for obvious reasons. I scribbled down 21/40 on the pad next to the register, wished it was Valentine's Day so I could give people happy flowers, and got to work.
Amazingly, we still have water, cold water at least, on the Southside and I've been able to secure propane for the generator rather easily. I sat in the cool, cave-like humidity, as I prepared the day’s orders. The generator covers the refrigerators and computer, but that's all. I hummed quietly to its din, grateful it wasn't quieter, it muted whatever was happening outside.
I was very good at pretending it completely blocked whatever was happening out there. I started to hum louder.
The closer I got to finishing my prep work, the more excited I became. It got to the point where my hands were actually shaking from the sheer joy of.. being so fucking terrified.
Well, anyway, I did that annoying breathing technique where I breathed in and out way slower than I could ever want to and then agonized over how specifically horrible I am at breathing in general until I fixated on my crushing self loathing enough to compensate for my near panic attack. Normal shit.
It was time. I trudged forward into the unknown filled with a sense of whatever it is I feel all the time. The air was so thick with smoke from whoever's wildfires it was this week, that, for once, I was incredibly thankful to have a gas mask (which smelled like puke now, fyi) instead of the more standard muzzle that was strongly recommended, though not legally required, by the CDC. Everyone had told me I was crazy when I started wearing it, but who's crazy now?
Ok, it's still me.
All of the day's deliveries were funeral arrangements. Yeah.. I had three funeral homes to hit before 5pm. I can't stress how important it was that I stuck to that timeline. The last funeral home was exactly a half hour's ride from the shop and I absolutely had to be back there by 5:30 at the very latest. No fucking wiggle room available.
The first stop, Bradford's Funeral Home, was out in the sticks. It was a beautiful ride up a very steep hill. Which was part of the reason I went while I still had the highest amount of energy and the least amount of injuries of the day. The building was surrounded by a tall chain link fence, complete with razor wire at the top. I always tried not to look at the razor wire.. I didn't really want to see what was caught up there. I'm not saying anything was, I'm just saying it was possible and I didn't want to find out. The gate at the entrance was always locked, but they'd added this neat little drop box for the flowers and I guess mail too. I rang the buzzer next to the box, shouted "It's Felix!" into the intercom. As usual, there was no response from the other side. That was ok though, I’m sure running a funeral home is a tough job even in the best of times, they were probably just embalming someone. They weren’t like, dead in there or anything. Or...you know.., but somehow still working, or at least taking in the flowers every day. I placed the arrangements gently into the receptacle.
“Just because I can think it, doesn’t mean it’s real,” I reminded myself, continuing to avert my gaze from the razor wire as I turned away to leave.
I liked the part where I got to go down the hill. I imagined how nice the air would have felt if it wasn’t full of smoke and I wasn’t so covered in protective gear. I wondered if this was how astronauts felt when they were on the moon or wherever it is astronauts go. If so, I don’t ever want to go to space. I got so lost in my space men daydream that I accidentally cruised right through the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Luckily, there was no one on the road. I still felt bad about it though.
Second stop, Riverview Cemetery and Mausoleum, was, you guessed it, right by the river. And I bet you’ll never guess what you can see from there. Correct again, the expressway! Anyway, Riverview’s security was a little more lax. There was no razor wire (only the barbed kind) and while the gate was latched, it was not usually actually locked. Anyone with enough mental dexterity to unlatch a gate was probably ok to go in. And plus, it seemed mean to lock the dead out of a final resting place. Or at least that’s what the funeral director had told me. It was also possible that they had just lost the key. It’s not like there was a locksmith left in this town.
Whatever the actual reason for keeping it unlocked was, usually that latch was more or less dry and clean, and not coated with a viscous layer of mucus and blood, like it happened to be at that moment. I stared at it blankly for a long time, but who was I to question it? I barely knew a thing about proper gate maintenance. It was quite possible that what I was looking at was lubricant of some sort. Maybe the gate had been sticking lately.
"Mucus is a good lubricant," I accidentally reminded myself, suddenly overtaken with a full body shudder. I pried the gate open with a twig.
Everything looked ok in the cemetery. All the corpses were underground, at least, and that felt like a win. However, when I got closer to the office I realized that this was not even vaguely "a win".
"I don't have any more food to throw up," I reminded myself, averting my gaze from the mess of what I can only describe as entrails on the marble entryway floor and fixating on the silent interior. I saw a mop in the corner, ready to go. At least someone was on it, I thought.
But there was no one.
I took a deep breath and shouted, "Mr. Matthews? It's Felix with the flowers!" My voice echoed back at me violently, followed by deafening silence. He was definitely probably just in the bathroom. "I- um, I'm just gonna leave these here," I yelled int

Ep.96 – Even Witches Can Cry - Never Make a Deal with a Demon!

11 augusti 2021 | 33 min

Ep.95 – Chain Letter - Do What It Tells You OR DIE!

4 augusti 2021 | 35 min

Ep.94 – The Wolf of Fagan County - There's a Monster Among Us!

28 juli 2021 | 38 min

Episode Notes
A sleepy town has always had dark secrets but when young people turn up dead, mutilated and partially eaten a brother and sister decide they have no choice but to find out who's killing the townspeople.
The Wolf of Fagan County by David O'Hanlon
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Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Maybe Whistler was a nice town once. It seemed that way until the summer of ’86. The old folks always whispered about certain places—about the places you don’t go and the boogeymen that dwelled within. Everyone in Fagan County knew a local ghost story. Back then, I loved to hear those stories.
Nowadays, not so much.
My dad trucked crops from the farms into the neighboring states of Louisiana and Mississippi. I didn’t see much of him. He left before dawn and got home after sunset. The day before my thirteenth birthday, he took a load to Shreveport. I awoke to a stack of used horror comics the next morning with a note that read “You’re old enough for the good ones now, soldier.”
I loved the way those pages smelled. After all these years, I still have a couple of them in the suitcases I live out of. I’d read through the entire bundle in a week. I flipped through them and found the one I’d enjoyed the most for a second visit when my mother called from downstairs.
“Connie! Come quick,” she shouted.
I hated when she called me that. It was bad enough being named Conrad. The effeminate nickname caught on with my friends in second grade… and then with the rest of the student body by the end of recess. Something sounded off in her voice as I trudged down the narrow staircase that descended into the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the table with her elbows pressing into the vinyl top and her hands hiding her face. My sister, Lisa, had her head down, shrouded in her arms. Her body convulsed as she bawled noisily inside. I held my breath all the way to the table.
No one spoke to me as I slid the chair away from the edge and eased into it. Mom reached over and put her hand on mine.
“Something terrible’s happened,” she whispered.
Something terrible had happened a few weeks ago, too. And a few weeks before that. We’d discussed both of those events as a family. No one was crying then. Sure, Mom had been shaken up by the discovery of the first body, but it seemed like nothing to worry about.
We all knew Old Man McGarrah from around town. He would pop out like a magician’s rabbit to grump about what a bunch of slack-jawed hippy-spawn all the kids were whenever you least expected it. The police said it was a heart attack that took him and that coyotes took to eating his remains.
Grotesque and unseemly as it were, my folks delivered the news to my sister and me with just the facts and reminded us to stay away from the woods. Coyotes rarely attacked people, but Dad said there’s something different about any animal—including man—once they got a taste for blood. The second time we were called to the table, it was clearly more bothersome.
Mom wasn’t handling it well, but she remained calm as she told us about the bodies found out along County Road 63. A couple of teens gone to make out got cut up real bad. Chief Hardesty said it was just a freak occurrence—a crime of opportunity—and that the killer was likely long gone. Our parents told us to be home thirty minutes before sundown after that and to never go anywhere alone, just in case.
This time was different.
“Connie,” she started, tugging at the silver locket dangling from her thin neck. Her voice trembled. “It’s Brenda.”
My stomach knotted.
Brenda Knowles had been Lisa’s best friend since kindergarten. She’d babysat for me on a few occasions and came to eat dinner with us every Wednesday. She was my first crush too. I sniffled, but held back any other reaction until Mom could finish. Maybe it wasn’t what I thought. Maybe those old Tales from the Crypt comics were poisoning my imagination the way Father Dean said they would at youth service. Maybe she was moving away. That would explain why they were so upset.
“Chief Hardesty found her this morning,” Mom continued.
Nope. It was exactly what I thought it was.
I don’t remember the exact moment that I realized the killings were a month apart, but I do remember Lisa raising her face to stare at Mom and then me in turn. Her lips quivered and then she stood up fast enough to knock the chair to the floor. She slammed her fists onto the table and screamed. That I’ll never forget. That look… and those words.
“She was eaten!”

Lisa cried until she passed out that night. I watched the news with Mom to see if the police had anything to say. The station’s newest reporter, Rex Willits, looked like he’d been sick as he raised the microphone close to his chin. His hand shook slightly and his trademark smile was nothing but a thin line of white teeth below his bushy mustache. Rex nodded slowly and started his report when the phone rang in the kitchen and Mom went to answer.
“I’m here at the Ridley Funeral Home in Fagan County to report on a grisly, unimaginable crime,” Rex started. He swallowed hard. “The body of fifteen-year-old Brenda Knowles was found just before dawn this morning. Brenda had been babysitting for family friends the prior evening. She started the short walk to her home just before eleven pm.”
I turned my attention to Mom’s shouting in the kitchen.
“What do you mean ‘two days,’ Paul?” she growled. “It doesn’t take two damn days to get a mechanic.”
Dad’s truck broke down. That happened a lot when he was hauling rice to Shreveport. Only then, though. Mom noticed too. She had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
“What about the kids?” she wailed. “You know what’s going on here! You’re leaving us alone so you—”
Her voice became muffled and I scooted closer to the television to hear what Rex had to say. I heard the phone slam against the receiver several times and Mom stomping up the steps.
“I’ve seen the body… my God in Heaven, I’ll never unsee it now,” Rex said when movement caught his attention.
He snapped his fingers and pointed his cameraman in the direction of the police chief. Other reporters rushed in around him. Rex elbowed one of them out of his way and reached out with his mic.
“Don’t you buzzards have anything better to do?” Chief Hardesty barked. “A child is dead for Christ’s sake.”
“How?” Rex asked. “How did she die?”
“Violently,” Hardesty answered in his low, gruff drawl.
“Is this related to last month’s double homicide?” a woman’s voice asked.
“We don’t have conclusive evidence linking the two, this early in the investigation,” Hardesty said. His shoulders sagged. “There are… similarities.”
“Were the other victims missing flesh and muscle?” Rex quizzed him. “Were there bite marks on them as well?”
Hardesty glared at Rex and then spoke with forced restraint. “At this time, I’m asking all residents of Whistler and the outlying areas to stay indoors at night. The curfew is merely a request, however.”
The wail of sirens cut the report short. We wouldn’t find out until the morning that they’d found another body. Crazy Delores lived in a shack on the edge of town. She sold herbal remedies and told fortunes for a dollar. No one knew how long she’d been dead.
I climbed into bed, but didn’t dare go to sleep. I opened a comic and thought about Dad. Maybe the rig really broke down, but I didn’t buy it. He was spending time with some woman. In a strange way, that made me feel better. He was more worried about getting laid than he was about the killer on the loose, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal.
My door creaked open and Lisa slipped through the gap. I laid the comic down. I didn’t know what to say. ‘Sorry your best friend was brutally murdered and partially eaten’ really didn’t seem like it’d help the situation. Then again, ‘we’re going to find Brenda’s killers’ wasn’t a winner either, but that’s exactly what Lisa said as she leaned on my dresser.
I gawked at her and waited what felt like an eternity for her to say something else.
“Look, Connie,” she started, then paused and chewed her bottom lip. “Chief Hardesty is a scumbag. He’s going to pin all this on the first person that ain’t Baptist enough for him. Then the murderer is just going to drift away.”
I was still too young to know how common that sort of thing was around there. Or what kind of a man Baxter Hardesty really was. I did want to make sure that Brenda’s killer got caught, however.
“The killings are about a month a part,” I said, hesitantly, unsure of exactly what I’d discovered. I shrugged. “What if the killer travels and just stops through here every few weeks?”
“Or lives here and returns home once a month?” Lisa offered. “Dad’s friend, Ted, is a long-haul driver.”
I remembered. Ted tried to convince Dad to work with him all the time. I also remembered Ted coming to my birthday party. I shook my head.
“I’m pretty sure he’s out of town now.” I scratched the two recently sprouted hairs on my chin. “What about a delivery driver? Brown’s only gets a few deliveries a month.”
Lisa thought it over and nodded. “Okay, we’ll go by and see when they got a delivery.”
Thinking the conversation was done, I lifted my comic.
“What is that, Connie?” Lisa asked, shakily. “What are you reading?”
I closed the issue and looked down at the cover. Bright yellow eyes stared up at me above fangs dripping blood over a broken skull. I looked up to my sister. I knew what she was thinking and I wanted to tell her she was stupid. I wanted to, but I didn’t. The same thought hit me when I look

Ep.93 – The Siren's Song - Something Under the Water WANTS YOU DEAD!

21 juli 2021 | 30 min

Episode Notes
Something under that water sings beautifully... and hides a DEADLY secret, waiting to bring you under!
Siren's Song by Joe Solmo
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Jacob watched as his uncle headed towards the rustic one room cabin that sat on the riverbank. He wondered how he was supposed enjoy himself up here with his uncle. It had only been three days since his mother’s funeral. A car accident took her from him, she was on her way to pick him up from a friend’s house, after a night of trying out Dungeons & Dragons. The night was fun, he was all smiles until the phone rang at Keith’s house and Keith’s mom had to drive him home. She wouldn’t explain why, but Jacob could tell by the look on her face something was wrong.
They never caught the person who crossed the double yellow lines and hit his mother head-on. They fled the stolen car and the scene on foot before the police arrived and found her there. Jacob overheard the officer say that she was still alive when they arrived, but passed shortly after. They found several beer cans in the other car, and thought it might have been a drunk or teens out for a joy ride, but no one knew for sure. There was no justice, just loss. It really wasn’t fair.
When Uncle Greg showed up to help them with arrangements and daily household stuff, Jacob was glad. His father seemed lost, he’d just stare out the window at the driveway, like he expected his wife to pull in any minute. At times, Jacob wanted to join him, wanted to believe that it was all a mistake and his mother would be home in time for dinner and complain has his father overcooked the roast.
The night after the funeral his father suggested he go to bed early, and to be honest, Jacob didn’t feel like staying up. As he finished brushing his teeth, he could hear his uncle and father talking on the back deck. The window was open on the warm August night. He dragged the stool over to the window he used to use to brush his teeth so he could peek out.
His father was still wearing his white shirt and tie, the latter hanging loosely to the side as his father raised a glass to his lips. He turned towards his Glen.
“You know why I don’t want to go back up there,” Jacob’s father said after swallowing.
“It would do the both of you good to get away. Come up to the river camp. It will be like old times, Jason,” Glen replied. “The boy should be up there too, get away from this place.”
“Too many memories. Memories of her. You know not all the memories up there are good ones,” Jason said. They sat in silence for a minute and Jacob got bored. He climbed down and put his wooden stool away. He thought it was odd that his father told his uncle that he met mom at the cabin. When he asked for a school project, his parents had told him they met at a school dance.
Jacob snapped out of his memory and looked at the river as it flowed by. So, this was where his father and mother met. He looked up and down the shore and wondered which of the houses had belonged to his mother’s family. He had never met anyone from his mother’s side. She told him they had all died when she was young.
Before he knew it, he was standing at the water’s edge. Something had drawn him there. There was something comforting about the way the water lazily passed by the large boulder near the weathered dock. He walked out onto the aged wooden planks until he reached the edge and looked down at the reflection of the sunset and mountains in the river. He stared intensely into the water, there was something there, just under the surface, but he couldn’t make it out. Pastels reminiscent of Easter covered the swirling water, keeping its underwater secrets from him.
He slapped a mosquito as it tried to make a meal of him. A look out on the water showed all kinds of insects swimming just above the surface of the water, and he regretted not bringing a long sleeve shirt to cover up. Jacob had never been fishing before, he wondered if he would like it. Maybe if it was a video game. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about the bugs.
“There you are Jake,” came Uncle Greg’s voice from behind him. “Let’s get all the bags inside. It’s really cooling down; the browns should be out soon.”
Jacob didn’t know what a brown was. He assumed it was some kind of fish, or maybe an insect since there were so many of those out. He grabbed his duffel bag from the back of the truck and with a grunt lifted it over the side of the truck. It took both hands to carry it to the house with a week’s worth of clothes inside it. “What’s a brown?” he asked his uncle as he caught up to him, out of breath.
“Trout, boy. Brown trout. It’s on the menu for tonight. They love to eat those bugs there and will be right up near the surface. Easy pickin’s,” Uncle Greg replied.
“Eww, they eat bugs?” Jacob asked.
“Sure do, it’s a source of protein for them.”
“Do they taste like bugs when you eat them?” asked Jacob.
“Not at all, they’re delicious,” his uncle replied with a laugh and put his bag down on the old worn couch. “You take the bed; I will take the couch.”
Jacob looked at the bed by the window. It had a nice view of the river; he carried his bag over to the bed and plopped in on there without taking his eyes off the river. A boat was heading upriver, the steady drone of its motor almost trancelike. He watched it until it was out of site.
“How come you don’t have a motorboat like that, Uncle Glen?” Jacob asked.
“Well honestly, I can’t afford one. I am not very good with money,” Glen said laughing as he set down the cooler by the old sink. Jacob had not even seen his uncle to go back out to the truck to get the cooler.
“Dad says you whizz it away, but I don’t know what that means,” Jacob said.
“Yeah well, when we were growing up, your father had it easier that I did making friends. I found my friend in a bottle. Y’understand?” Uncle Glen asked gathering up the fishing gear and heading towards the door.
“Yeah,” Jacob said, but had no idea what his uncle was talking about.
The canoe was so shaky it felt like if Jacob sneezed he would send the thing over and he’d have to swim back to the cabin. So he sat very still, white-knuckle gripping the sides of the aluminum canoe in order to prevent his imaginary catastrophe. His uncle paddled them upriver a bit to a spot he said he knew where there was a deep pool that the browns liked to hang out in. They would drift with the current from above it so the fish wouldn’t hear the splashing of the oars and get spooked.
Even though he was terrified of the canoe tipping, Jacob wasn’t afraid of the river itself. Once again, he felt a calmness when he looked out on it. There was something familiar about the river, something comforting. It took a few minutes for him to get up the nerve to let go of one side of the canoe and reach down to the water, letting his fingers drag in the cool water.
“Well, here we are,” his uncle said and slid the canoe just upstream of a fallen log to keep the watercraft in place. “You ready to catch some fish?”
Jacob watched his uncle take a rod out from a tube and fit the ends together until the thing was almost as long as the canoe. He had seen rods in fishing shows before, but this one was super long and the line was brightly colored. He watched as is uncle tied a tiny little poofy thing to the end.
“Here take this,” Glen said, thrusting the rod towards his nephew. Jacob reached out slowly to take the rod from his uncle, daring to rise a little from his safely seated position. As he sat back down, he felt something bump the canoe.
“What was that?” he asked nervously, looking around wide-eyed.
“We just brushed up against a log, nothing to worry about,” his uncle said and started to fit together another rod. “All I have are these fly-fishing rods, it’s a little harder to cast, but the browns love the flies on the end,” his uncle explained and stood up in the canoe making it shake more than Jacob would have liked.
Uncle Glen gave a false cast and sent the line shooting out the end upstream. Jacob watched the graceful cast. It was easy to see the bright orange line make its way back downriver to them. His uncle cast this way three more times, explaining to Jacob how it worked, but Jacob wasn’t about to stand up in the boat now.
He felt another bump on the canoe. This time he swore he felt something tapping on the bottom of the boat. “What is that?” Jacob asked, terrified.
“There are all kinds of noises, kid. It could be anything, a branch, a turtle. Nothing to worry about either way,” Uncle Glen explained and sat back down in the canoe. He reached into the bag he brought with them and pulled out a beer. “If you were another year older, I would let you have one, but eleven is just too young to drink beer.”
“That’s ok. I don’t want a drink,” Jacob said.
“Good boy, don’t want to end up like me,” His uncle answered putting down the beer to grab his paddle. “Let’s move a little farther downstream and give it another go.”
Jacob nodded and looked overboard as his uncle maneuvered them out into the current to take them downstream.
Jacob. Jacob can you hear me.
His young eyes widened as he heard the familiar voice. It couldn’t be. How could he hear his mother? She was dead! He looked at his uncle to see if he heard it too, but he just guided the canoe down river.
Jacob. It’s your mother. Can you hear me, child?
Jacob tried to swallow, but his throat went dry. The hairs on his neck stood up. This can’t be happening.
“Uncle Gl

Ep.92 – Hunter Black - Writing Becomes a BLOODY REALITY!

14 juli 2021 | 38 min

Episode Notes
A brand new typewriter gives an author a new creative lease on life, especially as his creations start to become a reality. A terrible violent, blood soaked reality!
Hunter Black by Rob Fields
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Simon Griffin sat in his bedroom and typed away. When he finished his current page, he pulled it out of the typewriter and loaded a new sheet. When he resumed typing, he could feel a presence near him.
“Hi, Mom,” he said.
Even through his typing, he could see his mom taking his plate and his empty glass. She replaced the empty glass with a full one. “Still hard at work, I see.”
Simon stopped typing. “Mom, I’m this close to being done with my latest novel. Once I’m finished, I’ll be ready to send it out. Just a few more chapters to go.”
She smiled a little. “I’m surprised that you’re still using that beat-up, old typewriter. It belonged to your grandfather, you know.” She paused. “Really, Simon, you’d save a lot of time if you would just use the word processor that came with your computer.”
Simon smiled a little himself. “Mom, I know you mean well. But Grandpa did all of his writing using this very typewriter right here. He never caved in to modern technology. He used to say there were some things you just can’t replace, no matter how much better it is. Take the compact disc. Remember how the music industry tried to replace vinyl records with it? It never did because people knew! You just can’t beat the sound quality that comes on records. That’s how it is with a typewriter. I just want to be the same writer that Grandpa was, that’s all.”
“And you are, honey,” she complimented. “You’ve already published nine Hunter Black books. To be honest, I’m surprised that Sunset Press over in Erie City actually takes your paper submissions.”
“Well, that’s where Grandpa got his stories published,” Simon pointed out. “I decided to go with them since they treated him really good. And now, they’re treating me really good.”
“They sure are.” His mom reached out and patted his shoulder. “Okay, I won’t bother you anymore about using a word processor. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll be done soon.”
His mom left his room. Then he resumed typing. His latest novel was actually the next in a science fiction series which dealt with a villainous character from the year 2250 in the form of Hunter Black, a hitman for hire. Black was both the central character and the antagonist at the same time. Whenever the criminal underworld had a job that required his skills, they would pay his fee. From there, he would get the job done. Aside from a recurring female character named Felicity Scorne, no one crossed him – and lived.
The next morning, Simon walked into Strickfield High School. As always, he wore dark trousers, a pressed shirt, a vest, a red bowtie, loafers, and glasses. This was the very same fashion that his grandfather wore back in his day. Whether it was just the love and dedication that he felt towards his late grandfather or his stubbornness, wearing these cloths may have been all right during his grandfather’s day. However, in these current times . . .
As Simon passed by a group of jocks and their girlfriends, he knew that it was going to be the same thing that happened every morning.
Dana Shackleton pointed right at him. “Hey, look who’s back! It’s Orville Redenbacher!” Then she called out to Simon, “Hey, Orville, shouldn’t you be at the movie theater?”
Her boyfriend, Nathan Coaver, sneered at him. “Yeah, fuckstick! This ain’t 1955. Get with the times.”
As always, Simon tried to ignore them. While only a select few knew that he was a published writer and was financially independent, the rest of the school population didn’t. Not when he used a pen name. As far as the rest of his classmates were concerned, Simon Griffin was nothing but a nerdy loser.
Suddenly, Simon was brought out of his thoughts when he felt himself being lifted off his feet by two of the jocks. The next thing he knew, he was being turned and taken into a nearby restroom. Simon squirmed, but he only weighed around a hundred-and-ten pounds – if that! Then he heard the click of the restroom door’s lock and knew that he was in trouble.
“This one looks good,” Dana told the jocks.
Simon struggled harder but to no avail. He couldn’t do anything as he was lowered to his knees, only to have his head shoved into the cold water of the toilet. He was held under for a bit before the flushing came. The only thing he could hear over all else was Dana Shackleton and the other girls laughing scornfully at him.
After school, Simon was in his room. His best friend and next-door neighbor, Connie Graves, was there with him.
“Every day, Connie,” Simon complained. “Every day they always have to give me a hard time.” He told her about the restroom incident earlier that morning.
Connie sighed apologetically. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t go to school with you today. I had to be there real early to help put the school paper together.” Whenever Connie and Simon went to school together, the bullies never laid a hand on Simon. They still taunted him, however.
Simon pointed at her. “And that’s another thing, those meatheads are always giving me a hard time. They say I need you to fight my battles for me.” He looked down now. “Not that I don’t appreciate you helping me. I do. I really do.” He sighed. “Listen, I don’t blame you if you don’t want to be my friend anymore.”
Connie put her hand on his chin and raised his head up. “Hey! Don’t you ever say that again. We’ve been best friends since we were kids. We swore we would always be friends. We’ve always kept that promise. Now enough of that shit talk.”
The two of them shared a hug. Then Simon wanted to be alone, mostly so he could finish his novel. He had tried to finish it the night before but hit a stumbling block with the ending. Connie said goodbye and left. Now it was time for Simon to write the final chapters in which Hunter Black would face Detective Richard Hartman, who had come up against Black once before and barely survived with his life. This would be the final conflict. Simon loaded the paper into the typewriter and began to type away.
And then . . . disaster struck!
“What?! No! No way!” Simon cried.
Much to Simon’s disbelief, the typewriter’s element had fallen off. He picked it up and saw that there was no way that he would just be able to get a new element and repair it. No, the old typewriter had finally had it. Now he had three choices: One, find a place that would repair typewriters. Two, buy a new typewriter altogether. Three, finally break down and start using the word processor on his computer. His deadline was coming up, and he needed to finish his novel. However, he had too much pride to resort to modern technology. He would never use a modern word processor if he had anything to say about it. He was an old-school writer, just like his grandfather.
He decided to go out and see if he could pick up a new typewriter. He had a few ideas of where he might find one in downtown Strickfield. After calling Connie, the two of them got on their bicycles and began riding.
Simon and Connie checked out a few antique shops and even the local department store, but there were no typewriters available. They even checked out their local thrift store, but to no avail. They had nearly exhausted all of Simon’s possibilities in Strickfield. He really didn’t want to use a word processor, nor did he want an electric typewriter. He needed an old-school one. There was just something about the feel of it. Then Connie suggested trying Strickfield Plaza as a last resort. It would be a couple of miles out of the way, but it was worth a try.
Simon and Connie pulled into the parking lot of Strickfield Plaza, which was located on the south end of the village. As they chained up their bikes, Simon looked at the nearly-empty parking lot and took an exasperated breath. He remembered that his grandfather had told him how this giant plaza, and the mall north of the village, would never succeed in Strickfield. Grandpa was proven right, of course. Both the plaza and the mall were full of life and had many of the big-name stores for at least the first year. Then, one by one, the stores were leaving. People just weren’t shopping at either place. No, people were too attached to shopping in downtown Strickfield and the many vintage local businesses there. Now, there were only a few select big-name anchor stores left in both places, along with some mom-and-pop stores. Still, what did Simon have to lose?
The two of them knew that Staples was still open. After having no luck there, they got back on their bikes. They were almost to the road when Connie saw the one lone store further down the strip, which was called Tinker’s. “Let’s check down there, Simon.”
They rode to the store, parked their bikes, and went in. Tinker’s was full of seemingly old odds and ends. Simon looked around to see if – YES!! There it was! He quickly moved to the old typewriter sitting there on the shelf. It looked just as ancient as his grandfather’s old typewriter.
“I can’t believe they actually have one of these old typewriters here,” Connie said.
“This old typewriter is rather a collector’s item,” they heard a voice from behind them say.
They turned around to see a man in his late forties standing near them.
“Is this your store?” Connie asked him.
“That’s me: Eisley Tinker, owner and sole proprietor,” he replied.
“How much?

Ep.91 – Camp Dead and Buried - This Summer is Hot and DEADLY

7 juli 2021 | 30 min

Ep.90 – The Beast of Roca de Vaca - Chupacabra is Hungry!

30 juni 2021 | 27 min

Ep.89 – Bed and Breakfast and Zombies - A Nightmare Vacation!

23 juni 2021 | 30 min

Episode Notes
Summer vacations can really bite, but this trip takes it to an entirely new level!
Bed and Breakfast and Zombies by Keith Tomlin
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For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Jake sighed loudly as he stared out the second-story window of the bed and breakfast that he and his father had been staying at for the last few days.
‘This sucks,’ he thought, ‘I should have gone to grandpa’s with mom.’
His family was on a rare vacation, taking a trip from Chicago to New York City to visit his mom’s parents. It was the four of them, Jake, his little sister, Sarah, his father, Edward, and his mother, Karen, all jammed into a 12-year-old Volvo wagon.
Jake remembered when his father, during breakfast a few days ago, could barely contain his excitement. “Kids, I was looking over my papers last night,” he said, pointing to a huge stack of papers that he poured over every moment that he wasn’t driving, “and I found something exciting!” He looked wide-eyed at both of his children. Sara was using all of her concentration to draw on a coloring page that doubled as the kid’s menu so Edward focused on his 11-year-old son. “Jake, how would you like to look for some witches!”
Jake was swept away with his dad’s excitement. They dropped the others off at his grandfather’s house and jumped back on the road to a small town in New York called Stones Creek. Jake wondered what they needed to hunt witches. Do we need garlic or maybe silver bullets? What Jake didn’t know, and soon found out, was the only things they needed was the local library and long walks in an old graveyard across the street from the Grinning Cat Inn, the bed and breakfast at which they would be staying.
Jake was bored. He sighed, louder this time.
“I heard you the first time.”, his dad said, without looking up from the papers he copied from the library. When he finished the page, he finally looked at Jake, removing his unlit pipe from his mouth and pointed at Jake with it.
“Why don’t you go outside and play?” he said, gesturing to the door with his pipe.
“But, dad, I’m bored… ” Jake said, his shoulders slumping forward.
“Look, once I get through these pages, we can take a walk. You can either go outside and play until then or sit there quietly and read a book.” His dad gave him one last stern look before turning his attention back to his stack of papers.
‘Read a book?’ Jake thought. ‘Why is it always books with him?’
Jake didn’t want books, he wanted fun and adventure. Suppressing another sigh, he turned his attention back to the window. He was surprised to see a car on the road. He had only seen one other car all day. He was even more surprised, and excited, to see that car start to slow down.
“Dad, dad, dad,” Jake said quickly, as he had always done when he grew excited. “There is a car turning into the parking lot.”
“Really? That’s interesting,” his dad mumbled.
Jake watched intently as the car glided to a stop in front of the inn. The driver, a huge, bulky man, got out and opened the rear door. A well-dressed man stepped out of the backseat of the car, quickly followed by a young boy who looked around Jake’s age.
“Dad, dad, dad, dad…” Jake said getting louder with each word. “They have a kid. Can I go down and meet him? Come on, dad… Can I?” Jack started jumping back and forth from one foot to the other.
“Okay, hang on,” his dad said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I guess I’m done here for now. I don’t want you scaring the poor child with your… enthusiasm.” Edward set the stack of papers aside, “Let’s go downstairs and greet the new arrivals.”
The door to the Grinning Cat Inn flew open and the large man entered. He scanned the room before stepping aside, allowing the well-dressed man to enter. The reception room was lined with cedar panels and had a counter that ran along one wall. A large staircase, leading up, was right across from the front door. Two other doorways lead to a dining room and a large den with a roaring fire in the fireplace. Upon hearing the door, the owner of the inn, Mr. Jarvison, a tall, thin elderly man, moved to the counter.
Good evening, how may I help you?” asked Mr. Jarvison.
The well-dressed man walked over to the counter and, with a thick Slavic accent, said “I am Count Dmitry Romanova, I have reservation for two rooms.”
“Yes, of course, your rooms are ready, mister… How should I address you?” Mr. Jarvison’s asked.
“Please, you may call me Count Romanova,” said the Count. “The title is largely symbolic at this point but,” he shrugged, “we do have our protocols.”
“Yes, sir, I will show you to your rooms,” Mr. Jarvison said, half bowing.
Count Romanova waved him off. “Ivan, my…. manservant, will look to the rooms and luggage. I wish to relax by the fire,” he said, pointing towards the den. He then looked at Ivan, who nodded and gestured at Mr. Jarvison to lead the way up the stairs.
The Count turned towards the door and called out, “Come, Nikolai, let’s rest before dinner.” A small-framed child, around ten years old, entered the inn. He silently followed his father into the den.
Edward and Jake had to press themselves against the wall to allow Ivan to pass them on the stairway. Jake stared at the large man, shocked at the sheer size of him. Ivan stopped and turned, glaring at Jake, who quickly turned and ran to catch up with his father.
Twenty minutes later, Jake was standing outside with Nikolai, trying to find a way to end the awkward silence that hung over them. It took his dad a few minutes to convince the Count to allow his son outside to play and now Jake was wishing that his father had failed.
“So, uh…” Jake said. “Do you like to play ball?”
“Sorry, I do not know this game, ball,” Nikolai replied, in broken English.
“No, ball is not a game… Well, it’s part of a game,” Jake thought that over for a few seconds. “Never mind, do you want to play… hide and seek?” Jake said, hopefully.
“Hide and seek? What do we hide?” Nikolai asked.
“No,” Jake said, frustrated, “You go hide and I try to find you.”
Nikolai asked, “We are to be friends, correct?”
Jake nodded.
“Then why would I hide from you?” Nikolai asked. “Friends should trust each other and not need to hide.”
“Huh, I never thought of it that way,” Jake said. “Okay, well... uh… we could…” Jake was stumped. He racked his brain for something to do and his face lit up when he finally thought of something that no kid could resist.
“Do you want to see something scary?” Jake teased, with a big grin.
The young foreign boy nodded slowly.
Edward leaned forward on the overstuffed chair, tapping his pipe on the stone of the fireplace and sweeping the ashes into the fire.
“What brings you to this little corner of nowhere, Count?” Edward asked, leaning back and refilling his pipe. He looked apologetically at Mr. Jarvison, “Sorry, no offense.”
“None taken, this is a small town, very small,” Mr. Jarvison agreed.
The Count took another puff on his cigar and slowly let the smoke escape his mouth, “I came to America on a diplomatic trip but I wanted to take some time to visit relatives.”
Mr. Jarvison sat up, beaming, “You have relations living here?”
Count Romanova slowly shook his head, “Living? No, sorry, I used the wrong word. I have… ” he waved his hand in the air causing ash to fall onto the arm of his chair, “ancestors here, in cemetery.” He pointed toward the graveyard.
Jake led Nikolai across the street and into the old graveyard. They walked through the old gravestones, many of which were so weathered that you couldn’t read the words engraved upon them. Jake spent many hours here the last few days walking the overgrown paths between the graves with his father. This place held little interest for Jake except for an ancient crypt that they were now approaching. It was a small stone building with vines growing up the walls towards the tiled roof. The most striking feature of this building was that along each wall there were a pair of statues that looked like they were emerging out of the stone surface. Each statue was of a creature with a bald head, pointy ears, and a mouth with razor-sharp teeth. His dad said they were ghouls, undead creatures that feast on the flesh of the living.
“What do you think?” Jake asked as they approached the crypt. He snuck a sideways glance, hoping to have scared the other boy but, instead, he looked amazed. The smaller boy slowly walked around the building, admiring each statue in turn. He then walked along each wall, running his hand along the stone surface as he went.
Nikolai turned to Jake and asked, “Where is the door?”
“Yeah, my dad wondered the same thing, weird, huh?” Jake replied.
Nikolai continued to walk around the building, examining each wall as he went. He finally stopped and waved at Jake, pointing at a brick in the wall. Jake walked over and bent close to discover that there were drawings etched into this brick, drawings his dad would have called runes. The more he looked, the more they seemed to shimmer. He began tracing them with his finger and he swore he felt them start to grow hot.
Jake took a step back to ask Nikolai if he had spotted any other bricks like this when his head started to buzz. The buzzing turned into a voice, deep inside his head. The voice began whispering six words over and over again. Six words that he did not understand. These words got louder and louder until they finally

Ep.88 – Dead Ahead - All Roads Lead to DEATH and REVENGE

16 juni 2021 | 25 min

Episode Notes
A late night drive goes deadly wrong, but now with the help of some black magic things could go from dead to worse.
Dead Ahead by Joe Solmo
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
“Becca! Don’t come out here with your witchy bullshit!” Tom yelled as he threw another shovel full of dirt behind him. “If you want to help, get in here and help me dig.”
“It’s not witchy bullshit. I’m telling you this is bad. A person died. We did it. This is going to come back on us three-fold. This is a lot of negative energy,” Becca said pushing her long brown hair behind her ear. Her boyfriend Tom was in a hole about three feet deep and getting deeper by the second.
“Come take your turn. I need a break. It’s a lot harder than they make it look in the movies,” Tom said.
“I told you I want no part in this,” Becca replied taking a step back into the chilly night.
“You already are a part of this. You are just as guilty as I am. This poor bastard died because of both of us,” Tom retorted clanging the shovel off the corpse laying on the damp ground.
“I wasn’t the one driving!” Becca said, wiping a tear from her eye.
“And I suppose your next excuse is going to be you had your mouth full and couldn’t see over the wheel, right?” Tom sneered. “Look neither of us wanted this, but we have to take care of it. Do you know what would happen if we went to the cops?”
“Yeah, I know. We are wanted. Look, I don’t want to go to jail for murder either,” Becca argued.
“Murder? Who said anything about murder? It was an accident. We might get manslaughter, but surely not murder,” Tom responded pulling himself out of the hole and wiping his brow. His blond hair dirty with the earth he had been tossing. “This will have to be deep enough.”
“What if someone finds the body?” Becca asked.
“No one would give a fuck. This is Jersey.”
“I think you’ve watched too many mob movies,” Becca said and turned away from the grave. She looked at the car, sitting just off the road enough into the pines to be hidden from the traffic. Her blue eyes focused on the dent in the passenger side bumper, and the blood that stood out starkly on the white paint. They were never going to get away with it, she thought. There was just too much evidence. They should have just called the cops when they hit that jogger. One thing was for sure, it was the last time Tom was going to talk her into road head.
“Becca, are you even paying attention?” Tom asked. She turned around and saw him standing there with the jogger’s arms in his hand. “Come on, help me swing him into the hole,” he finished impatiently.
“I told you I don’t want that negative energy,” she said crossing her arms in defiance.
“I told you that witchy bullshit has to go. We have been dating almost a year now and I haven’t seen you do shit with it. So, unless you are going to wiggle your nose and lift the corpse into the grave, get your ass over here and lift this bastard with me,” Tom said tossing the jogger’s arms down onto the damp earth.
Becca rolled her eyes. With a sigh she gave in and walked around to the jogger’s feet. She grabbed his ankles and looked at Tom, waiting. “Well, are we doing this?” she asked.
Tom grabbed the other end and together they put the jogger into the open grave. She looked at the mangled person lying there, wondering what kind of life he had had before they had taken it from him. Did he have a family? Was someone looking for him? Her thoughts were interrupted when the jogger’s face got a shovel full of dirt. She looked up at Tom and saw him in a new light. This was too easy for him. She wondered if this was the first time he had to bury a body. She really didn’t know much of his past. He never spoke about his life before they met last year. She knew he wasn’t Mr. Right, more of a Mr. Right Now. One that got her out of a bad situation. If she was being honest, he was a bit of an asshole.
“Don’t worry, I got this,” he said as he continued to throw dirt into the grave.
“We only have the one shovel. You want me to use my hands” she snipped at him.
“Why don’t you go wait in the car then,” Tom responded.
“I was going to say a few words when we were done. Nothing much, but something should be said.”
Tom scoffed. “I’ll say something, don’t worry about it.”
“Sometimes you can be a real jerk, you know that?” she said and stormed off sullenly to the car, she plopped in the passenger seat, slamming the door.
“You like him so much maybe you should give him head too, I think it’s going to get real stiff soon,” Tom yelled smacking the corpse again with the shovel. Becca could hear it ring out even from the car.
She reached under the seat and found her bag. She dug inside for a cigarette, just to take the edge off. She pulled out a worn paperback. Payback Rituals and Spells of Revenge. She remembered that her friend Amanda let her borrow it. They had found it in her mother’s items after her suicide. That was just before she left town with Tom. She thumbed through it while waiting.
The Revenant: The dead with a mission.
Bring a recently deceased person back to right the wrong of death. This is a gray area of balance with nature. On the one hand, it disrupts death, but it can help the soul reach peace through resolution. The weight of this ritual can weigh heavy on one’s soul. Caution should be used while contemplating this ritual. Haste will be your enemy.
“Ha. Would serve the asshole right if I brought that jogger back. Teach him a lesson. I’m the only one stupid enough to miss him, and it would absolve my guilt,” Becca said to the empty car. “Haven’t done shit with it…”
“Hey babe, I’m all done just going to say a few words,” Tom yelled as he unzipped his zipper. A steaming stream landed on the newly packed earth. “Ooohhh. Awwwww. Those enough words for ya?” he called over his shoulder.
“That son of a bitch,” Becca said and got out of the car, but instead of heading towards him, she went off into the woods alone with her bag.
“Where you going? It was just a joke!” he called out as he shook out the last drops. “Come on babe!” Tom chased off after her into the woods. “Babe?” He heard a few twigs snap off to his left, he turned in that direction but it was too dark to make anything out. She was heading farther into the barrens away from the highway.
“Okay. You made your point. Come back and do a real Eulogy. I won’t interrupt, I promise!” Tom called out into the night. Was that a flashlight ahead? He sighed and headed towards the light he saw.
Becca was on her knees in a small clearing, illuminated not only by the moonlight above, but by her flashlight laying on the dew-covered grass in front of her. She was saying something over and over again in a whisper that Tom couldn’t make out.
“Babe?” he said shining his light on her back, casting her shadow on the trees around them. “It’s done, we can leave now.”
Becca opened her eyes and turned her head. Quickly she placed some objects into her bag before he could see what they were. “Be right with you,” she said and stood up, wiping off her stockings. She reached down for her bag, but his hand on hers froze her in place.
“What were you doing out here with your bag?” he asked, intensely meeting her gaze.
“I had to use the bathroom and I didn’t want to do it close to the highway,” Becca replied and pulled her hand away from his. She clutched her bag to her chest with one hand and gestured with the other. “Lead the way!” she finished sarcastically.
“You know, sometimes you can be a real bitch. You better get that in check before I leave your ass for a younger model,” he said as he led the way back towards the car.
“I doubt you could find someone that would put up with your shit for very long.”
Tom turned and faced her. “I’m serious. Your looks will only get you so far. You better drop that attitude…before I drop you,” he threatened.
“Are you kidding me? You’re threatening me?”
“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise,” he said and stared at her for a few seconds. When she didn’t respond, he turned back into the woods and continued on.
“That’s the most cliché saying,” Becca mumbled under her breath, but followed Tom into the night.
She heard the words Tom spoke again, but this time it wasn’t his voice, it was her father’s. The threats and beatings that she had been suppressing came rushing back. She remembered the last time he spoke those words to her.
It was just a little over one year ago, she had come home from Amanda’s house where they were studying for the History final. She came in through the back door into the kitchen. It was seven p.m. and she had not eaten since lunch. She bumped into the dish rack sending a steak knife onto the floor. She closed her eyes and froze, hoping her father had not heard.
Becca remembered opening her eyes and then rummaging through the cabinet for something to eat. Her eyes lit up when she found a box of cereal. In her haste to eat, she dropped the box scattering the flakes across the linoleum floor.
Her father entered the room a second later and saw the mess on the floor. “What is this? Clean this up!” he yelled as he made his way to the fridge for another beer. At this time of night, he was probably on his fifth. She tried to walk past him to get the broom from the closet, but her father’s large hands stopped her. He threw her down to the floor.
“I said clean this up, you clumsy bitch!”
“I was getting the broom!” she said, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes.
“I didn’t say get the broom, I said clean

Ep.87 – Summer Slaycation! - What's on the Other Side of the Lake?!

9 juni 2021 | 30 min

Ep.86 – Catalyst - A KILLER is Born!

2 juni 2021 | 39 min

Episode Notes
The so called "Angel of Death" has been killing lots of criminals in Strickfield, but how did she start and who can possibly catch her?!
Catalyst by Rob Fields
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Contact Us/Submit a Story
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Drake Kazmierczak had been on the road for a few hours. He had packed up and left his job as a detective at the Erie City Police Department. He was on his way to Strickfield to take an opening for a detective within their police department. Although Drake’s uncle, Jeffrey, was the chief of police, he didn’t actually take the job to be closer to his uncle – and Drake was very close to Uncle Jeffrey. No, he had a pretty good idea that a certain Angel of Death was currently residing in Strickfield; his months of research had told him that it was a good eighty-seven percent certainty.
Drake tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he wondered how many guilty people the Angel of Death had taken. He knew it was many hundreds! It angered Drake every time the Angel of Death made the news. However, it never really got to him until the day he picked up a copy of the North Ridgeway Press and read about how the Angel of Death had claimed Annie Judge.
Drake had known that Annie Judge was not a perfect woman by any stretch, but Annie was the love of his life. The two of them had shared so much in the many years that they were together. He came to know that Annie was carefree and uninhibited, qualities that he loved about her. However, when Drake had accepted his badge, he had accepted the law. It was this, along with what he had discovered about Annie’s darker tastes that would permanently drive a wedge between the two of them.
And then he recalled the events that he had read about in the newspaper . . .
Four Years Ago
Raigen Devereux walked into North Ridgeway High School. She walked into first period and took her usual seat.
“Hey, Raige, you gonna show us your tits after we win the game tonight?” Jagger Nelson called out to her.
Raigen turned to see the sneers of Jagger and the other football players. She responded by raising her middle finger. “You can’t even catch a football, Jagger. What makes you think you can handle my tits?” The other girls in the class cheered for this witty cheerleader.
Just then, Raigen turned and gave her full attention to Annie Judge as she entered the classroom. She had been teaching many of the A.P. math subjects for the last several years. She almost always wore the same outfits: a blouse, a long skirt or pants, and loafers. Her face was a perfect oval with long blond hair and blue eyes. She always wore blush and matching lipstick. It was easy to see why guys appreciated her, even at thirty-six years old.
Raigen came to know that she made damn good money, not referring to just her teacher’s salary. Raigen knew that Annie had a second life as a self-employed prostitute and drug pusher. But she didn’t go to other cities to sell her body. No, she sold her body to students at North Ridgeway High School, ones who could afford to pay her prices for fucking them, or students she desired to prey upon – legal age or not.
Raigen came to know this information for two reasons. One, Miss Judge lived two blocks down the street from Raigen. Two, a month ago, Raigen saw a police car parked in Annie’s driveway, flashers on. Raigen couldn’t listen to the conversation, but her mother was a detective on the police force and was there that night. Raigen’s mother usually told her about what was going on in the privacy of their home, because she knew her daughter always kept her mouth shut. Raigen learned about the anonymous tip about the drug activity that was taking place at Annie Judge’s house. Nothing was found, however, in spite of the search warrant. It seemed that Annie Judge was always steps ahead of the police.
Two weeks later, Raigen was out walking and had seen a police car at Annie Judge’s house again. Again, Raigen’s mother was on the scene. Raigen would later learn that Michelle Bailey, at fellow student at her high school, had recently gone missing. After Raigen’s mother had questioned several students, a few of them said Miss Judge__ was the last one to talk to her. In fact, the two of them seemed to be really close by the end of the last school year. It was then Raigen’s mother had told her that Michelle’s parents had filed a missing person’s report that Annie Judge would become Raigen’s top priority.
Raigen’s mother had told her about the last night that Michelle Bailey was seen. It was at Skate World where Raigen’s mother had been told Michelle was picked up by a woman matching Annie Judge’s description, in a green Ford Fusion. Raigen knew that Miss Judge had such a car.
Since Raigen had access to her mother’s computer, she was able to look into Annie Judge’s record, but she found no priors. Raigen knew that the police couldn’t keep detail on Miss Judge, because who was to say that she might not file a harassment lawsuit against them. No, Raigen would have to take matters into her own hands.
This was a job for the Angel of Death!
The next afternoon, Annie Judge opened her front door to a nice surprise. “Raigen Devereux? What brings you to my home?”
Raigen faked a smile and held up a printout. “This is my school schedule. You’re going to be my math teacher again – Calculus. I wanted to ask you some questions about the class, but I obviously came at a bad time.”
Annie wore a white bikini that left very little to the imagination. She didn’t have a pool out back but looked a little wet from both sweat and suntan lotion. Raigen wore a blue tank-top with thin shoulder straps, white short shorts with a leather belt, and sandals.
Raigen expected Annie to just politely dismiss her, but she stepped aside and motioned for her to come in. After closing the door, she turned to Raigen. “What can I help you with?”
Raigen reached into her purse and came up with a second printout and a calculator. “It says here that you’re requiring a mathematical calculator. Are you sure this calculator won’t be okay for Calculus?”
As Annie took her calculator, Raigen noticed that she was checking her out – especially her endowed upper body. Then she pointed to the sheet. “These are graphing calculators. Yours is a scientific calculator. In Calculus, you’re required to present graphs to show your work.”
“Okay, I’ll go to Office Depot and buy one.”
As Annie handed Raigen back her calculator, she took hold of her left hand and held it. She finished by folding Raigen’s fingers over the calculator, caressing them as she did.
“You’re a very bright student, Raigen.” She gestured to the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Sure,” Raigen replied. “Ice water, please.”
Annie led Raigen to the kitchen, which had many top-of-the-line appliances.
“I was about have some iced tea,” she said.
“Well, I’d hate to impose . . .”
“It’s not imposing if I’m offering.”
“Okay.”
Annie pulled two glasses out of her cupboard. She opened the refrigerator and bent down to retrieve the iced tea, making sure Raigen saw her almost-naked rear. She stood up straight and closed the refrigerator. Annie poured the tea and handed Raigen a glass. Raigen waited until Annie drank first, which she did. Raigen tasted the sweetened black tea with a hint of lemon. Annie motioned for Raigen to come into the living room. They sat down on the couch.
Raigen drank her tea. “You have a really nice house, Miss Judge. You also have a very nice tan.”
Annie stood up. “I want show you something.”
Raigen put her glass down, got up, and followed Annie into the hallway. When they stopped, Annie gestured to an open doorway. Raigen looked inside to see a tanning bed.
“I can tan all I want, and it pays for itself.” Annie took Raigen’s hand. “Come on.”
Raigen was given a tour of the house. The more she saw, the more she knew that there was no way Annie could afford everything on her teacher’s salary alone. Raigen’s mother made better money as a detective, but even she didn’t have these luxuries.
Still holding Raigen’s hand, Annie led her to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Thanks to Raigen’s highly photographic memory, she now knew every room and the objects in them. As Raigen examined the bedroom, Annie gently turned her against the wall and kissed her. Raigen’s plan to investigate Annie hadn’t included this! She would have to indulge Annie as much as possible until she could determine her connection to Michelle Bailey’s disappearance.
As they kissed, Raigen let Annie undress her. Annie truly admired Raigen’s naked form, especially her upper body. “I imagine only a select few have seen these.”
Raigen acted giddy. “Wow, Miss Judge, I never knew you liked girls.” She bit on her lower lip a little. “What now?”
Annie eased Raigen onto the bed and then removed her own bikini. Raigen realized that Annie truly meant to have sex with her and knew she could not let that happen. Annie came onto the bed with her. Raigen let Annie kiss her again as she fondled her large breasts.
Suddenly, something was beeping. Annie immediately stopped kissing Raigen and got off her. “You stay right here.”
Annie went to her purse that was sitting on the dresser and removed her smartphone. Raigen saw her type in her password. Now she was texting someone. When she was finished, she locked her phone and put it down. She slithered back onto the bed, got on top of Raigen, and began kissing her again.
As Annie was about to touch Raigen’s sex, she quickly turne

Ep.85 – Taco Tuesday - How HUNGRY Are You?!

26 maj 2021 | 30 min

Episode Notes
Who's hungry?! What could be less threatening than a taco? They're crunchy and delicious... and they certainly won't destroy your body and consume your soul or anything...
Taco Tuesday by Keith Tomlin
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
My god, what is happening to me? I’m trapped in my own body. I can feel myself moving, walking around but I am not in control. Sometimes, if I concentrate hard enough, I can see out of my eyes but that is becoming harder and harder to do. I occasionally hear bits and pieces of muffled conversation but, as time goes by, that too is fading away.
All I know is that I am slowly losing my mind. I don’t think I’m going crazy but my memories are fading away, losing all of the details that make up my life. I mean, I know my name is John Davidson and that I was born in Ohio but I can’t quite remember what city. I know it started with an ’S’. Sandusky? Springfield? I just can’t remember. My childhood is gone along with most of my high school and college days. I know that I currently live in Columbus, Ohio but the rest of my life is like looking into a foggy darkness. The only memories that are clear are the events that happened the last few days. I’m afraid that if I don’t keep at least that much fresh in my mind, there will be nothing left of me.
I think it began a few days ago. It was morning and I was standing in line at the coffee shop in the building in which I work. I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I heard a cheerful voice behind me.
“Do you know the best thing about Tuesday mornings? It’s not Monday!”
I turned to see a man in this 30’s, dressed in a nice suit, grinning broadly. I didn’t recognize him but I figured he must be new here. It’s an unspoken rule that you never talk to others in line, especially this early in the morning. Regulars to the coffee shop know this and everyone follows this tradition.
“Yeah, huh. I know,” I said. Not my most eloquent statement but it was early and I was trying to walk that fine line between being polite and trying to discourage him from further conversation.
I turned and faced forward, hoping this would signal my unwillingness to converse but I wasn’t surprised when he continued talking.
“It should be a great day, super-duper! It’s supposed to hit 75 degrees with no chance of rain,” said the jovial voice behind me.
I rolled my eyes, not turning around to look at him but giving a noncommittal nod and a low grunt.
He continued, “I can’t believe that we’ll be stuck in an office on a day like this.”
I made sure not to move a muscle, I didn’t want to send any hint of encouragement.
“Say, pal,” he said, “you look like a man that enjoys a good taco.”
Ok, I admit, this piqued my interest. It was an odd thing to say to a stranger during the morning coffee rush. It wasn’t just the words he said, it was also how he said it. His voice had taken on an authoritative air and I had turned to face him without realizing that I had done so. His eyes locked with mine and I could not look away.
“Last night,” he stated, “I ate at this Mexican place that was out of this world.” He sighed, a blissful look momentarily passing over his face before he continued. “It’s a bit out of the way but, friend, it is worth the drive. Get the tacos. Trust me, it will change. Your. Life.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “Here’s the address, check it out. You don’t want to live to regret it.”
I took the card like a man in a daze. I mumbled something and turned to face forward and realized that no one was between me and the counter. The barista was asking if I was ready to order and, from the tone of this voice, this wasn’t the first time he asked. I hurried to the counter and placed my usual order. While waiting on my coffee, I took a look behind me and found that the man was gone. I began to doubt that he was ever there until I felt the outline of a business card in my shirt pocket.
The rest of the morning blurred by as usual. I had the same worthless meetings, the same meaningless tasks. I nodded when I was expected to nod and shook my head when I was expected to shake my head. I had thought that working at an advertising agency would be glamorous, that I would come up with clever ad campaigns, pitch ideas to grateful clients, and sit in on photoshoots with beautiful models. Instead, I’m the guy that makes the visual aids to use in other people’s presentations. If the client likes it, it’s because the account executive had an amazing idea. If the client hates it, it’s because I screwed up the layout. Oh well, it’s not all bad, one time I got to pick out the font.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that I thought about that strange man again. I had only a few minutes to grab lunch and I ran down to a burger joint on the corner. As I bit into my sandwich, I realized that it tasted like cardboard. The fries tasted the same way. All I could think of was tacos and the thought of anything else sickened me. I ended up throwing the hamburger and fries in the garbage and walking back to work, stomach growing.
The rest of the day, I could think of nothing except tacos; seasoned ground beef, topped with lettuce and cheese in a toasted shell. My distraction showed and I was asked several times if I was ok, once by someone who actually seemed concerned. I assured everyone I was fine and I somehow stumbled my way through the rest of the workday. At 5:00 pm, I left work and immediately drove to my favorite Mexican restaurant. As I parked the car, I realized that the thought of the tacos from this place turned my stomach. I sat in my car confused, my stomach growled, demanding food, but the thought of eating here made me retch. I finally remembered the business card in my pocket. I grabbed it, ripping my shirt in the process, and looked at the address printed on the card. I threw the car in gear and sped out of the parking lot.
I drove out of town and, after a 35-minute drive, I pulled into a parking lot in front of the restaurant listed on the card. This strange building looked out of place, a one story structure made out of heavy gauge steel sheets, glowing with neon light. It looked a strange sight, this neon monstrosity sitting at the edge of an empty field in the middle of nowhere. My stomach ached, huger pains shooting up into my chest. I quickly shut the car off and scurried inside. I don’t remember much about the inside of the place. I recall there was a strange-looking man, small and lanky, who lead me to a seat at a rough wooden table. He slipped away without saying a word. I also seem to recall other people, some writhing on the floor, but I can’t be sure that was real, everything seemed like a dream. After a minute, or maybe an hour, the small man returned, bearing a plate full of tacos. He placed the plate in front of me, nodded, and disappeared again. Well, to be honest, he could have been standing next to me the whole time, I only had eyes for the tacos. I quickly grabbed a taco and brought it up to my nose, taking a deep breath. For a second, I thought I smelled rancid meat, mildew, and rot but that was quickly replaced by the tantalizing scent of taco meat so fast that I doubted I even smelled it in the first place. Hands shaking with anticipation, I took my first bite.
Pure ecstasy. My god, every nerve ending in my body seemed to explode with pleasure. I was shivering so badly that I could barely hang onto the taco. I could feel every inch of my body pulse with orgasmic delight. I took a second bite and the feeling increased tenfold. I could feel every hair follicle standing on end, each one so sensitive that any movement would send shivers of pleasure coursing throughout my entire body. I was so erect that I ached, my penis straining against my underwear so hard that I thought it would burst out of my pants. Every breath I took stoked the fires of my pleasure; each movement sent waves of shivers down my spine. I climaxed over and over and over again. I slid down the chair, ending up on the floor. I have no idea how long I laid there, twitching with the slightest breeze, sated and sore. I eventually struggled to my feet and stumbled out of the restaurant but I have no recollection of driving home.
Next thing I know, my alarm is going off. 5:45 am. I am still spent, every inch of my body aching. The thought of moving sickened me, but after trying three times, I finally make it out of bed. It never crossed my mind to call in sick, I was operating solely on autopilot. I brushed my teeth, showered, shaved, dressed, and drove off to the office, all done in a daze, each movement born of repeated gestures I did thousands of times before.
I didn’t snap out of it until I was standing in line at the ground floor coffee shop. A coworker tapped me on the shoulder.
“Damn, John, you look like shit. Late night?” the man said. It took me a moment to come up with a name for that face… Steve, no, Stevens, Chad Stevens, from Accounting.
“Yeah, not feeling the best, Maybe food poisoning…” I mumbled. As soon as I said poison, it was like flipping a switch. My stomach started to rebel and my bowels turned to water.
I ran out of the coffee shop and stormed into the men’s room. I dove into a stall, barely making it before I painted the back wall with what little was left in my stomach. I quickly pulled down my pants and emptied my bowels

Ep.84 – The Black Museum - A Collection of Horrors Awaits!

19 maj 2021 | 28 min

Episode Notes
Antiques are so cute, a fun waste of money with an educational flavor... Unless the history is dark and gruesome... and EVIL.
The Black Museum by John Oak Dalton
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
They were taping the Halloween special at the visitor center in Ipswich because they couldn’t afford Salem at Halloween but fuck it, Steve thought, the rumor was this was the last season of the show anyway. He would just say in the cold open they were in Salem and who would know the difference.
There was a guy with a Jim Abbott rookie card which wasn’t worth much, but the guy was telling a good story about seeing him play at the University of Michigan, so they’d probably use it in the episode. They only had a trickle of people here wanting their junk to be appraised for the show so they would have to take what they had.
Junkin’ Coast to Coast had been broadcast for seventeen years on a second-tier cable channel and had been steadily declining in viewership since the original host had the temerity to kill himself. It used to be called Junkin’ with Joe but Shit with Steve didn’t have the same ring to it so there you go.
The bitch of it all, in Steve’s mind, was fucking Joe died with a belt hanging around his neck and a bunch of furry porn around his feet, but all of that has been conveniently forgotten and Steve was never going to be considered as good as the original guy.
His videographer Yvonne had the baseball card guy squared up on a head and shoulders shot and was half turned away texting somebody. She had been his primary shooter on the East Coast, and since the budget of the show kept shrinking year over year they traveled less and less and stayed closer to New York, and Steve’s other videographers in other parts of the country dropped away.
But even though they spent a lot of time together when they were shooting the show, and stayed at the same hotels and ate together every night, they had never hooked up. Never even brushed hands. Yet Steve felt like Yvonne was breaking up with him.
This old lady comes up with another fucking Blenko vase and then after that was a lull, and Yvonne stepped out into the cold fall night and called somebody. Steve watched through the windows of the visitor center. When she hung up Steve went outside to confront her.
“Are you looking for another job?”
“It’s the last show of the season, Steve.”
“Yeah, but we’re starting again in Portsmouth in January and people have always cleared out a bunch of shit over the holidays.”
Yvonne shook her head. “I’m hearing this is it. Even if it isn’t I gotta keep an eye out for me.”
Steve pointed at her cell phone.
“Who was that?”
Yvonne just shrugged. “It was Rich, he’s on that dive bar show now where they show people how to fix them up, make a new drink menu, that kind of thing.”
“Where he went when he fucking cut out on Junkin’, yeah.”
“That’s not how he sees it but yeah.”
“The asshole who hosts that? We were at the upfronts in Boston with the network guys, and he was a douchebag to everybody.”
“Yeah, but Rich says that’s only when he drinks.”
“The whole premise of the show is him fucking drinking!”
“Well, Rich says he needs a second shooter, so…”
“So you’re the first shooter on my show!”
Yvonne just looked at him, then slides her eyes back through the window of the visitor center. Steve follows her line of sight and sees a guy in coveralls with a little book under his arm, and fuck my life if that isn’t probably a Civil War diary about somebody nobody gives a shit about.
So Steve just set his jaw and Yvonne followed him back into the visitor center. A blast of warm air and close smells hits them.
“Hey, thanks for coming out to the show, if you’ll sign this release we can sit down and I can check out what you have there.”
The guy looked pretty nervous up close and only gives a little bird-like nod. While he is scratching his name on the clipboard Yvonne holds out to him the fake smile dropped from Steve’s face.
“Hey, can I look at this while my videographer sets up real quick?”
“Sure, man, that’s why I brought it.” the guy said. “I found it when I was cleaning out my uncle’s attic. He passed over the summer.”
Steve swallowed hard and takes the small, soft-edged book while Yvonne gets ready to clip a lavalier mic on the guy.
Steve frowned with distaste and puts the book down quickly on a nearby table. Both Yvonne and the guy look at Steve with surprise.
“Take that mic off, we can’t talk to this dude.” Steve said with finality.
The guy in the coveralls raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Hey, man, I just want to know what I have there.”
Steve looked at him steadily. “It looks like you have a diary bound in human skin, and I don’t dick around with shit like that.”
Now the guy looked more surprised than he did before. He holds his hands open wide.
“I-I didn’t know that.”
“You said you got that from your uncle? Maybe you should turn that over to the police.”
“The police? What? It ain’t like that.”
Steve just shrugged. “I don’t care what it’s like, I’m not going on camera with a book made out of somebody’s skin.”
Yvonne retreated behind her camera and doesn’t check her cell phone, for once.
The guy in coveralls looked through the window of the visitor center to the darkness beyond, where nobody else is coming to bring their old crap tonight. Then he looked square at Steve.
“Okay, this is the straight story, man. I’m a plumber, okay, I work for the city, we get this call there’s water running out of this old abandoned building, way down by Choate Bridge. We go down there, water running across the street, eventually I gotta break into the place, look for a busted pipe, see?”
“This is the most boring fucking story that involves a diary made of human skin I have ever heard.”
“Okay, okay, so wait a second, I get in there, I shut off the pipe, I start looking around a minute. This old boarded up place is full of all kinds of shit. It looks like medieval torture shit and a bunch of other stuff I don’t know what it is, but there’s probably some money in all that, right? But I can’t haul all that out with my partner just outside so I just grab this book off a shelf and thought I would bring it here tonight, see if this shit was worth anything. My grandma watches your show, you know?”
Steve is actually able to ignore this comment because his mind is working, working.
“What’s your name, dude?”
“Why you got to know my name?”
“I’m not calling the cops, I just want to know what to call YOU.”
“Jimmy. Jimmy Corey.”
“So what other kind of stuff was in this place, Jimmy?”
Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe some other weapons, some guns and shit, but I’m not touching somebody else’s guns.”
“I have a feeling that was a good idea. Just hang loose a second.”
Steve lifted his chin, and Yvonne follows him to the corner, out of earshot.
Yvonne looked at him like he was crazy.
“Yvonne…I think this dude here found a Black Museum.”
Yvonne arched a brow at him. “A BLACK Museum?!”
“Jesus, not that kind of Black, calm down a minute—“
“Now I have to calm down?!”
“It’s not that kind of Black Museum!! The original was in London, but now it refers to any place where somebody has collected artifacts from various crimes…on the circuit, you know, the world I live in…sometimes you hear about private collectors…”
“You mean people that want like, a picture a serial killer painted, shit like that?”
“I mean, that’s a mild example, but yeah.”
“We’ve never seen anything like that come through. You sure that is human skin?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“So what do you want to do?”
Steve looked back at Jimmy.
“We need to get this guy to take us to that place.”
“What? Why?”
“Just trust me. And when we get there, don’t stop rolling tape for anything.”
“My contract says I’m done at 7:30.”
Steve shook his head angrily.
“Forget about 7:30! We’re looking at Season 18! Believe me.”
“Uh-huh,” Yvonne said flatly. “Season 18.”
A few minutes later Steven and Yvonne piled into Jimmy’s panel van and headed towards the river.
“You oughta do a whole show on the Choate Bridge,” Jimmy offered as they got closer. “It’s one of the oldest bridges in the United States, if not THE oldest.”
“Can someone take that bridge down and bring it into the Ipswich Visitor Center? No? Then it can’t be on the fucking show.”
Jimmy just shook his head. “It was just an idea. And when did you shave your beard?”
“What?”
“He’s talking about Joe,” Yvonne threw in.
Of course he’s fucking talking about Joe, Steve thought.
“Never, Jimmy. I never shaved it.”
Jimmy blinks owlishly, then steers the panel van into a gravel lot next to a large, dilapidated building with the bridge looming close by, close enough that brackish water seeped up through the gravel all around them when they stepped out.
Steve looked around. “Somebody could urban renew this shit, put in a boardwalk, turn this into something.”
“ It’s gotta fit in with the history, it’s how we do things around here,” Jimmy answered, as he fiddles the latch where a snapped-off combination lock hangs.
Yvonne crowded in closer to Steve.
“There’s some sort of shape over there. Looks like a dead raccoon or something.”
Jimmy doesn’t turn around.
“I’m a plumber for the city. If it ain’t got at least one shoe sticking up we don’t check it out.”
Steve was about to ask Yvonne if she was rolling, get her focus back, when something came out of the darkness ahead with a sound like THWIP THWIP THWIP and suddenly the blackness around Steve w

Ep.83 – Wilson Road - A Creature is Loose in the Woods!

12 maj 2021 | 24 min

Episode Notes
Two cousins saw something BIG and furry in the woods, now they have to investigate as the sun begins to set... We know curiosity killed the cat, but what did it do to the WOLF?
Wilson Road by Charles Campbell
Buy the book at http://valleyboypublications.com
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
There is nothing like a dirt road in the Deep South. The dust kicked up by your truck when you race up the hill after a long day of hard work. The occasional deer that looks back at you curiously when you round the corner is a sight to behold.
There are snakes that slither across the dirt road to get to the other side of the woods. You will see hawks scoping out prey from the trees as you move down the dirt road. There are many surprises when you go up or down an old fashioned, in the woods, authentic dirt road.
I should know. I grew up in a big house at the top of the hill of one of these roads. A road that was named after my family – Wilson Road.
There is one story above the many that stands above them all. It was late summer and my cousin came running up the road. He was out of breath and it was a night none of us would ever forget.
“Danny! You got to come down the hill!” Tanner hollered. He had his
hands on his knees as he sucked in air like no tomorrow.
“What happened?” Danny asked as he rose from his seat on the back
steps.
“I saw something down there. It took off in the woods. Go in the house
and get the shotgun real quick,” Tanner said, finally catching his breath. “Was it a deer? You know we can’t shoot a deer with a shotgun,”
Danny said and began to sit back down.
“Don’t get back on your ass! Get in the house and grab the shotgun! It
wasn’t any deer. I don’t know what it was exactly, I just caught a flash of
it but it was big and it was an animal.”
“You probably just saw a dog,” Danny replied as he turned to open the door. He’d grab the Remington that sat just inside the doorway. What the big house was not low on was shotguns. There were a few Winchesters, a couple of Mossbergs and four Remingtons. Danny grabbed the box of shells and Tanner was waiting for him at the edge of the dirt road.
“Come on, I’ll show you where I saw it.”
“I ain’t shooting a dog, Tanner, just telling you that now.” “It weren’t no dog! Come on!”
Tanner wasn’t a small guy. He was a seventeen year old that hit his
growth spurt at thirteen. He was six foot three and still had a little growing left in him. Danny was much smaller in stature by comparison, standing at just five foot six with a slender frame which made it kind of funny that he was the one in charge of the shotgun. Tanner lumbered down the hill like Sasquatch with Danny following close behind.
Tanner pointed, “It was down there near the bottom of the hill, off close to the creek bed.”
“Alright then,” Danny racked the Remington and stepped off the dirt
road and led the way in front of Tanner. The two of them made their way down to the creek bed and Danny noticed something right off the bat. There was a litany of broken branches lying about. It was as if someone tossed them about haphazardly all over the ground. They were definitely
out of place as the tree line was approximately fifteen yards or so from the edge of the creek bed.
“You see anybody dumping their sticks down here?” Danny asked
Tanner.
“No, there ain’t no tire tracks. I don’t know why they’d lug all these
branches down here by foot; be easier to run them over to the Langley
dump,” Tanner answered.
“Well, these limbs didn’t magically fly from the trees. We ain’t had no
big winds in a couple of months at least and I was down here at the creek two days ago and these weren’t here,” Danny said. He did a three sixty to see if anything else jumped out at him. Tanner acted as if the limbs weren’t a big deal. The big deal was the something he swore he saw.
“I don’t know nothing about the stupid sticks but what I saw was standing about where we are now.”
“You see any prints?” Danny asked. Tanner was looking at the ground
looking for that very thing.
“No, but you know how this ground is. It don’t hold prints that good.”
“True,” Danny said. “Let’s walk up the creek a bit.” Danny took the
lead and Tanner followed. It was going to be dark soon but the two of them knew these woods better than they knew just about anything else in the world.
“Keep your eye out for moccasins,” Danny warned. Tanner rolled his
eyes to signify that Danny must have forgotten who he was talking to. Tanner fancied himself as the moccasin king. He had so many skins hanging on his wall that he lost count of them.
“I don’t know where it could have gone. We’re almost up to the old finishing plant,” Tanner said.
“You think it might have went in the plant?” Danny asked.
“Could be. I just got a quick glance before it took off. It was big and dark. You’d think I was going crazy but I know what I saw and I ain’t smoked any weed in the last week if that’s what you’re thinking. That bad shit I got from Frog last time taught me the error of my ways,” Tanner said with a nervous chuckle.
“Yeah, I don’t know where he got that shit. He must have grown that out by Langley Pond. It messed you up pretty bad. Glad it didn’t kill you,” Danny said and chuckled himself.
Darkness was creeping up around them. They could still see the lights
from the big house but it was quickly receding. “Wish I would have grabbed the flashlight out of my truck,” Danny said.
“You want me to run up there and get it real quick?” Tanner asked.
“No, you about died when you ran up there a little while ago. I’m not
telling Nana you died of a heart attack while we chased your fake monster
to the finishing plant. You got your lighter, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll just light a few sticks if we need to. We know our way around here.”
“That we do.”
There was a crash. It sounded like a boulder was dropped from the second story of the finishing plant. The two of them looked at one another and they knew they were going to find out where the noise came from. Danny broke into a jog and Tanner fell a little behind. The boys came up on the tricky part of the trek. They had to cross a narrow pipe on foot. One misstep and they would go tumbling into the creek below. Danny could walk it in his sleep. Tanner could move quickly across it in the stark light of day but he took measured steps in the narrow light. He could tell that he would probably have to take the long way back to the hill when they were done at the plant. No way could he balance back across the pipe in complete darkness. Good news is that Danny would take the long way with him. Danny stood at the end of the pipe patiently waiting on Tanner to finish crossing. He stayed quiet as not to startle his large cousin.
“Alright, let’s go,” Danny said once Tanner cleared the pipe. The boys walked the grooved out path to the old plant. There was a redneck Hansel & Gretel trail of tossed cigarette butts and rolling papers. The abandoned plant was a cool place for the Valley kids to break shit. Danny suspected the crashing sound they heard on approach was one or more of those said kids screwing around the decrepit building. And it was probably one of those kids that Tanner saw at the creek bed.
The sun was almost fully set with only the last haze disappearing, surrendering the day. It was a good thing they were wearing shoes with heavy soles because the crunch of broken glass under their feet as they got closer to the building was now prominent with every step.
The darkness finally enveloped them completely and the night sky was star filled with a full moon that provided adequate light. There were no clouds in the sky and that was good. What the boys didn’t need was to be stomping around the inside of the gutted plant with zero visibility. Danny was very good directionally but complete darkness would definitely test his skill.
“Let’s just stop for a minute and listen,” Danny said as he held the shotgun by his side. “I think you saw a buck, Tanner.”
“It weren’t no deer, I know what a damn deer looks like,” Tanner
whispered angrily.
“Alright, shush,” Danny replied. The boys got quiet and listened. The wind had ceased and the crickets weren’t as noisy. They could hear some of them but not the overwhelming chorus that was common for this time of the day, in this part of the woods.
Danny finally broke the silence. “Well, Tanner, I ain’t going in there unless we hear something. I don’t feel like tripping over something and breaking my neck. We can take the main road back. I know you can’t cross that pipe now,” Danny said.
“Come on man, I didn’t make it up. Let’s wait about five more minutes and if we don’t hear nothin’, then we can scoot back. Just five more, ok?”
“Alright then, five more and then we are out of here,” Danny replied.
“Five minutes then,” Tanner said and no sooner did he get the words out of his mouth, there was another loud crash and it definitely came from the second floor of the plant.
“Let’s go,” Danny said flatly. The boys entered the plant from what would have been the back entrance when it was functioning. Now there were entry points everywhere that the walls had crumbled. It certainly wasn’t a safe place to be screwing around, especially at night.
What remained of the old stairs near the back entrance was a precarious stack of bricks that resembled stairs but there were chunks missing where you would have to really stretch to reach the next usable step. This wasn’t a problem for Tanner but presented a challenge for the shorter

Ep.82 – Fun in Funeral - Clowning Around is DEADLY

5 maj 2021 | 36 min

Episode Notes
Clowns are funny, right? Well not when you find out the true dark secrets of these creatures that walk amongst us handing out balloons and laughter... Is that a chuckle you're hearing or a blood curdling scream?!
Fun in Funerals by David O'Hanlon
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Transcript:
The death of a Clown is no laughing matter.
It leaves a bleak, unhappy void in the universe equal to the amount of Joy the departed had caused. Fennis Farcemeister, Whiteface of the Amityville shudder, had brought happiness to millions. His body rested in the lavender casket with his bright red shoes sticking straight up and his orange hair jutting over the side. Before him, a pedestal—too large for its contents—stood erect as a grim reminder of the task to come. The remainder of his shudder mourned in their own ways while they awaited the arrival of Pastor Crumb.
“How are we supposed to close the lid?” Popsy Pringle asked gruffly, wiggling the toe of Fennis’ shoe. “Might as well just slap some Crocs on him.”
“You don’t have to be in such a hurry, Popsy,” Sweet P. Cheepskate sobbed.
Sweet’s brother, Blippy, put an arm around her shoulders and nodded in agreement. The twins were the shudder’s resident tramps. The tears rolled down Blippy’s rotund cheeks and disappeared in the smear of his greasepaint beard. The siblings both focused on the pedestal or, more accurately, the egg resting atop it. Blippy chewed his lip nervously and tipped his torn top hat respectfully.
“We all know you’ll be the next Whiteface,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be so eager to take it. Callousness is for humans. Clowns are better than that.”
Popsy groaned and gave his nose a squeak. “Spare me.”
Blippy gasped at the insulting gesture and sobbed on his sister’s shoulder.
Waldo Tatters’ tie-dye shitkickers clopped across the wood floors with his spurs jangling until he stood before the egg. Its scaly, vermillion shell was painted with Fennis’ likeness and locks of his hair snipped and glued to the sides. Every Clown had an egg in their shudder’s reliquary. Waldo traced his finger across the curve of the egg. He took off his cowboy hat and pressed it to his denim shirt. Rodeo clowns were rogues and rarely allowed membership in a shudder. Fennis saw beyond Waldo’s wily, psychotic, demeanor, however.
“Don’t you worry none, pardner,” the cowboy said, lowly. “We won’t take too long.”
“We’d better not.” Popsy checked his oversized watch. “Where the hell is Crumb? No one likes a sad Clown.”
Sweet squirmed uncomfortably in her pew. She’d see a Pierrot once. It was the worst thing that could happen to a Clown.
The Code called for funerary games so that the laughter of the shudder could carry the soul to the Palace of Joy. If the games didn’t appease the soul of the departed Clown however, it would become trapped in the void, and they would return as a Pierrot—a hideous, undead monstrosity that devoured flesh and spread coulrophobia. You can’t bring Joy if the audience thinks you might eat their faces.
“The Code don’t cop to convenience,” Waldo reminded him. He looked at the flower on Fennis’ lapel. Its pedals danced in the artificial wind of the oscillating fan, but Fennis remained still. “Rather get on with the Chase myself, all the same.”
“It’ll be a hell of a blow-off.” Blippy tugged the handkerchief from his breast pocket dragging out an extra three feet of multi-colored linen. He blew his nose on it and folded it back into his pocket. A sad smile stretched across his chubby cheeks. “Fennis will be able to rest easy in the Palace seeing the party we threw for him.”
“Gonna be a different kinda party, if’n we don’t get a move on.” Waldo patted the egg and sighed. He turned to Popsy. “Who’s the peckerhead anyway?”
“His name is Al,” a new voice said. “Al Musing.”
The shudder turned their attention to the tiny, trapezoidal door leading to the church’s rectory. Pastor Crumb’s four-foot height made it through the door easily, but the prisoner he escorted on a leash took to crawling on his knees to fit through. Pastor Crumb jerked backward as the leather strap went taut. He huffed and waited for the prisoner to catch up, using the moment to attend an urgent itch south of his bulging belly.
“Al doesn’t like Clowns,” the Pastor said. He adjusted the white collar beneath his second chin. “I imagine he’s really going to hate us after tonight.”
The shudder laughed.
Al tried to stand when eighteen-inches of checkered vinyl kicked him square between the shoulders. Popsy knelt on the human’s back and held his hand out to Pastor Crumb.
“Enough propriety. Give me the biscuit.”
Crumb took the revolver from the inside of his jacket and twirled it clumsily on his finger. He shook his head. “We have one more point of business.” He waved for Popsy to move.
The Auguste Clown growled, but rose nonetheless. Popsy rolled his gloved hand theatrically and gave a phony bow. He slapped the toe of his shoe down on Al’s face.
“There’s no reason for you to get up,” he said around the nub of the smoldering stogie between his yellowed teeth. “Get on with it, Pastor.”
“Fennis Farcemeister was a Clown of the highest order. We gather here not just to honor the Code,” He glared over his shoulder at Popsy, “nor to anoint a new Whiteface. We are here to say a final goodbye to a Clown that was more than a mere leader or friend. Fennis was a mentor when we were ignorant, a father when we were alone, and a force of will when we were rebellious. He brought Joy to the humans like no other Clown before him, and in doing so he restored this shudder to a place of reverence among all Clown-kin.”
“Amen, Pastor Crumb,” Sweet agreed.
“Fennis did such wondrous works in his two-and-a-half centuries,” Crumb continued. “Why, if it weren’t for him, we might not even have the squirting flower gag. He took juggling to new heights, literally, by doing it on the tightrope. He restored the pooting bag to glory when he showed the humans how to make their whoopee cushions. There has never been a more beloved and potent Clown than Fennis, and never shall there be. We have made a grand day of remembrance; however, the time has now come to say our final goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” they all shouted in unison.
Pastor Crumb flipped the lid of the casket shut on Fennis’ corpse. It remained propped open by the bulbous toes of his shoes. The shudder chuckled at Fennis’ final gag. Crumb’s belly jiggled with raucous laughter. His laughter cut off as abruptly as hitting pause. His smile fell and the greasepaint did nothing to hide the dour expression etched on his face.
“Al Musing, you have been chosen as the guest of honor,” Crumb grumbled. He waved his fingers to signal Popsy away. “A Clown is dead, a human must die. That is the Code to which both our kind are bound.”
Al stood up slowly and tore the burlap sack off his head. He glared around the room at each of the Clowns. “You got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Do we look like the joking kind?” Blippy asked.
Sweet stood and sauntered to the casket. She dragged a wicker basket from underneath its stand and knelt with a smile toward Al before dumping the contents out. Her aquamarine hair tapered to fuchsia ends that acted like arrows directing all gazes to the struggling buttons of her unkempt hobo-chic blouse. It took great effort, but finally Al’s eyes jumped from the cleavage to the cleavers skittering across the floor. They were oversized and ancient, specked with rust and old blood, and accompanied by matching mallets.
“So,” Al cleared his throat, “which one of you makes balloon animals?”
“We all do, dummy,” Blippy informed him.
“Good. Start with a cock and go fuck yourselves.”
Waldo chuckled. “Pardner’s got some guts.”
“I’ll be wearing them like a big, pink boa,” Sweet hissed sordidly. The blade of her cleaver scraped a divot in the floor. “I’ll keep you alive while I pull them out, so you can tell me how ravishing I look before I split your skull open.”
“As appealing as that sounds, how about we just split and fuck each other silly?” Al winked and blew her a kiss.
Blippy jumped up fast enough to knock the church pew over. “That’s my sister, dickweed!”
“Your sister?” Al gave the Clown a critical onceover. “Your mom had an affair.”
“You sonofabitch!”
“Enough tomfoolery,” Crumb shouted. He jammed the revolver into Al’s waistband. “We’re not animals. We’ll give you a shot… but just the one.”
“Fuck it. Why not?” Al pulled the leash off his neck and threw it down. “What’s the game?”
“Time for games has passed,” Popsy said. “The Chase begins now. All you got to do is survive until midnight.”
Al grabbed Popsy’s hand. The Clown jerked away, but Al held firm and turned his arm over to look at the face of the oversized watch. Forty-seven minutes remaining.
“Probably be easier just to kill you all,” Al suggested.
“That’s funny.” Popsy shoved Al away from him. “You’re a real comic… Al.”
“Choke on my McNuggets, Ronald.” Al jogged for the doors.
The Clowns set off giant party poppers, showering him with confetti and whooped with excitement behind him. Once he was outside, he took in his surroundings quickly. A polka dot Volkswagen Beetle was parked along the front of the Clown church which looked more like a converted funhouse with its colorful façade and odd angles. It was also smackdab in the middle of fucking nowhere. Rows of tombstones extended as far as he could see by the moonlight.
“Think, Al. You need a plan.”
He had a head start, a gun with one bullet, an

Ep.81 – You Are What You Eat! - Prepare to Be Skinned ALIVE!

28 april 2021 | 35 min

Episode Notes
Who's Hungry? Aaron is going crazy over his co-workers vegan diet, but how far will he go to prove MEAT IS WHAT MATTERS? Find out, and make sure to bring napkins...
You Are What You Eat by Rob Fields
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Transcript:
Robbie Farns walked into Mirren Automotive, the factory where he worked, about twenty miles from Strickfield. He didn’t particularly care about the place or the job itself, but at least it was steady work with a decent paycheck. He’d been working there for a couple of years now, at least as a way to pay his way through Strickfield University. As he walked through the plant to get to his work area, he knew it was going to be hot as hell. Carrying his lunch box, he knew he would soon get even more hell from one of his coworkers about what was inside.
Robbie had been living the vegan lifestyle for the last few months. He had been careful to avoid eating literally anything that came from animals. That included – in addition to not eating meat – dairy, eggs, or any processed foods containing animal byproducts. Whenever he’d go out to eat, he was careful to avoid eating fried foods cooked in shared oil. He had even gone to a vegan festival in Erie City.
When Robbie reached his work area, he punched in at the time clock. After putting his earplugs in, he went to his locker to change into his work shoes and prepare for his shift. It wasn’t long before he was greeted by a troublesome coworker in the form of Aaron Jameston.
Aaron and Robbie were opposites in many ways. Robbie was a head taller than Aaron, also thinner. Robbie had long dark hair that went down to his shoulders and was always clean-shaven, while Aaron kept his head shaved and had a long, shaggy beard. Robbie’s skin was a clean slate, while Aaron had many tattoos. The big difference was that Aaron was a hunter who always bragged about his kills, the trophies that he kept from many of them, and all the meat that he enjoyed. Then he learned that the new guy in his department, this quiet young pup, wasn’t a meat eater – a vegan – which got his attention in more ways than one.
As always, Aaron just looked at Robbie with contempt and disgust. Robbie knew and expected this every day, but he didn’t care. He’d been used to people picking on him about his vegan ways. Some of his other coworkers had asked him many questions about his veganism, mainly because they were curious. For the most part, people usually left him alone. Aaron Jameston, however, had issues with Robbie and would be anything but subtle.
“What kinda rabbit food you bring today, Rabbit?” Aaron asked, taking a seat at a picnic table across from Robbie.
Robbie remained calm, in spite of the nickname Aaron had hung on him. He looked up at Aaron. “What do you care?”
Aaron was twice Robbie’s age and never liked when people back-talked him. There were times when he wanted to just lay into Robbie. Sure, Robbie always did his job and turned out great numbers. Just the same, he wanted to find something – anything – to justify giving Robbie a good ol’ fashioned ass whooping. As long as they both worked for Mirren Automotive, however, Aaron couldn’t physically lay a hand on Robbie, in or out of the plant. Not if he wanted to keep his job.
“What, you don’t wanna tell me?” Aaron said in his always-threatening tone.
Robbie sighed. “Look, we both know you really don’t care about the food I bring. So why don’t you just save it?”
Aaron smiled, which Robbie knew was never a good thing. “Lemme explain somethin’ to you, Rabbit. I don’t know what you think yer doin’ with all this vegan bullshit. But here, outside Strickfield, we’re hunters. That means meat is the way we do things. We love our meat. We kill for our meat. We eat meat! Now you come in here with yer vegan bullshit and expect us to just stop eatin’ meat?”
Robbie held up his hand in front of him. “Whoa! Let’s get something straight. I don’t go around telling anybody to not eat meat. There are vegans out there that would, but I personally don’t care what you eat. You eat what you want, and I’ll eat what I want. I mainly do it for health reasons, if you must know. I’ve lost weight because of it.”
Aaron kept on him. “So . . . you sayin’ we’re all fat fucks ’cause we eat meat?”
True, Aaron was quite portly for a little man, but Robbie wouldn’t go there. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Aaron threw his arms up. “Why the fuck be a rabbit? Why can’t you just go bust yer ass at the gym or somethin’? Why you gotta be so fuckin’ different?”
Robbie countered, “Again, what do you care? I’m not here to preach vegan. I’m here to do my job and get paid so I can keep the lights on at my place, eat, and attend college. Leave me alone, okay?”
Aaron smiled more sinister now. “Yeah, yer a rabbit now.” He pointed at Robbie and shook his finger. “I seen yer kind before. Yer gonna crack. Yer gonna be back. Yer gonna eat meat again. Know why?” He leaned in a little. “’Cause that’s the way it is. Our ancestors have been huntin’ and eatin’ meat since caveman years. Meat is the way! The only way! There ain’t no room in this world for fuckin’ rabbits like you. People like you are weak. Always have been.”
Just then, Robbie and Aaron were greeted by the presence of their boss.
“Hey, Aaron, you causing trouble back here again?” Mike Cruz demanded. “How many times have I talked to you about that? You looking to get wrote up or what?”
Aaron wasn’t even afraid to talk back to his own boss. “You already wrote me up! What more you gonna do? I’m just havin’ a conversation with Rabbit here.”
“I don’t see anybody here named Rabbit,” Mike snapped. “Last time I’m telling you, quit getting in everybody’s shit! I’m sorry about what happened to your sister, but mind your own goddamn business! You wanna keep going this way, I’ll give you your final write-up. After that, I’ll have no other choice but to walk you out. That what you want? You both do good work in this department, and I don’t want to lose either one of you. But if you keep it up, Aaron, you’re gonna be out on your ass. We on the same page here?”
Aaron chuckled and looked at Robbie. “Know what, Rabbit? Yer part of a dyin’ breed. I mean it. Yer dead! Know why? ’Cause we meat-eaters hunt rabbits and other plant-eaters like you. You understandin’ me, you fuckin’ weaklin’? Only the strong survive! It’s only a matter of time before you end up like all God’s creatures . . . right next to the mashed potatoes and gravy! My sister was a fuckin’ rabbit – just like you. It didn’t keep her from bein’ kidnapped and killed a few months back. And you know what?” He pointed in a random direction. “The fucker that did it is still out there – still roamin’ free! And that’s another thing! Women are in the same place as you rabbits on the food chain – nothin’ but weak, dead weight. When the killer catches up to you . . . I’m gonna laugh my fuckin’ ass off.”
Mike had had enough. “You know what, Aaron? Go home! This ain’t negotiable! We don’t need your shit here. It’s obvious you still ain’t over your sister’s death. Go home and cool off. Last warning! You come back in here tomorrow and start your shit again, I won’t worry about no final write-up. I’ll just walk you out myself, and you won’t have a job here no more.” He pointed in the direction of the nearest door. “Go home! Now!”
Aaron didn’t move at first. Finally, he slammed his palms on the table, making sure he got Robbie’s attention. Then he stood up, still smiling his sinister smile at Robbie. “Be seein’ you, Rabbit.”
“Move!” Mike commanded him.
“Fuck you, I’m goin’!” Aaron snapped.
Robbie and Mike both heard Aaron yelling and cursing as he moved to the exit door and walked out of the plant. Robbie was relieved to not have to work with Aaron, at least for today.
Robbie managed to avoid Aaron when he returned to work. He started taking his lunch box to a different break area and eating there. Mike had told Aaron not to talk to Robbie, unless it was work related. However, that didn’t keep Aaron from giving him his sinister looks.
Over time, Robbie had heard around the work area about what had happened to Aaron’s sister, Susan. Aaron had never gotten along with Susan. True, Aaron was old enough to be Robbie’s father . . . and Susan’s. Aaron’s mother had taken over raising him when her husband, David, had died of a heart attack. Aaron was around ten, and he never really got over the loss of his father. After that, he looked up to his uncle, George, who was even meaner and more vicious than his dad. Still, Uncle George taught Aaron everything he knew about hunting and fishing.
Then, when Aaron had reached twenty, his mother had met a man named William Sanders. Aaron didn’t think much about it at first. As far as he was concerned, William wasn’t going to be around long. All of the other men before him had left. But months went by and William was still around, committed to his mother. Aaron never saw the surprises coming when his mother made two big announcements. The first was that she and William were getting married. The second was that she was going to have William’s baby. Aaron flew into a wild rage and threatened to shoot William. As far as Aaron was concerned, he was the man of the house – end of story. Just the same, William and Rosie were married. Months later, Susan came into the world.
Aaron would never come to accept this daughter as his sister and let William and Rosie know about it on no uncertain terms. As Su

Ep.80 – Dead and Breakfast - Behind the Snowy Blizzard There's a MANIAC!

21 april 2021 | 16 min

Episode Notes
A group of teens get stranded by a severe blizzard, luckily they've landed on the doorstep of a humble Bed and Breakfast where they can get warm for the night... But something else is lurking in the white snow and it's dangerous.
Dead and Breakfast by Morgan Moore
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Transcript:
The screams of a young woman pierced the night as the source of the din exploded from the backdoor of her home… letting loose another screech in her wake.
Her screaming didn’t last long as the cold night air cut off her wind, forcing her to stop to catch her breath.
She was enjoying a night to herself while her mother babysat for her… but the peace she was hoping to get was shattered when a stranger knocked on her door.
When she opened it, the man rushed her and chased her into the living room… a bottle to the head lead to her escape.
And here she was, taking a break to regain her composure.
She was freezing, but there was no way she was going back into her house. A neighbor… any neighbor would have to do.
The young woman started to walk towards a distant gate when the man shoved his foot into the small of her back.
With no time to react, he flipped her over, sitting knees first on her stomach.
Stunned by the blow she looked up at him, as the ice pick… recently pilfered from her home… entered and exited her heart repeatedly.
When he was finished the man stood up and slid the ice pick into the pocket of his jacket before walking off into the cold, bitter night.
. . . . .
“I think it’s stuck Matt.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed Rachel.” Matt replied sarcastically.
Rachel, Matt, and their friends Danni and Jack had been trying to get in one last camping trip before the weather turned bitter… but a blizzard appeared out of nowhere mid-week, so the quartet had packed up and hit the highway.
The blizzard in full swing, the group took the recommended detours and ended up in a town called Oldsville… or more accurately on the front lawn of a house they almost hit as they skidded off the road thanks to the ice surrounding Oldsville.
“So now what do we do?” Danni asked as she held her arms against her body for extra warmth.
“There’s no way we’re gonna get any help out here tonight.” Jack remarked.
“Well we have to do something or else we’ll freeze.“ Matt interjected.
Rachel looked around the area. He was right she thought; they’d freeze to death if they stayed out here.
Rachel looked around the neighborhood, and noticed that the lights were off in every house except for the one they were stuck in front of.
“Hey guys, it looks like the people who live here might still be up. Why don’t try asking them for help?” she suggested to her friends.
The other three looked at each other and shrugged.
“I’m game… as long as they have heat.” Danni said.
“And a warm bed to go with it.” Jack added, grabbing Danni by the waist and bringing her into a kiss.
“Don’t get too lovey-dovey, you might get stuck together, and not in a fun way.” Matt said as he hauled out everybody’s bags from the car.
The four trudged up to the house and banged on the door all at once.
Almost immediately the door swung open. A middle aged woman stood between them and the interior.
“Yes?” she asked, slightly annoyed.
“Hi. We’re sorry to bother you. But we slid off the road and uh, into your yard…” Matt started gesturing to the car. “...anyways it’s stuck now. Is there any way you could let us spend the night?” he finished before giving the woman a warm smile, the others following suit.
The woman looked at the group and shrugged a bit. “Well, I guess we’d be a really terrible bed and breakfast if I didn’t let you sleep here. Come on in.”
She ushered them inside.
“A bed and breakfast? I guess we lucked out big time. I didn’t see a sign out in the yard though.” Rachel remarked as she and her friends stripped off their winter gear.
“It’s more than likely covered by all the snow.” The caretaker explained.
She lead the group to the kitchen and after a few minutes handed them each a hot cup of tea.
The foursome downed their beverages eagerly which elicited a chuckle from the caretaker.
“Are there any other guests staying here?” Danni asked.
“Nope. You kids are probably the only ones we’ll have until the weather blows over.”
“How much do we owe you?” Jack asked.
“Don’t worry about it tonight. We can hash that out in the morning… no point in handling the business side of this now when you may end up staying longer.”
The group looked at each other sheepishly.
“Sounds like a plan then.” Matt said, breaking the awkward silence. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m tired. Would you excuse us ma’am?”
“Not at all. The rooms are upstairs for guests, pick whatever ones you want. My room is down here if you kids need anything.” She explained, giving
them a smile.
. . . . .
The stranger trudged through the harsh winter conditions. He did not know where he was going… he was only moving because he felt the urge to do so.
He would need shelter soon.
As if reading his mind the snow let up some… the lights of the nearby house beckoning him.
. . . . .
Rachel walked into the room she and Matt had claimed, buttoning up a pajama shirt as she did so. Matt sat on the bed looking at his phone.
“Anything interesting?” Rachel asked.
“I was checking the weather. Looks like the snow is definitely not stopping until late
tomorrow night.”
“I guess that means we will be staying here for a bit.” Rachel said, blowing a strand of hair from her face.
“Looks like it.” Matt said sternly.
. . . . .
The stranger pried open the backdoor of the dwelling and slipped inside.
Finding himself in a kitchen, he sat down at a table and pulled off his coat.
He removed an ice-pick from his pocket, laid it upon the table and sighed at the sight of the instrument before him.
. . . . .
Danni collapsed onto Jack and smiled before rolling off of him. The two lovers
lied next to each other, sweat covering them.
“I’m gonna take a shower while there’s still hot water.” Danni said, exiting the room.
Jack dozed off seconds later, only to come to in pitch blackness.
He stumbled to his feet in search of his phone, and the light it would provide.
The stranger rushed at Jack and pinned him against the wall.
Jack’s assailant slid a gloved hand over his victim’s mouth tightly.
The blows came fast, tearing his flesh savagely again and again!
The stranger let Jack’s body collapse to the floor before heading to the bathroom and the sound of running water…
. . . . .
Matt and Rachel rushed into the bathroom as Danni’s screams rang out repeatedly.
Now here they were, face to face with a psychopath.
“Run!” Matt screamed as the stranger bolted towards them.
The duo rushed down the stairs, nearly falling over one another as the stranger pursued them.
Their eyes went to the front door, widening in joy that they would be free of this nightmare.
The stranger tackled Matt.
Rachel screamed.
Matt turned his head to look at her as the stranger slit his throat.
The killer stood up and turned to face Rachel.
She bolted and dove out window in the far side of the room and ran pell-mell into the
cold night.
. . . . .
The frigid air assaulted her lungs and skin.
Rachel pressed on, desperately searching for signs of life in any of the neighboring houses.
Minutes passed and she was ready to give up when a light appeared from a distant home.
She stumbled forth, up the stairs, and beat on the door until her knuckles bled.
The door opened a crack and a middle aged woman peered forth from the slight opening.
“Please… please help me!”
The woman looked at Rachel, stunned. She gathered her wits and spoke.
“What’s the matter?”
“Somebody is chasing me! He killed my friends!”
The woman ushered Rachel inside and bolted the door.
. . . . .
“Honey I’m home.” A voice called out.
“That’s my husband. Let me go tell him what happened to you.” the woman said as she left the room, wringing her hands.
Rachel listened to the sound of a clock ticking away in the kitchen.
The gentle “tick-tock” droned on and on as Rachel’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier
. . . . .
Rachel started awake as footsteps approached.
In the doorway stood the stranger, ice-pick in hand.
His lips split into a gruesome smile.
Rachel’s bloodcurdling scream rung through the neighborhood and across the cold
Winter’s night.
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Ep.79 – Torture and Other Job Skills - Being Out of Work Can be KILLER

14 april 2021 | 37 min

Episode Notes
Being out of work sucks, especially when that's how you value yourself. But what if you have another calling, a deeper calling... a DARKER calling...
Torture and Other Job Skills by Killian Crane
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Transcript:
Have you ever been laid off?
I had my dream job in management. Good benefits, great pay. Small company, room to grow. Every day at work was a genuine pleasure. Most people say that to kiss their boss’s ass. But not me. I loved my job.
When Debra left me, the job was all I had. I poured my soul into it. Those under me, they didn’t understand. They whispered behind my back, called me, “pushy, tight ass... nut job.” Some of them even called HR on me.
They couldn’t understand. I demand nothing but the best from my team. Do your job to the best of your ability and we’ll have no problem. Do sloppy work, and I will make sure you face the consequences. And as for all the whispers behind my back, what they failed to realize was that my methods worked. I was by far the best manager at my job. Punctual, organized, efficient. Those under me knew my expectations. You see, people are like coal. If you put enough heat and pressure on coal, it becomes a diamond. Diamonds are the standard we should all strive to achieve.
One thing I cannot stand is failure. I punished those that failed me. There are far too many weaklings in the workforce. The answer of course isn’t to fire them on the spot, that’s a waste of coal. But punishment, that’s the answer. More heat, more pressure. There’s a diamond in there somewhere.
I was the best at making diamonds... until this fucking COVID-19 virus. I will never forget the day my boss Ryan called me into his office.
The first words out of his mouth were, “I’m sorry I have to do this.”
He was flat, formal, and precise. I sank into my chair. He said some more things about the virus, uncertain times, cutbacks in every department. Across the board, he said...
I didn’t listen to all that. I was too busy looking into his eyes. They said everything I needed to hear. He wasn’t sorry, not at all. He wanted me gone.
I couldn’t help but cry. It was unsightly and unprofessional, but the job was my everything, my only thing. And he took it from me.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“It came from corporate. Nothing I can do.”
Years of service, up in smoke.
As COVID made a killing, so did delivery services. I had everything delivered to my apartment; food, basic supplies, alcohol. Not that I was afraid of the virus, I just... didn’t have the strength to go outside. I was a failure. Me, the best employee in my division, possibly in the entire company... had been laid off. Let go. I knew it had nothing to do with the virus. That was just an excuse for the higher ups to trim the fat.
I never thought of myself as fat before then. Fat was something gross to be discarded. I hated myself, but more, I hated everything else.
I started the search for a new job immediately. I updated my already outstanding resume, surfed the appropriate websites. Someone would have me.
My bed became my new office as I searched. My laptop lay to my right, next to the television remote, the pretzels, the two liters, the whiskey, the box wine... I used the same cup for everything. Saved time during the search. Every time I went to the door for a delivery, I had to kick the daily paper out of the way. Despite the pandemic, the paper never stopped coming. Over time, they became a pile next to the door. They had their own ozone, their smell of ink and paper so much more pleasant than the rest of the place. It was funny. The world shut down, but not the mail. Should have been a mailman, I thought. Definite job security.
Of course, there were no mail jobs available. There were almost no jobs available. And the ones that were disappeared fast. The market was more dog eat dog than ever. I’d send in my resume and check back the next day to find the position no longer available. And I hadn’t gotten a call. Their loss, I thought... but then more and more listings disappeared. Blinking out like stars in the night sky.
When the check from the government came in, that was the worst. I’m sure it thrilled some people to receive one, but not me. I felt like a leech. More than anything, I wanted to work. To earn my way. But the night sky had grown dark, and so had my apartment.
In the darkness, I fantasized about hurting Ryan. A lot. I wished it was just me and him and a fucking pipe wrench...
Those weeks were hard on my ex, Debra. She called me often. I remember standing in my bathrobe at the window talking to her. The view was nothing spectacular, but it was nice to stand in the sun and listen to her voice. Too bad I couldn’t see her in person; she’d caught the damn virus.
“I’m worried about you,” she said weakly between wheezes.
I held my phone in the crook of my neck, checking my robe for smells. I’d flipped it inside out a few times in the past week. It itched, but I had a fix for that. A sort of numb-all recipe I’d perfected.
“Me?” I asked on my way to concoct the recipe. I accidentally stepped in a puddle. Liquid seeped through my sock and in between my toes, “Don’t worry about me. Hey, this might cheer you up. I found out today they shut down my entire department. Even Ryan, the asshat that fired me, lost his job. And I think he has COVID!”
“You shouldn’t laugh at that,” she said, “COVID’s no joke. I’m not liking it so far.”
“Well, I hope it fucking kills him. Hang on, let me put you on speaker.”
I put the phone down on the table. It was tough to find free space, so I knocked a takeout container to the floor. Globs of congealed rice spilled onto the hardwood.
“I know you loved your job, but you shouldn’t say things like that.”
My old job... it was why she left me to begin with. Late work hours, dates cancelled, time missed and all that. As she droned on about what the fuck ever, I poured myself the perfect numb-all. Three fingers of red wine, two fingers of bottom shelf whiskey. Pour over ice and slosh until mixed. Only one more ingredient...
“No, I’m not,” I said, holding a little orange bottle. I wasn’t sure if that was the right response or not. Based on her silence, it wasn’t.
Debra had left the bottle here at our- my apartment after a surgery on her knee. My supply of the last ingredient was low. The pills rattled as I popped the top and fished one out.
Debra snorted.
“You’re being strange today.”
“Eh.”
“Is there any way I could maybe see you, you know, after I get better? I’m just… tired of being cooped up.”
I put the pill on my tongue and washed it down with a sip of my drink. Numb all coming right up.
“We’ll have to see. I’m just so… busy these days.”
“Busy?”
“Yeah, sorry… can’t... can’t talk right now, I’m at work.”
She went silent for a while before finally saying something terrible.
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Hey,” I said, ice clinking as I downed the rest of my drink, “who’s my pretty girl?” I licked my lips and tasted the world slowing down.
Debra had a tattoo on the small of her back, a purple butterfly. Thinking about it made me the numb-all version of hard.
“Stop,” she said, “you know it’s not like that anymore.”
“Come on,” I slurred, touching myself. I tried to hide the slur, but that hadn’t been my first drink of the day. Or my first pill.
“Who’s my pretty girl? Smile for me.”
“Call me sometime, will you?”
Fucking bitch, I thought before hanging up. Oh, how I wanted to fuck her brains out, and maybe more. If only...
Oh well, I thought, eyes bobbing listlessly upon the fucking wreck that was my apartment.
Before, I kept things spotless and sanitary. I did my laundry the second the hamper filled up, wash, dry, fold, iron, put away. Now there were dirty clothes on every piece of furniture, empty bottles and containers on every flat surface. The floor was a minefield of trash and puddles. The smell of household cleaners and soap was gone, replaced by something... sad.
The only agreeable smell came from the pile of papers near the front door. It’s ozone of pressed ink smelled so nice…
I blacked out then, not sure for how long. I woke lying on the ground in a half-dried puddle of piss, my head nestled against the help wanted section.
And then it came to me…
The help wanted section! Why hadn’t I thought of it before?
How stupid had I been? Of course, all the job positions would be online, but what if…?
I tore into the pile. That ozone of ink and paper stained my fingers as I flipped and tore and read. Loose sheets crumpled and flew away. I didn’t care about the news; everyone knew the world was going to hell already. I devoured the job ads, holding them in the light pouring through the window.
And I was right! Every single paper had the same offer! Every single one of them!
“Management position. Job is challenging and a test of dedication and skill. Nothing but excellence will be accepted.”
I danced with joy, kicking trash and splashing in puddles as I spun around and around. I tripped over my couch and busted my lip on the armrest, but stood with not a care in the world! The answer had been in front of me all along! Everyone had missed it because no one reads the paper anymore!
There wasn’t a phone number to call, only an address. I had no time to shower. Some other desperate fuck might find the ad too. I laughed at his misfortune.
“Sorry, pal,” I screamed at the top of my lungs, “I’m gonna beat you to it!”
I tried calling Debra. She didn’t answer. I found that she’d cal

Ep.78 – The Last Days of Jimmy Flavor - Ancient Books and Hard Drugs Don't Mix!

7 april 2021 | 34 min

Episode Notes
Tonight Jimmy Flavor is a world class thief and he's taking on a demonic cult for fun and profit.
Jimmy Flavor's Last Day by David O'Hanlon
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Transcript:
Jimmy Flavor stood in the shower letting the water scald his back. He took a drag off the cigarette and watched the smoke disappear into the steam, the same way the water hid the tears. Through the gap in the plastic shower curtain, he could barely see the revolver sitting on the chipped countertop through the manmade fog. The water pressure was shit in the sleazy motel, but it got hot. Hot enough to scour away the last three days.
Jimmy tried to ignore the knuckles rapping against the flimsy motel door. The television was blaring with an old war movie. The knocking turned to pounding. Jimmy listened to the rattle of machinegun fire through the TVs busted speakers. He leaned his head against the wall and took another long pull off the smoke before dropping it into the blood-tinged water pooling around his feet. It twisted and danced its way to the drain behind him.
The boot hit the door and he heard the frame shatter. His fifty-dollar deposit wasn’t going to cover the damages. He bunched the shower curtain in his fist and stared at that damn gun. Flavio Jimenez wouldn’t have reached for it. But Flavio was a charcoal briquette in the trunk of a firebombed car sitting in an abandoned lot. Jimmy Flavor felt the first, cheap plastic ring snap off the curtain rod as he made his decision.
The more lives a man lives, the more deaths he dies.
Three Days Ago
Flavio Jimenez tightened the tiny screws into place, one after the other in the cramped cellphone repair kiosk located around the corner from the mall’s food court. He shifted uncomfortably on the cracked vinyl stool as the aroma of Hamburger Hamlet’s kitchen wafted around him like a malicious spirit, leaving in its wake a slime trail of grease that Flavio could feel oozing through the pores of his skin. He powered on the tablet, unlocked the screen and turned it off again before sliding it into the envelope with the customer’s contact information on it and placing it in the ‘service completed’ drawer beneath the counter.
Dweeb Space 9 was the premier cellphone and tablet repair service provider for eastern Oklahoma—at least that’s what the sign said. Flavio opened another oversized plastic bag and removed the archaic Nokia 8210. The customers were celebrating their twenty-year anniversary and wanted to recover their first text messages. He pressed the power button for no result and, of course, there was no charger included. He swiveled on the stool and pulled open the drawer for antique accessories. The cords were organized in a tangled ball wrapped in duct tape inside a grocery sack. Flavio sighed and dropped the bag on the counter. It’d be worth noting that he hated his job, if he liked any facet of his life at all.
He did not.
Flavio didn’t live, so much as he existed. In school, his grades stayed just high enough to graduate and he didn’t participate in any extracurriculars. Since no one was offering attendance scholarships, he went to work at Dweeb Space 9 and continued to stay there for the next seven years. He lived with his mother and sister and helped with the cleaning because he couldn’t cook anything that didn’t come with instructions on the box. His father was the risk taker and they lived comfortably on the life insurance as a result. It taught Flavio at an early age, not to do more than absolutely necessary.
Mediocrity was a lifestyle he was born to, with a slight build and average face which he kept hidden behind a shaggy mop of black hair and perpetual five o’clock shadow. Flavio hated his hair because it reminded him of how stupid his name was. He was not ‘yellow-haired’ not that anyone in Etawa, Oklahoma knew that’s what it meant. Flavio was the butt of his own inside joke. It was a name that led everyone to believe he spoke Spanish, which caused him both irritation and shame since he did not. The worst part, however, was his best friend CK. Since their first meeting in sixth-grade, CK insisted that Flavio must be Spanish for—
“Yo, Flavor!” CK shouted as he jogged to the kiosk.
No matter how many times he said it, or how many Spanish dictionaries he was given, Chandler ‘CK’ Kosinski insisted that Flavio meant ‘flavor’ and refused to call him anything else.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Flavio asked.
“Jobs are for people that don’t like making money.” CK waved at the DS9 sign. “Case and point.”
“You got fired again.” Flavio prodded the Nokia’s charging port with one unidentified cord after another. “Just find something that doesn’t suck and stick with it.”
“Or,” CK leaned on the counter and glanced around before continuing, “we could do one night’s work and make enough to buy this kiosk and make a living off dumbass high school kids… or guys with absolutely no forward momentum, like yourself.”
“That’s the worst motivational speech ever. Ha! Got it.” Flavio set about freeing the correct cord from the tangle. “What is this one night’s work?”
“I told my priest about my side gig at confession,” CK said.
“Stealing copper isn’t a side gig, it’s a felony, but please continue.”
“So is stealing nudes off those phones, but I know you got a collection.”
“It’s a service fee for all the dick pics I have to see.” Flavio looked up from his work with a sour expression. “Did you know people are putting domino pieces in their dicks now? Why is that a thing?”
CK cocked his head and scowled. “I never realized how happy I was not knowing a thing until I learned that was a thing I didn’t know. Can I get back to the fucking point, Flavor?”
Flavio rolled his hand in an exaggerated call for CK to continue.
CK looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear him. “So, Father Roland came to me the other day and said someone robbed the church and he wants to hire a couple guys to go get it back. He asked if I knew any hardcore, stick-up men and I told him I had the perfect guy. A real fucking professional thief.” CK snapped his fingers and pointed a finger-gun right between Flavio’s eyes.
“You told your priest that I was a thief?” Flavio pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Kind of.” CK scratched at his platinum goatee. “I told him about a guy named Jimmy Flavor. I said he was this hotshot bank robber from Texas. Look, it’s an easy job but Roland won’t hire me unless I bring in someone with experience.”
“You want me to lie to a priest, so he’ll hire us to steal shit? That’s the most Catholic thing you’ve ever said, CK.”
“Six-figures, Flavor. That’s what he’s offering.”
Flavio’s face ruined any feigned disinterest.
“Get cleaned up.” CK slapped some folded twenties on the counter. “Cut your hair, shave that depression off your face, put on your club clothes, and meet me at the church in the morning. This is the kind of opportunity that could change your life, bro. One night of taking a fucking chance for a change and then you can go back to stagnating in normalcy.”
“Jimmy Flavor, huh?” Flavio tried not to smile as he said it. That was a much better name than ‘Flavio Jimenez.’ His gut twisted with a feeling he didn’t recognize at first. Then it hit him—he was excited. “What time?”

Flavio slept in a succession of short naps—a victim at the mercy of his own excitement and anxiety. He was already up and looking at the stranger in the mirror when the alarm went off behind him. His shaggy mane was replaced with a short-cropped fade and the scruff on his face was nothing but a tidy soul patch below his lip. He smoothed the collar of his red, flame-adorned overshirt and shut off the alarm before heading outside.
Flavio’s car was the only extraordinary thing about him. The 1953 Bel Air his grandfather bought new, and his father restored before his death, was Flavio’s only love. He cruised across town, wringing the steering wheel the entire drive. When he pulled up to the curb outside Saint Anthony of Thebes Catholic Church, CK was already waiting. He sat on the hood of his Kia Optima and talked to an elderly priest. Flavio watched them in the mirror for a moment, looked at himself and took a deep breath.
“You’re not Flavio Jimenez anymore. You’re a hardcore criminal. Act like it.” He got out of the car and strolled over to the other men with a false confidence he hoped hid the shaking in his knees. He nodded to CK.
“This is the guy I was telling you about, Father.” CK slid off the chipped, dented hood. “Meet Jimmy Flavor.”
Flavio eyed the priest suspiciously. “You don’t look like a criminal mastermind.”
“I’m Father Roland.” The priest didn’t offer his hand, which was busy manipulating the beads of a rosary. “What I’m hiring you for is hardly criminal. You’ll be acting with the full blessing of the Vatican.”
Flavio looked to CK and then back to the priest and scoffed. “Don’t dip shit in sugar and call it a cookie, padre. You asked for a thief because you want thievery. Things that don’t belong to you now, are going to by the morning. That’s what you need to know. How about you cut the ‘mission from God’ line and get to the part where you tell me what I need to know to make that happen.”
CK’s eyes were wide with disbelief and Flavio hoped his didn’t match. He wasn’t brash or disrespectful. But apparently, Jimmy Flavor was. Even his voice sounded different. It was deeper, with an edge that made Flavio uncomfortable. The priest nodded and smacked hi

Ep.77 – Glenda's & The Snake Lady - Slithering Terrors Await You!

31 mars 2021 | 27 min

Episode Notes
On a cold night alone in the backroom of a dive bar Redd has the chance to find out the truth with the help of the menacing Snake Lady... but will the truth set Redd free or will it reveal the prison he actually lives in?
Glenda's & The Snake Lady by Charles Campbell
http://valleyboypublications.com
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Transcript:
Glenda’s bar and pool hall has been a Valley staple for as long as anyone
could remember. The beer was always cold and pool sharks with names
like Bonehead and Tater frequented the joint over the years. Glenda’s was open for business Monday through Saturday. It was only closed when Christmas or Thanksgiving fell on a day other than Sunday. Glenda’s was open for all of the others; July 4th, Memorial Day, Labor Day. It was a place for adults to congregate and shoot the shit, bitch about their bosses, spouses or whatever gripes they wanted to get off their chest. The booze flowed and there were way too many fights to count. The front windows of Glenda’s were replaced at least twice a year because of out of control drunken brawls. The Burnettown PD had to be called over to Gloverville on a regular basis to sort out the riff raff, and there was a lot of riff raff to be sorted. There were bouncers employed at Glenda’s over the years but most of them wound up in the middle of the brawls instead of defusing them.
One of the things...or, more properly, the thing that distinguished Glenda’s from any other redneck bar in the South was the legend of the snake lady. There was a dark room in the back of the bar and legend tells that on certain nights of the year it had an inhabitant. She would slither in from a secret entrance directly into the dark room. Glenda would chuckle if you asked her about it and blow it off as nonsense. But, it wasn’t nonsense. The snake lady is real and this is the story of a man that witnessed her firsthand. This is an unfiltered recount of what Redd Jones saw and heard on a cold December night back in 1985.
1985.
Snow flurries fell upon the Valley which was a very rare thing. Even the hint of snow in this part of the country shut down schools and businesses. But one establishment that stayed open rain, shine, sleet or snow was Glenda’s. And Glenda’s was the favorite spot of Redd Jones. Redd lived on Oak Street in Gloverville and was a widower. He lost his wife, Edna, five years earlier when she died peacefully in her sleep. The coroner listed it as natural causes; open and shut, case closed. Glenda’s was certainly a place that Edna didn’t approve of and it was a spot that Redd never stepped foot in until about six months after Edna had passed. The visions of her kept him from sleeping. She would whisper in his ear in the middle of the night, always making him smile; a smile that would quickly give way to sadness when he reached over and felt the cold sheets of the empty side of the bed. Finally, one day after walking to the Minit Shop to get a loaf of bread, the neon light of Glenda’s caught his eye. Before, he never paid it much attention. It blended into the background of everything else that didn’t matter when Edna was alive. But today, it shined brighter than ever before. Redd didn’t walk into the Minit Shop that night. Instead, he crossed the street and into Glenda’s. His life would never be the same. It all started with his first beer and it snowballed from there.
Redd had never been a big drinker, especially when Edna was in his life. He did the booze it up to be a big man in high school from time to time but it didn’t follow him into adulthood when he had to get a job, pay bills and provide for his wife. He and Edna never had any children which, in hindsight, may have been a bad thing. If he had children in his life the neon light of Glenda’s may have remained dull and in the background. Redd was quickly burning through his life savings and was earning a
reputation as the town drunk. Glenda’s was his life night after night after
night until this December night in 1985. He stepped into the bar and the atmosphere felt different.
“Glenda here?” Redd asked as he stepped in from the cold.
“Nah,” Sally Broner began, “she went to get Darnell. She said she was scared to drive in the snow,” Sally finished and popped the gum in her mouth.
“Scared to drive in the snow?” Redd chuckled. “There ain’t no snow out there. It’s meltin’ soon as it hits the ground. Darnell better get her bony ass in here.” Edna would turn over in her grave if she could hear her husband speak in such a tone.
“Well, that’s what she said. I’ll get your Bud,” Sally said and hit the
tap.
Something was a little off in Glenda’s tonight but Redd couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There weren’t as many people at the pool table for one and a good many of the usual suspects weren’t there. Surely the threat of a little icy rain the news wanted to call snow didn’t keep them home. Glenda wasn’t here. His favorite barkeep, Darnell wasn’t here. What the hell was going on is what Redd was thinking. Edna was the farthest thing from his mind. He was sure she would whisper her disapproval later that night just when he fell sound asleep. He only had Sally to look at and, quite frankly, her buck teeth freaked him out a little bit. He felt like he was talking to Bugs Bunny every time she opened her mouth. He wanted to shove a big carrot in it. Sally slid the cold mug over to him with that big What’s Up Doc grin on her face. He glanced down at his watch and it was
almost eight o’clock. He figured he’d drink until about ten and then stumble home so he could get his beyond the grave scolding from Edna. Redd rested his elbows on the bar and Sally moved down the line to talk to Bonehead. He was looking for somebody to snake money from at the pool table. Redd finished the frosty mug and was about to signal Sally for another when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had the uncontrollable urge to look to his left and Redd could see the light emitting from the bottom of the closed door at the end of the hallway. The door had always been there. It was at the end of the hallway just past the bathrooms. It was never anything special; never caught his eye. Maybe it was a room full of booze or maybe there was a bedroom back there so Glenda could just crash on nights she didn’t feel like driving home to Clearwater. Redd never cared about that room until tonight. Tonight, there was a purplish glow coming out from the keyhole and space under the door. It was a glow that pulled Redd away from his Budweiser and back into the curious man he used to be.
Redd stood away from the bar and walked down the narrow corridor. He passed the restrooms and stopped in front of the closed door. Sally didn’t call for him to come back and get another beer. Nobody seemed to notice Redd step away from the bar. Redd froze in front of the door. He looked down as the purple glow seemed to press around his feet. There was a chill back here. It felt unnatural, like he was alone in a graveyard – just he and the spirits.
“Come in,” the woman’s voice spoke from the other side of the door. Redd reached for the door knob. His hand trembled as he grabbed the knob; it was as cold as ice. He turned it, stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
The room was illuminated in purple by the black light hanging from the ceiling. The walls of the room were black as soot and there was what appeared to be a large wooden crate in the back of the room.
“Who, who’s in here?” Redd asked. He could see the breath cloud like
cigarette smoke from his mouth when he spoke.
“Come closer,” said the woman’s voice.
Redd stepped closer to the crate but he remained far enough away as to not see what or who was inside.
“Who are you?” Red asked again. There was fear in his voice but the
curiosity was there. He liked that feeling. It made him feel just a tiny bit normal.
“I’m who you want me to be,” the woman’s voice said and continued, “come closer, Redd. Come closer and see what you came to see.”
Redd’s curiosity overtook his caution and he took long strides toward
the crate until he stood directly in front of it. He closed his eyes before the last step and kept them closed.
“Why are your eyes closed, Redd? Open them and see what you came
to see. Hear what you came to hear. You came in here for a reason, Redd.
I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
Redd took as deep a breath as he could. He imagined he was about to dive head first into the deepest corner of Langley Pond and he would have to do so on full lungs. After taking the breath and holding it for just a moment, Redd opened his eyes. He immediately thought that he was dreaming or just maybe he was dead. The being he was looking at was
beautiful for sure but definitely not human. Her face was slender and seductive. She had the upper torso of a woman but from the waist down, it was the body of a long, black snake. Her eyes were bright yellow with the slit pupils of a viper. Her hair was long down her back and it was dark. Redd couldn’t quite make out the true color in the purple hue of the room. She slithered from her box like a cobra out of a charmer’s basket.
“Oh my god,” Redd whispered. He was frightened but much like the
prey of a viper, he was frozen in place; transfixed by the otherworldly eyes staring into his soul.
“Why did you come here, Redd?” the snake lady asked.
“To numb myself to the world,” he answered. Redd was under the
spell of the gaze. He was hypnotized by the sna

Ep.76 – The Bad Schoolgirl - Vampire Cheerleaders vs. Taibon!

24 mars 2021 | 37 min

Episode Notes
There's something not quite right about the Strickfield High cheerleading team... They've added violence, malice and blood to their routine!
The Bad Schoolgirl by Rob Fields
Check out the Babysitter Massacre books! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08X1QLGZJ
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Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
I walk into the main entrance of Strickfield High School with Eileen Donnerly, or just simply Einstein. Einstein was a name her older brother, Martin, hung on her because of how unbelievably smart she is. How smart is she? Well, over that blizzard weekend, Martin and I just finished having some hot morning fucking. We stopped for some pillow talk, and he told me that Einstein once took his HDTV apart. She easily put it back together, but now he could access all of the satellite channels and streaming services for free. She even doubled the picture quality.
I look at the little geek now and just want to wring her fucking neck, but of course I won’t. The problem with Einstein is that she’s always so fucking direct with me; she never sugar-coats shit. For example, I asked her why I fucking put up with her. I would’ve expected her to say because I’m sleeping with Martin. But no . . . she says it’s because she’s so cute and that I really like her. Sigh . . . I do have to admit Einny is cute. I also have to admit the little shit does grow on you.
We’re walking the halls of Strickfield High, and I know I’m in hell. Just a few days ago, I had to deal with Jarren Hatley when she was on the ultimate caffeine high and tried to send Principal Matthew Van Diest on a permanent vacation. Speaking of whom, he’s standing right outside the door to the main office. And he’s eyeing both me and Einny. I’ll tell him to fuck off if he says something to me, but he doesn’t. He’s definitely checking me out, all right. Either he’s got an eye for me, or it’s the fact that I’m wearing this fucking schoolgirl outfit again: plaid miniskirt, white blouse with the sleeves torn off and tied up at my tummy, and my 80s Reebok Pump basketball shoes. I’ve been wearing this fucking outfit because if I wear any of Einny’s other clothes, I’d feel batshit claustrophobic and shred them. And I don’t really want to go shopping for new clothes.
“Okay, Einny, where are these vampire cheerleaders you want me to check out?” I ask.
“They usually hang out in the north hall,” Einny replies, in her mousy voice. “This way.”
I let Einny lead me to said hallway. Sure enough, six cheerleaders are huddled together and yacking away. I immediately see the items of Olde Bloodstone they’re wearing as jewelry. Olde is spelled old with an e on the end. See, I’m the only vampire who can truly walk freely in the daylight. These bitches are using Olde Bloodstone to be able to walk in the daytime and not burn.
Einny and I just walk right past them. Then I start hearing nearby jocks whooping and hollering. Turns out they’re doing it to me!
“It’s the Bad Schoolgirl!”
“You’re such a badass!”
“Will you marry me?!”
“How about a date, babe?!”
And that . . . definitely pisses off the cheerleaders. Remember, most cheerleaders love the attention since they are at the top of the food chain in the female circuit of high schools. Now that they’ve seen me, they’re not going to be so happy. In fact, they all turn towards me and advance. The hallway gets quiet in a big fucking hurry. I’m ready to defend Einny if they decide to vamp out.
“Who said you could walk our hallway, bitch?” Alissa Mirren demands.
Her twin sister, Allie, grins. “This is our hallway. You need special permission to walk it. How much money you got?”
The other four just look on in anticipation. I really feel the need to laugh. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Being the one unique type of vamp that I am means that I can detect other vamps, whether they’re Master or not. Now these bitches are just regular vamps, which means they think I’m completely human. Only other Master Vampires can detect me. In this case, they don’t notice my eyes are red.
I give them the same sexy smile that Martin loves so much. “Oh, you two are so cute!” I raise my finger. “How about this? You two can take turns sucking my dick . . . and I’ll come and go wherever the fuck I like.”
The twins just look at each other, mouths wide. They’re ready to start a full-on fight with me. I quickly raise my arm. “Now’s not the time . . .” I give them a quick nod to my right. They look to see Principal Van Diest staring attentively down this hallway.
The twins each raise a hand, telling the others to back off.
“We’ll let you go this one time as a courtesy,” Allie says.
“Next time you come down here, you’ll be paying,” Alissa adds.
I laugh as Einny and I turn and walk away.
Einny asks me, “You think that was wise, Bells?”
“What, pissing them off? Fuck yeah, they’ll be looking for me – exactly what I want.” I lightly slap her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”
And then I smell Principal Van Diest coming our way. I wait for him to reach us.
“What can I do for you on this very fine day, sir?” I crack, not even turning around.
He takes hold of my shoulder and turns me around. “Look, I know you’re new here, but we don’t need you starting trouble already.”
I smile. “No trouble . . . No trouble at all. Like you said, I’m new here. Just want to get familiar with my new school.”
He glares at me. “Um, I heard what you said to those girls.”
“Yeah, and . . . ? You gonna take me to the office and wash my mouth out with soap?” Then I glare back and tell him to where only he and Einny can hear me, “I would love to see you try.”
He’s irritated with me, but he knows he can’t really do anything. Then I show him my schedule. “Room 237 . . . is first period. Far as I’m concerned, we’re allowed to walk the halls freely to get to our classes. Maybe you should say something to the cheerleaders. Unless, that is of course, they’re in charge here?”
When he doesn’t answer me, I flash my sexy smile again. “Way I see it, the students run this school. You’re just here collecting a paycheck. If you really do run things here, then fucking grow a pair.”
As I turn to leave, he grabs my arm again. “Don’t you test me!”
I’m still smiling my sexy smile. “That’s more like it.” I take my arm back. “Now fuck off and help make this high school a better place.”
Einny and I turn away from the principal and resume heading to Room 237. The cheerleaders just glare at us as we walk right past them. I even make sure to flip the twin bees off.

* *
Throughout the day, I end up having classes with both Einny and members of the cheerleading squad. I can easily keep an eye on said people. The downside is that several horny boys are keeping their eyes on me. I hadn’t planned on being labeled the Bad Schoolgirl, but what could I do? I couldn’t just let Jarren Hatley have her way with Principal Van Diest. Oh, well . . . I don’t have to be the least bit afraid of the boys. I catch an occasional glare from whatever cheerleaders are in my classes, but I just give them right back.
Thanks to my ultra-sensitive hearing, another Master Vampire quality, I can easily hear the cheerleaders talking. Tonight is a basketball game in the gym. After the game, they’re meeting the boys for their ritual. They don’t say where. Yeah, you bitches do that. You go hunt for your victims . . . and I’ll hunt all of you.

That night, Einny and I are just outside the gym. Sure enough, the cheerleaders are inside and the game is going on.
“What are you going to do, Bells?” Einny asks me.
“Oh . . . I think I’ll head on in and watch the game,” I tell her. I can tell Einny’s a little scared. “You can go home if you want. I can handle those bitches.”
Einny shakes her head quickly. “No! I got you into this. I’m going to see this through.”
I turn my attention back to the gym. “Me, too. Then I can move on.”
Now Einny’s gone from scared to upset. “No!”
“We can talk about this later,” I say.
“No!” Einny grabs my wrist and pulls me into the empty library. Then she points right at me. “You are not going to just up and leave Martin like that.”
I fold my arms in front of me. “I asked you this before. I’ll ask you again. Am I just supposed to wear Martin’s college ring? Look! I only stayed because you told me there were vampires on the cheerleading squad. Okay, I confirmed they’re vampires, and I’ll deal with them. Once I do, then that’s it. I’ll give your uniforms back, get my shit, and leave Strickfield.”
Einstein’s really pissed now. She shakes her head. “I said no! You are not walking out on Martin like that. He’s really into you.” She points right at me. “And not just because you’re fucking him.”
I narrow my eyes on her. “What are you saying . . . ? That Martin’s in love with me? I don’t buy that. We’ve only known each other for about a week. We’re just sleeping together, Einny. That is it! And you . . . What, are we just supposed to be besties, hang out at the mall together, and do each other’s nails? I’m over a hundred fucking years old! I hunt supernatural vermin. I’m a fucking Taibon. I’m a fucking Master Vampire! A normal life will never be in my future. Why can’t you understand that?”
“Stop acting all high and mighty, Bells!” Einny snaps. “And stop running away all the time!”
“Who the fuck is running away?” I demand. “I don’t have any family left to run away from! I’m the last in my family tree! I’m alone in this world, and that’s the way it has to be.” I unfold my arms and raise my finger. “Has it ever occurred to you that my being in your house is potentially

Ep.75 – My Dog, Doug - What Lurks Behind That Cute Face?

17 mars 2021 | 31 min

Episode Notes
New house, new dog, but what evils could lurk inside of both?!
My Dog, Doug by David O'Hanlon
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcript:
“Daddy, I want this puppy,” Abby’s tiny voice replayed in Barry’s head as he wiped the dog shit off of his barefoot. Lindsey found the Armant on Craigslist. Normally, they were extremely hard to find outside of their native Egypt, not to mention expensive. Smart, protective, and loyal—they were the perfect breed for just about any family. He wasn’t a very large dog, less than two feet at his scraggly shoulders, nor did he look like he ate a lot. Plus he was free, which sealed the deal.
The lady had told them that Doug needed more attention than she could provide, which wouldn’t be an issue with Abby. Why anyone would name a dog Doug, however, was beyond Barry’s understanding. Still, Abby and Lindsey thought it was adorable. So, Doug the Dog joined the family with an excited wag of his curly tail and a more excited screech from Abby.

The Warner’s had just bought a new home. It was much larger than they needed, but the location was isolated and it had been priced to sell. That was always a plus for the frugal Barry Warner. The fourth bedroom was an extra, so Barry had made it into a playroom for his daughter—who promptly rechristened it the set of the Abby and Doug Tea Time Review.
Every afternoon, they sat at the pretty, pink picnic table in front of a live studio audience of stuffed animals while Abby talked about the cartoons that her and Doug had been watching. Doug’s role consisted of sitting on the bench and fighting the urge to lick his own ass. Barry credited the dog for being such a good sport. Every once in a while, the dog would even offer a yip of agreement to Abby’s seven-year-old opinions on the geopolitical climate of Oz and other fantasy worlds.
They had been in the house a week when the noises started—scratching in the walls that immediately sent Barry’s horror writer brain into action. You can’t write scary stories without believing, on some base level, that it could actually happen. Barry was a practical man, so he immediately got out his EVP recorder and began to scan the house. Obviously, there was something strange going on. He didn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary, though.
Lindsey told him it was probably nothing. By the second week, they began to find things out of place or just missing altogether. Still, Lindsey insisted that they were simply being forgetful or Abby was moving them in an attempt to be funny. Who wouldn’t find disappearing house keys humorous, after all? And the attic door opening on its own? Well that was just a real gasser. Lindsey swore it was a breeze blowing in from some bad seal or something, but Barry had written this novel twice and knew the skeptic was always wrong.
The strangeness continued over the next three weeks and Barry was thoroughly convinced that there was a ghost in their new home. It seemed Doug thought so, as well. Barry had been woken up at three one morning by a low, long, growl emanating from the playroom. Barry crept down the hall armed with a less-than-intimidating participation trophy from a Halloween writing contest. He found Doug standing on the picnic table, ears pricked up, and teeth bared. He was staring at the ceiling growling continuously.
“Doug,” Barry whispered.
The dog didn’t respond. More growling at the ceiling, but nothing else.
Barry stepped further into the room and said the dog’s name again. He noticed the time on the Disney clock.
It’s just a coincidence, he tried to convince himself. It’s definitely not a demon.
Still, he cocked back the little trophy unsure if he would be better striking with the faux-marble base or the bedazzled jack-o-lantern topper.
Barry reached for a play broom propped up on the Little Tykes kitchen and bumped the spot on the ceiling Doug appeared to be staring at. Barry jumped as things in the ceiling ran in different directions to get away from his thumping. In the dead of night, the tiny claws scratching the crawlspace echoed around him. Barry patted the dog with a sweaty palm and went back to bed, but not to sleep. That would take a while.
It’s definitely not a demon, Barry. He reassured himself. Shit. Please don’t be a demon.
Once the sun came up and some Lucky Charms went down, he was ready to do some investigating.
“Doug, find the rats.” He pointed at the ceiling with a thumb.
Doug, climbed into the chair next to him and waited for his cereal. Barry looked down at his bowl, spooned out the last couple of marshmallows and slid the soggy leftovers to the dog.
“Don’t get used to it. I’m only doing it because you’re my canary today.”
Once Doug was done eating, Barry grabbed a box of Milk Bones and headed for the basement door. Doug whimpered and looked towards the ceiling. He ran upstairs and Barry followed after him.
Maybe the rats are isolated upstairs. Or maybe the ghosts live in the basement. He wasn’t sure which idea he would prefer.
The spry young dog made it up the stairs long before he did and he watched as Doug ran over to Abby in the playroom and gave her sloppy kisses. Abby gave him a hug and told him she loved him, after which the dog trotted back to the door, looked up at Barry, and gave a sharp bark before embarking back down the stairs.
He wanted to kiss his human goodbye before we face certain death. Barry wiped a manly tear from his cheek.
The basement stairs creaked as Doug and Barry inched down them. The dog was alert, Barry was spooked. His bladder quivered with each groaning step. The basement was well lit and spacious, the exact opposite of what every horror movie, ever, had prepared him for.
He waved his EVP recorder around the room. Nothing. Doug stopped suddenly and began sniffing the air. He cocked his head sideways and then walked cautiously to the old work bench on the far side of the basement. Barry watched as Doug worked his head underneath the bench and came back over.
Doug dropped the dead rat at Barry’s feet. Its head and one of its legs were missing, but it was most definitely a rat.
“Damn it, Doug.” Barry kicked the rat. “Lindsey was right. I’ll never hear the end of this. We better find the rest of them.”
He was sure there had to be more of them after the noise they made the night before. He inspected the baseboards for any holes they could be using to get around. It occurred to him, that he didn’t actually know what a rat’s hole looked like. He doubted that it would be the neat little archway of the cartoons. He heard the scratching again. An unseen rat ran overhead. Then another. Then a small group.
A frantic burst of barking sent him into the air and knocked ten years off of his life. Doug was going ballistic. The Armant snapped at the air, snarling and barking, as he bounced around. The scratching in the ceiling grew louder and spread across a wider area than before. There were a lot of rats up there and they were all moving at once—moving towards him.
The antique, asbestos ceiling tiles broke under their weight and dozens of rats poured from the ceiling. They swarmed around Barry’s ankles and crawled across his feet. He went Michael Flatley on their asses and started stomping out a jig in an attempt to kill the vermin before they could escape. He slipped on one’s rupturing carcass and almost fell into the sea of rodents.
Doug ran the direction the rats had come from, hitting the wall full force. The rodents scurried away from Barry in too many directions for him to keep track of, but the dog was focused solely on the wall. Barry screamed shrilly and slapped the beasts away as he struggled upright. He shook and checked to make sure none were clinging to him before joining Doug by the wall. He beat his fist against it to see if there were any more rats hiding. But there was no scratching or fleeing this time. No, there were no sounds of frightened rats. This time, something knocked back. Barry and Doug exchanged concerned glances and then both ran for the stairs.

Barry went to the basement later in the day to clean up his kills before they started stinking. He rushed to dispose of them before Lindsey got home from work—partially to spare her from the gruesome bag of squished rats, but mostly to avoid admitting he was wrong. Unfortunately, she pulled in right as he dumped them in the big green can.
Apparently, ghosts weren’t as scary as rats. As soon as Barry recounted the day’s adventure, she ran to their room and packed a suitcase for her and Abby. Barry and Doug would be left to handle the raging rodent problem. He tried to tell her about the strange knocking and how he thought that was a sure sign of a ghost.
“It’s a sure sign of a big damn rat, Barry!” She shoved the clothes into the bag haphazardly.
And that was the end of the discussion. If your wife says the house isn’t haunted, then the damn house isn’t haunted. That’s the way it works. Barry sighed in defeat and helped her pack. They left that night to stay with family in Rogers, away from rabies-infected vermin. Barry sat on the couch and opened a can of Arkansas Red. He turned on the EVP recorder just to be sure as he opened his laptop.
“Tomorrow we have to find an exterminator, Doug. Tonight though, tonight we are kings!” The 69 Eyes began playing through the laptop speakers while Barry ordered a pizza. “Would you like breadsticks or cheesy bread?”
Doug cocked his head and groaned. “Right, stupid question.”
Six stick

Ep.74 – Old Jerry - The Trickster Becomes the Treat!

10 mars 2021 | 18 min

Episode Notes
Kids think they have a monopoly on Mischief, but tonight Old Jerry may just be the king of Tricks and Treats!
Old Jerry by RT Raynaud
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Great. Another broken blade. Goddamn Sawzall. This Japanese piece of shit just isn’t built for hard work. Or is it Chinese? I dunno. It’s one of those Oriental countries.
I mean, if you’re using it in an air-conditioned, perfectly ventilated workshop a month after you bought it, and all you’re cutting is 5/8” plywood, it’ll work great. But, I swear, the moment you take it outside… or it gets dirty… or what you’re cutting is a little messy… you spend more time on saw repair than you do actually sawing.
Hmmph… maybe I’m being too hard on it? I’m pretty sure that bone isn’t something the saw was designed to cut. … No, fuck that. This thing is designed to cut through aluminum. Bone shouldn’t be a problem. I should’ve just paid the little extra for an American made one.
Fucker, fine. There. New blade.
You happy, saw? Can we please finish this before sunrise? I still have a hole to dig.
Relax, Jerry. Breathe. Just a little bit more work and you’ll never have to see this kid’s smug little fucking face again. At least he’ll never egg your house again on Halloween. I bet this was the little shit who’s been doing it every year. Without fail, each November 1 is spent cleaning rotting egg off of my stucco. Or toilet paper out of my tree. Or a smashed pumpkin off of my porch. I have been vowing for years to catch the fuckface who kept doing it.
And I did, didn’t I, you little bastard? You thought that you could get away with it again this year, huh? You thought, “well, I’m just going to pick on Old Jerry. Just minding his own business.” You didn’t count on the fact that I was watching this year. That I saw you in your little Devil costume throw that egg, with your friends Dracula, Zombie, and Skeleton cheering you on. That I would recognize your stupid little costume when you walked up to my door alone asking for candy.
Kind of a bonehead move when you think about it. Everyone knows that, when you’re “Trick-or-treat”-ing, you walk up to the door, knock, ask for candy, get candy, and go onto the next house. It’s called “Trick-Or-Treat”-ing” for a reason, you know. It’s in the disjunctive: you do one OR the other, not both. That would be “Trick-And-Treat”-ing, moron. Even if it wasn’t just plain illogical, if you’re going to do both, you should do the trick after you’ve already gotten the candy.
Duh.
And you’re NEVER supposed to go into the person’s house. Particularly when you don’t know them. Particularly if you’ve already egged the house because you’re a cocksucking, asshole kid with no sense of decency. Particularly when you’ve been fucking with Old Jerry for years already. You weren’t the sharpest crayon in the box, were you chief?
OHHHH! Shit! See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’d think that a saw could cut through some viscera without getting all jammed up. But noooooo. Ugh. Blood’s all over the place now. Fuck… it’s in my goddamn eye. Hold on, this shit stings. Even in death, you’re giving me crap. Alright. . I need a new saw. When this is all over, I’m gonna dump this fucker in the hole with you, bud.
You know, I honestly wasn’t expecting the “welcome to my haunted house” line to work. Most kids probably would have politely declined; it was the obvious play. Admittedly, I hadn’t expected you to have the balls to actually walk up to my house. I didn’t have the time to think of a really creative way to lure you in. I was in the middle of cursing myself for my unpreparedness when you said “thanks, mister” and waltzed through my front door like you owned the fucking place.
You fell for my ruse hook, line, and sinker; complete with stupid smile across your chubby idiot face. I had such a hard time restraining my joy as I marched you through the house towards the kitchen.
I probably could’ve done without that snide comment you made about how my home looked “more like a haunted crackhouse”. Yeah, I get it. I live by myself and I wasn’t expecting guests. It’s as clean as I mind it, but it probably couldn’t hurt to dust and mop more regularly. Now that I’m reflecting on it, the condition of my house probably helped sell the half-baked scheme in the first place.
But, who the fuck are you anyway? You’re just some idiot kid. What the hell do you know about interior decoration? You probably have a fucking video game poster on the wall in your room. Ugh… classless fucking asshole.
And the comment about the insects on the dishes in the kitchen sink? Apparently, you’re too good to eat bugs. I mean, it’s food that walks right up to you! You’ll eat whatever the hell “nougat” is; but if it has a thorax, all of a sudden, it’s too gross for you. Bourgeois bitch. I swear some people have no vision.
But, you know what I regret? I regret not having a video camera set up to capture your face when you turned to me and said, “this is a pretty lame haunted house”. You were expecting to see me disappointed at the bad review. I could see it in your eyes; in your shit-eating grin. You wanted to ruin my night; to inflict psychic torment on who you thought was a poor earnest haunted house proprietor with your “dissatisfied customer” routine.
I mean, I know it was just a ploy to get you in the house, but I was offering you a FREE haunted house tour. Gratis. As far as you knew, it would cost you nothing. Despite this, nothing would have given you more pleasure than to see Old Jerry’s feelings hurt. It’s just sadistic when you think about it.
You relished the opportunity to be an asshole… right up until the moment I cracked you in the forehead with the hammer you never noticed me holding.
If we’re being entirely honest, I hit you too hard. I wanted you to know what was happening before I turned your lights out. I wasn’t going for a “scream of terror” or anything like that, but, if I had my druthers, a “no, please stop” would have been nice to hear you say before the end. To be fair, blunt force head trauma is more of an art than a science. And, it’s not like I do this very often. To kids your age anyway.
As was, you dropped limp without a sound. But, oooooh, boy, it was still pretty sweet. I’m getting chills thinking about it again.
I knew I had to hit you again to make sure the deed was done, if only to make sure you couldn’t surprise me and get away when I turned my back. I’ve been down this road too many times to know that one should never underestimate the resiliency of the human body. Afterwards, I dragged you over to the basement door and pushed you down the stairs. There was no way for you to somehow magically escape from down there. I suppose I may have been being too cautious, but these are the kinds of lessons experience teaches you, I suppose. That’s the difference between Old Jerry and “other people”; I like redundancies. But, my worries were needless. You landed at the bottom with a dull flop, eyes open and dilated. You were clearly dead, your blood droplets spattered all over my basement stairwell.
Oh… remind me later to get to the pharmacy to pick up some hydrogen peroxide to clean all of this up.
Then came step two of my plan: cut you up into little pieces so that I could properly dispose of you. I mean, of course, I kept the tastiest parts of you for dinner this week, but my refrigerator is only so large. Eventually, the rest of you’d start stinking. Eventually, the smell would draw notice. Best just to dump you in a shallow grave and be done with you.
I had just been hoping that the disposal part of this process hadn’t been so taxing. If only this saw would cooperate. I mean, look at me; I’m covered in your blood. Old Jerry looks like he’s been… well, like he’s been in a basement cutting up a body all night. HA!
No? Well, I thought it was funny. Being splattered with your blood does make for a pretty convincing Halloween costume at least.
When all’s said and done, kiddo, you’re actually pretty easy to talk to. Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re a prick. But, I haven’t had this much human interaction in months. Ever since the psychologist lady told me to stop coming by. Man, now THAT is a story. You see, the court ordered me to see a shrink a couple times a week. But, one week she forgot to give me my prescription. I ran out over the weekend, but her office didn’t open until Monday. So, I did some researching to find where she lived and went to her house…
SHHHHHHH!
Do you hear something?
.
.
.
I think I just heard a knock on the front door. Hold on. Lemme go see.
.
.
.
Hey, wouldn’t you know, your friends Dracula, Zombie, and Skeleton are here. They look a little worried. Perhaps here to check up on you? Ah. Now I see why you were so bold in coming up to my house: this was all just some bit. You must’ve thought your friends had your back if anything went wrong. Maybe you should’ve stuck with the plan and only asked for candy. Who’s the joke on now, bitch?
They sure did take their time in coming to your rescue, didn’t they? No doubt the product of an extended debate as to whether to go tell someone and risk getting in trouble for tonight’s hijinks.
I really have to question your friends’ wisdom in approaching the same house you didn’t come out of. You really picked some idiot friends. Seriously, what the hell are they teaching you kids about the mechanics of “Trick-or-Treat”-ing these days? Like I said, go up to house, get

Ep.73 – Slasher - Making Movies Can Be MURDER

3 mars 2021 | 36 min

Episode Notes
A group of college students set out to make a slasher movie but when real bodies start piling up who will survive these halls of horror?!
Slasher by Rob Fields
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Contact Us/Submit a Story
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Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Prologue
The group that was to breathe new life into the Strickfield University Film Society gathered in the movie room at Wilder Hall, the student union building. When Professor James Corgen arrived to conduct the meeting, he sat on top of his desk and looked at the others.
“I see we’re missing somebody,” he said.
“I’m sure Jennie will be here shortly,” Jessie, his busty, red-headed daughter, assured him.
The professor appeared annoyed. “I’m not talking about your sister.”
Just then, another girl entered the movie room. “Sorry I’m late. I got delayed.”
Jessie turned to her. “It’s okay, Vickie, you didn’t miss anything. In fact, we’re heading out shortly.”
Professor Corgen looked at Vickie. “You did read the script, right?”
“Trust me, I know my lines,” Vickie assured him.
“I know why Vickie got delayed.” Bethany Mirren looked over at the others and made an obscene pantomime of giving oral sex, getting a few chuckles out of some of the males present.
Jessie pointed right past Bethany. “Hey! Don’t want to work with Vickie Valentine? There’s the door! We’ve only got one shot at making this movie. Just say the word and we’ll recast you.”
Bethany flashed a toothy smile. “Your ad said you needed big-breasted girls for your movie. It just surprises me that you’d hire a porn star.”
“That porn star can actually act!” Jessie fired back. “She’s already starred in a horror movie for the North Ridgeway University Film Club. The Murder Club is kicking ass all over the film festival circuit. My contact at North Ridgeway told me it’ll be getting a limited theatrical run in a few months. I want our movie to get that same prestige, especially if we want to keep the Strickfield University Film Society going.”
“We’ve lost a lot of money over the past six months,” Professor Corgen explained. “Dean Roth won’t set aside any more money in the budget for us unless we can start making some of our own. We have just enough money left to make our movie. My daughter here wrote a script, which is both excellent and an homage to cheesy, exploitation horror. I don’t personally care for horror movies, but I feel Jessie’s going to do well with it. She’ll be in the movie with all of you, but will also be directing Slasher, the title. I’m merely here as an adviser. I don’t want any animosity between any of you, especially with Vickie Valentine here.”
Jessie pointed to Bethany. “You in? Or out?”
Bethany shrugged. “I’m in.”
Jessie smiled. “Excellent! Now . . .” Professor Corgen picked up a bag and opened it. “All of your smartphones are turned off and go in there. No interruptions due to someone getting a text!”
Some were reluctant in handing over their phones, but they were all collected.
Jessie took an excited breath. “Okay, let’s head on over to the old Performance Hall. It won’t be torn down for a month yet. Dean Roth gave us permission to shoot Slasher there. Everything will be up and running, including the showers in the basement dressing room. If none of you want to go home, you can crash in one of the many old classrooms. Are we ready?”
Cody King stood up. “Let’s go!”
Everybody left the room and exited Wilder Hall. They walked across campus until they came to the boarded-up building that was once Performance Hall. The building had seen better days and was why a new building had been constructed. When Jessie was looking for locations to shoot Slasher, she had to convince Dean Jerry Roth to allow the Film Society to have the former performance arts building until it was time to be leveled. He finally consented and wrote her the permit she needed. He also had signs posted that only the Film Society had access to the building.
When they reached the front doors, Jessie unlocked them and they all went inside. Jessie was so excited to be shooting her first feature film that she could barely contain herself. She took a deep breath and turned to everybody. “Okay, people, our first scene is already set up. Head down the hall to make-up, and then we’ll start.”
The first day of shooting for Slasher was about to begin . . .
1
Jessie sat on the edge of the stage and looked over her copy of the script. Before long, she heard a door opening to her far left and saw her father coming in.
“We’re shooting the opening scene in here,” she informed him.
He came and sat next to her. “You’re going to do just fine, Jessie. I suppose I’m curious. Why did you cast an adult film actress?”
“I told you, Dad, she really can act. I had a chance to see her in The Murder Club at North Ridgeway University a few months ago and knew she’d be perfect for Slasher. I met Vickie that night and showed her the script, which she loved. I can’t pay my actors much, but I’m glad she took the role anyway. Vickie’s trying to do more legitimate movies and get out of porn. I want to help give her that chance.”
He put a comforting arm around her. “Okay, it’s your movie. I said I’d back you.”
Jessie opened her script again. “Like I said, we’re shooting the first scene. I couldn’t find anybody to play the Scream Queen killer, so I’m playing two roles.” She picked up the blank white mask that signified the killer. “I still can’t reach Jennie. Do you know if she’s coming?”
Her father looked grim. “I didn’t want to tell you, but your sister won’t be joining us for our meetings again . . . ever.”
Jessie looked worried. “What’s going on?”
He sighed. “She’s the reason we’re having our money problems. I discovered she’s been embezzling money from the Film Society.”
Her mouth opened wide. “Oh, my god!”
Then they heard a noise. Professor Corgen quickly stood up and walked into the stage area. “Somebody’s up in the catwalk.”
Jessie found a flashlight and joined her father. She turned on the flashlight and pointed it upward. “I don’t see anybody.”
“I’m telling you, I saw somebody moving around up there, Jessie.”
Jessie slowly shined the light around a few more times. “I still don’t –”
Suddenly . . . the figure appeared! The figure was obviously feminine, with a build similar to Jessie. The figure had the same red hair as Jessie’s and wore a sexy, form-fitting white dress that showed off how full and ample her breasts were. However, this female figure wore the very same mask that Jessie held in her hands. This girl was dressed as the Scream Queen, the killer of Slasher. She looked down at Jessie and her father for a long moment before she produced a bow and arrow. Before either of them could react, the Scream Queen took quick aim and shot the arrow – right through Professor Corgen’s heart!
Jessie screamed as her father fell forward – dead before he hit the floor! Jessie looked up to the catwalk on impulse, but the Scream Queen was gone. Jessie held her dead father to her and sobbed.
It was several minutes before the cast came in, ready to shoot the first scene. When they saw what had happened, they either gasped or screamed.
Jessie turned to them. “Get out of here! Call the police!”
Stanley Farnsworth quickly turned and left. It wasn’t long before he was back. “The doors are all chained up and the windows are boarded up! We can’t get out!”
“Oh, bullshit!” Cody King snapped. “Get outta the way!”
The cast members reached the main doors to find they were indeed chained tightly shut from the inside. They went and checked the other doors. Hope quickly turned to despair when they found the other doors were chained in the exact same manner.
“We’re fucking trapped in here!” Cody yelled. “Bullshit!”
“People, come on, we need to keep it together here,” Vickie Valentine said. “Let’s go back and check on Jessie.”
They went back to the stage and found Jessie still holding her father’s body. Vickie lowered herself and convinced Jessie to put her father down. Jessie did and became angry. “I told you people to call the police!”
“Let’s all go together,” Nate Henry piped up. “There should be a phone in the office.”
“What about the bag with our phones?” Stanley inquired.
Jessie looked dismal. “Dad put them away somewhere. I don’t know where.”
Vickie stood up and helped Jessie to her feet. “We go to the office, then.”
2
The seven of them entered the main office and found the landline phone. Stanley picked up the receiver and punched 9-1-1. Then he turned to the others with a grim look. “It’s dead!”
“Bullshit!” Cody snatched the receiver from Stanley. After putting it to his ear . . . “The worm’s right! The killer probably cut the line.” He slammed the receiver back onto the cradle. “Fuck!”
Vickie quickly cried, “Easy, people. We can’t be losing our shit here! Not now!”
Bethany sneered at Vickie. “Just because you’re the porn queen doesn’t mean you’re the queen.”
Cody turned to Vickie. “Don’t lose our shit?! We’re trapped in this fucking building! The phone ain’t working! We are so fucked!”
Lizzie Jones finally got her words in. “I’ve actually been looking for a weapon or something, but . . . I can’t find so much as a single tool! I even went to a few of the other rooms nearby. There’s nothing to use as a weapon to protect ourselves in here! The killer’s thought of everything.”
Stanley groaned. “We need to – Ohshit!!”
Everybody else screamed and panicked as the Scream Queen now stood in the doorway – armed with a chainsaw! With one quick movement, she yanked the cord to bring the lethal w

Ep.72 – Grave Consequences - What Happens When a Grave Robs You Back?!

24 februari 2021 | 30 min

Episode Notes
Stealing from the dead isn't a terrible way to make a living, it just takes a little getting used to. But what happens when a grave tries to STEAL YOU in return?!
Grave Consequences by Killian Crane
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Transcript:
Dennis’ shovel bit into packed dirt. Years of practice told him he’d passed the five foot marker. Only a few more inches and his blade would strike the coffin lid.
This was one of the good cemeteries. It was off of a main road, but the town was sleepy and there were no lights. No lights meant he could park damn near on top of the grave. He wouldn’t have to lug everything from a block or two away. As an added bonus, the night dripped with a heavy fog. It would be impossible to see his electric lantern from a distance.
Mr. Pyles told him to look for an old money tombstone, and he wasn’t kidding. The once lavish tombstone had a statue of a weeping angel wielding a sword staring down at Dennis as he worked. At the angel’s feet read “Here lies Vanya Mills.” Her birth year was worn away, but she died in ‘62. Chances were, anyone coming to check on dear old Vanya was either an old fart or buried close by.
He dug faster, feeling sweat drip down his chin. He learned long ago to keep plenty of sweat rags handy for long nights, and there was a fresh beach towel already waiting for him in the driver’s seat of his truck. He had a change of shoes in his covered bed, where he’d place his muddy boots and tools of the trade in one large trash bag and his haul in another. If it was too big, he’d just wrap it in painter’s plastic and tape it up.
Once upon a time, Dennis was something of a jack of all trades. A pipe fitter when he could pass a drug test, a construction hand when he couldn’t, and a thief in between.
It was a stroke of genius that he found his favorite form of larceny; grave robbing.
Many homeowners were getting home security systems. The ones with anything worth stealing, anyway. The same was basically true of people. You’d never guess who all was packing across the country. Sure, some places had hinky gun laws, but that didn’t stop granny from carrying a .45. Dennis knew that from experience. Several years ago he held up an old woman and she pulled heat on him. Luckily her hands shook something fierce. The .45 rang his ears, but didn’t ventilate him. Dennis had enough gumption to snatch the revolver from her hands. He retaliated, stomping granny’s ass into the ground. She had just been protecting herself, but she damn near killed him. To teach her a lesson, Dennis made sure she had the ass whooping of her long life.
When he found the only thing of value she had was the revolver and a coin purse with a whopping $5 in change, he decided that robbing people was just too much drama.
That night, he used the $5 to get a coffee at a local diner. The night had been rough, so sweet thang at the counter wasn’t getting a tip. The local paper was on the counter, opened to the obits.
One in particular caught his eye. A local heiress, pretty little thing, probably in her forties, had kicked the bucket. She wore something intricate around her neck. The black and white picture didn’t do the thing justice, but he could tell it was gold and diamonds. It was then he had an idea.
While he waited for her to be buried, Dennis pawned the .45 for $300, then went to the hardware store for the things he thought he’d need; a shovel, crowbar, mallet, good rope, bolt cutters, flashlights and a lamp, towels and large trash bags. It all came out to just under $200. Another $85 went to a shit hole motel nearby, and the last $15 to his name went to a good hot meal. He had a full night’s work ahead of him, and needed to have his strength up.
Once he was at the cemetery, he realized just how brilliant his plan was. Graveyards were empty at night. The dead made people uneasy, except goth kids but they were easy to scare off. Another plus, there were no pigs on patrol. Small town pigs couldn’t be bothered that late when there was a car to sleep in or donuts to suck on. Best of all, graves didn’t call the police or shoot back. They were buried treasure, waiting to be plundered.
As he dug up the heiress’s grave, he had this feeling of destiny. This was what he was truly put on the earth for. His shovel bit greedily into the dirt. Like a first date, he was both nervous and excited to meet little Miss Money. When he finally felt the thunk of his shovel on her coffin lid, he scraped away enough of the dirt to put his hand on bare wood.
He gave the coffin a little knock.
“You in there, sweet thang?”
No answer.
“Don’t you worry. I’m on my way.”
He cleared the dirt away from the top and the sides, and slid his crowbar under the lip of the lid.
It was like he was at the casino pulling the handle of a slot machine. Would he hit? Would he bust?
He pulled the crank, and the lid popped with a hiss. She still smelled sweet, like flowers.
He turned away, caught in a sneezing fit. Anything scented always did this to him. Well, damn near anything, really. He had a sensitive nose.
He sniffled, embarrassed that she saw him like this on their first meeting. But that embarrassment evaporated when he saw gold chain encrusted with diamonds around her pretty little neck.
Jackpot.
He took the necklace off her. She didn’t seem to mind. As he stared at her, he had another bright idea. She wasn’t doing anyone any good laying in that coffin. But maybe she could still be good to someone out there…
He threw the heiress over his shoulders and loaded her into the backseat of his sedan. It took a little doing to get her seated, on account of her being so stiff, but he got it done. Dennis buckled her in and covered his work. In the drivers seat, he wiped his forehead with an old bandanna. He saw her through the rear view mirror, staring at him. The glue holding her eyes closed had come undone.
It freaked Dennis out a little, but she was just a stiff. Nothing she could do anymore.
“I know this car ain’t what you’re probably used to,” he said, giving her a bashful smile, “but I hope you enjoy the ride.”
He threw the sedan in drive and crept out of the cemetery.
To Dennis’ surprise; it didn’t take much searching to find a buyer for the heiress. Down a dirt road that the sedan didn’t like, he found the old ranch house of a Mr. Pyles. He was an old man with a look in his eye of terrible intelligence. He and Dennis shook, and he explained that he was a sort of… artist. After viewing the heiress and seeing what he liked, he paid Dennis $2,000 for her in cold hard cash. He was floored, like a kid looking at the ocean for the first time.
Before Dennis could leave, Mr. Pyles fetched two glasses and a batch of moonshine from the cabinet. “You got time for a drink?” the old man asked. “I got an offer you might like to hear.”
Dennis never was one to say no to good money, so he stayed for the drink.
“I been looking for someone like you,” Mr. Pyles said, “been looking a long while. You know, in the right hands, a dead body can be spun into gold.”
He poured two shots of moonshine, and slid one to Dennis. “How would you like to make this a regular thing?”
Dennis stared at the shot of moonshine, reminiscing about the thrill of the dig. He flexed his fingers, remembering the tension of his crowbar under the lid of the coffin...
For the sake of formality, had to ask. “What’s the pay?”
Mr. Pyles smiled. “Same for her, $2,000 a stiff. Anything on their person is a bonus for you, unless specifically instructed otherwise.”
For Dennis, it was a no brainer. They toasted. The moonshine burned on the way down, and their pact was forged.
Mr. Pyles gave him a burner phone, a name, a photo of a gravestone, and an address. Dennis set out immediately.
Things went that way for three good years. Since then, Dennis sold the sedan in favor of a four wheel drive truck with a long bed and a hard cover. An eight foot bed meant he could put a basketball player in the back if need be.
His new profession took him all across the country. He found that northern dirt didn’t give like the ground in the south, and the more rain a place got, the better for the older graves. Wet ground meant the coffins weren’t busted when he got to them. He wasn’t sure why that was, he just knew it meant he had to do less work. A busted coffin meant playing archaeologist, and on more than one occasion it resulted in a bust.
Despite his love of southern coffins, southern air played hell with his allergies. They were bad enough as it was, but the south really let him have it.
He caught a sneeze in the crook of his arm for probably the tenth time that night. The angle looked down at him scornfully.
“Bless me,” he said, blowing a snot rocket at her feet before he kept digging.
Most of the houses near the cemetery looked like old money. Chances were, Vanya was probably a trophy wife for some local millionaire when she was alive, meaning she carried some trophies into the afterlife. Dennis hoped, anyway.
He wondered if Vanya was feeling lonely down there. Maybe she was looking forward to finding a new friend in Mr. Pyles. He wasn’t sure what the old man did with any of the bodies. Dennis brought him all kinds of people at various stages of decay. He learned that graves over 50 years old were usually just the frame. He enjoyed those graves the best. Bones were easy to pick clean and load in the truck.
As he bit into the dirt, the shovel jolted with a thunk. “Thar she be,” he whispered with a

Ep.71 – Party in the Woods - Unexpected Guests Have Big Claws and Bigger Appetites!

17 februari 2021 | 18 min

Episode Notes
A party out in the wilderness gets crashed by some unexpected guests. They're mean, they're big and their hungry for YOU!
Party in the Woods by Joe Solmo
pennedinblood.com
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Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Tristian and Becca made their way down the wooded path behind Tristian’s neighbor’s farm. Josh and Emily went to bed pretty early, so for years Tristian had brought friends down here behind the farm to explore the woods. As he got older he explored less and came to the woods to drink and party with the girls from town.
Becca was new to town, just moving here a month ago. Tristian was infatuated as soon as he saw her in the hall in school, her long brown hair flowing behind her. He followed her after school trying to come up with something to say to her to spark a conversation. It paid off though, he thought as he sneaked a glance at her behind in the moonlight through a break in the trees.
She carried a bottle of Jack Daniels in her right hand, it was already missing a quarter of the brown liquid inside. She was more of a drinker than he was, he noted with a smile. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way she walked, the curves swaying back and forth, it was mesmerizing. The swaying stopped in front of him.
“Tristian, did you hear that?” she whispered to him.
“Hear what?” he asked at a normal volume.
“Shh…something in the woods,” she replied. “Do you guys have bears around here?” She asked with a little bit of fright in her voice.
“I didn’t hear anything. Don’t worry I have been coming here since I was a kid, there is nothing out here that can hurt us,” he said and smiled that famous smile that got him the girl on numerous occasions.
Becca still stood there for another moment, when she didn’t hear anything she began to walk the path again, but cautiously. Tristian snuck up behind her and grabbed the bottle from her hands. She let out a scared yelp as he laughed at her. He took a big gulp off the bottle, letting the alcohol burn his throat.
“Are the others meeting us up here?” Becca asked. She wouldn’t agree to coming out to the woods with a guy she just met unless others were going to be there. He scrambled to find another couple to come along.
“Yes, it’s not much farther now. We got a little fireplace from an old house,” Tristian said. “It must have been from the seventeen hundreds,” he said.
“Sounds cool,” Becca said.
Thinking of the fireplace, Tristian frowned. He should be able to see it from here. He knew Greg and Beth were here already. He saw Greg’s car down by the side of the highway on the way over. Maybe he was just lazy, he thought.
The moon was hidden by the boughs of the trees above. Tristian made his way in the dark to where he knew the stone chimney was. He could barely see the lighter stone in the darkness. He felt around to the right where he stacked the kindling. It felt wet, but he didn’t remember it raining recently. “Greg if you pissed on our wood I will kill you,” he called out to the night. He hoped Greg heard him as he banged Beth, or whatever they were doing.
He grabbed a book of matches from his pocket after stacking the wooden branches into a small teepee shape, with pine needles and last fall’s leaves under. “I can’t see anything,” Becca said from behind him.
“One second,” he said, masking his disappointment. She was one hell of a looker, but she seemed kind of annoying to him. He struck the match, which blinded him for a second with its brightness in the almost complete dark.
He instinctively moved the match to the pine needles under the wood before it burned out or the wind got it. He saw spots in his vision as he gently blew on the pine needles. “Yes!” he called out as the fire came to life. It wasn’t piss on the sticks, it was a darker, thicker color. It reminded him of the bottle Becca carried. “Hey babe, can I get a drink,” he said getting to his feet. The sticks were catching now and the light from the chimney was spreading. Becca didn’t answer him. “Babe?” he said and turned around.
Becca was standing in front of him, ten feet away with the bottle still in her right hand. Her widened eyes stared past him towards the chimney. “What the hell’s gotten into you,” he said and took a step closer, but she didn’t move. He watched as the bottle slipped from her hand and struck the ground, spilling its contents.
“What’s wrong with you?” he said grabbing the bottle off the ground to save its contents which he tried to pour down his throat. He stopped with the bottle to his lips. Becca still hadn’t moved. He started to get a creepy feeling and turned towards the fire.
The light from the flames illuminated the immediate area. The stack of wood he had piled there yesterday was definitely wet, but it was also red. It looks like something bled all over it. His eyes fell to just in front of the stack of wood and he saw the source of the blood.
Greg, naked to the waist lay on the ground, twisted in a way Tristian could only describe as… wrong. His face looked behind him and several vertebra stuck out from a gaping hole in his neck. His eyes were wide open in fear, similar to Becca’s.
He turned towards his would be girlfriend, but she was still looking in the same direction. Tears streaked her cheeks and a sob escaped her lips. He turned back to see what she was looking at, and that’s when he noticed Beth.
Blonde hair mixed with crimson blood covered her young face from the caved in skull before it sunk into the opening that her missing lower jaw left behind. She was completely naked behind the wood pile. Tristian approached her body carefully. He tried to speak but nothing came out. She had large scratches or claw marks crisscrossing across her naked breasts at an inch deep filled with rivers of blood. One of her legs was missing. Just missing. How does that even happen? He couldn’t see it anywhere, but he did find her lower jaw. It looked like some sick bastard had tried to rape her with it, but all it did was tear her pubic area. Teeth peeked out from between strings of her mangled genitalia that hung from her body like the streamers on a five year old girl’s bicycle.
Panic started to settle into Tristian. He stepped backwards away from the mangled corpses of his high school friends. “Becca,” he called out. “Run.” He turned himself to run and saw a horrid sight. Behind Becca, who still hadn’t moved from the same position, stood three humanoid shapes. Their eyes reflected the firelight from the chimney.
“Becca?” Tristian managed to say before the creatures moved. In an instant two grabbed his date and held her arms back behind her. He heard a sickening pop as one of her shoulders were dislocated violently. The pain seemed to break Becca out of her shock. She screamed.
The third creature charged Tristian. He managed to land a punch on the monster but it didn’t seem to have any effect. It grabbed him and forced him to his knees, placing one of its large clawed feet on the back of his legs so he couldn’t get up.
“Help me Tristian!” Becca called out. It was her last words. One of the creatures hands suddenly protruded from her lower abdomen, tearing out of her flesh with a violence Tristian had never witnessed before.
“NO!” he called out in horror and began to sob. He swore the creature holding him mocked his cry. Tristian saw the moment Becca died. He could see it in her eyes. The moment it ceased to be Becca and became only a sack of meat. It was worse than the mangled corpses of his friends, watching her die like that.
Becca’s body fell down to the ground. The two monsters fought over her, tearing pieces of her flesh off in front of him. The same flesh he was admiring just a short time ago. Tristian couldn’t take it anymore, he put his head down, letting his hair cover his eyes but the creature holding him reached down with its gray hand and pulled his hair until he once again was facing Becca.
Not only did they seem to enjoy killing, but it seemed they enjoyed making him watch. He cried out.
When the two creatures finished dividing up Becca they began to eat. Tristian struggled, but the creature’s strength was too much for him. He clenched his eyes closed to block out the horror in front of him, but the creature seemed to know. It dug a dull nail into the back of his neck every time he closed his eyes, only letting the pressure off when he opened them again.
Closed or open, he was being tortured. He kept them closed as long as he could take the nail digging him, never in the exact same space, then opened them until the pain from the nail was replaced with the evisceration of his date.
It seemed to go on forever. He couldn’t take anymore. He tried to move again, but the third creature that held him, did so diligently. “Go on, get a bite,” Tristian called out to his captor. It was the only thing he could do, mocking his torturers.
He had no way to track time, but at least fifteen minutes passed as he watched his date disappear piece by piece down the gullets of these hellish creatures. He couldn’t take anymore and closed his eyes to escape but his ears picked up on the wet, snapping of teeth through her flesh and bones. It reminded him of tearing the wings off a chicken dinner and it made him want to throw up.
The creature holding him down pushed him all the way to the ground. He opened his eyes and looked at what was left of Becca. At that point he did throw up, but it had nowhere to go being forced down to the ground. He breathed in his own vomit and t

Ep.70 – Be Mine - This Valentine's Day They Want Your HEART!

10 februari 2021 | 37 min

Episode Notes
On a cold Valentine's evening a young woman finds out she has a secret admirer, and they want more than just her heart... And they'll do ANYTHING to get it!
Be Mine by Shane Migliavacca
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Transcript:
She’d just sat down on the bed, with the cat snuggling up next to her, when the knock at the door came. Blake looked over at her roommate Cassie, buried in her phone and closer to the door.
“Door?”
Cassie didn’t answer.
“Nope, guess not.”
Blake looked down at her cat, Dean.
“Sorry buddy.”
She stood, as the cat looked up at her completely disappointed.
Blake crossed the small, messy dorm room as another knock came.
“I got it.”
“Huh?” Cassie mumbled.
Opening the door, Blake was greeted by Maggie from down the hall. The girl beamed at her from behind a pair of thick glasses.
“Here.” She thrust a pink heart shaped box at Blake.
“Uh, thanks. I guess.” Blake said, taking the box.
Maggie frowned. “It’s not from me. It was sitting on the table in the lobby with your name on it.”
“Oh, thanks.” A box of candy… for her? There was nobody she could think of who’d do something like that.
“Going to the Valentine’s dance tonight?” Maggie asked, before Blake could shut the door.
“Nope, got a paper to finish.”
“That sucks.”
Blake shut the door. It really did suck, but not for the reason Maggie thought. She was struggling with the assignment, dragging her feet on it since day one. Now the deadline was looming.
There was a pink envelope taped to the box’s front with Blake’s name written in glitter. Inside was a Valentine’s card with a cute cat on the front which read ‘Your purrrfect’.
Underneath the card’s message was another, written in red ink. It read ‘Roses are red, violets are blue. I choose you. Meet me under the east bleachers at 8 pm’.
“What’s that?” Cassie asked.
“It’s alive.” Blake answered.
“Huh?”
Blake rattled the box. “Someone left me a Valentine's gift.”
“You got a secret admirer.”
“Guess so, they want me to meet them tonight, under the bleachers.”
“Probably some townie rapists looking to assault a rich college girl.”
“I’m not rich.”
“They don’t know that. Pop that fucker open.” Cassie said, sliding forward on her bed. “Bet there’s a human heart inside.”
“Nope, candies.” Blake answered, popping a chocolate into her mouth.
“Damn.” Cassie groaned. “Gonna meet this mystery admirer?”
“No time for love Dr. Jones. I’ve got a paper to finish.” Blake pet the cat, still lounging on her bed, before picking up her coat and book-bag. “I’m off to the library. Billy’s letting me in.”
“Oh kinky.” Cassie laughed. “There’s your secret heart sender.”
“Billy? I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”
“Well, so are you.” Cassie stated.
“It doesn't work that way. He doesn't have the kind of… parts I like.”
Blake slipped on her coat, and rested the strap of the book-bag on her shoulder.
“What about you, meeting Steve at the dance?”
Cassie’s gaze drifted over to her phone lying on the bed next to her.
“Naw, he’s busy tonight. Just gonna chill here with the cat and some TV.”
“Oh, sorry. I knew you were looking forward to it.”
A smile crept across Cassie’s face. “Hey, we could go together.”
Blake could see the hopeful look in her friend’s eyes, which made what she had to say painful.
“I’m sorry… I-I wish I could.” She said. “If I don’t hunker down and finish this paper… I can’t screw up. My parents sacrificed a lot to get me here.”
She could feel her heart start to beat a bit faster as she imagined going back home after flunking out… the disappointment etched into her parents’ faces.
Blake felt sweat trickle down her cheek as she started to breathe more rapidly.
‘Control’, she told herself, taking in a deep, slow breath.
“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t totally serious about it.” Cassie said, perhaps sensing her friend’s stress. “I’m better off staying in tonight anyway.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a little bummed. Nothing big.”
“You sure? I could stay.”
“I’m sure. Go. Get that paper done.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I never am.”
Blake stepped out into the hallway, making her way past a group of girls all dressed up for the dance, before stepping outside into the bitter February air. The cold cut through her as she started across campus.
Taking a pair of earbuds from her coat, she hit ‘play’ on her phone. She’d put together a mix for tonight… something to get her motivated and keep her going.
Walking along a lit path, snow and ice crunched under Blake’s boots. Taking in a deep breath of cold air, she felt her heartbeat going back to normal.
Since middle school, Blake had suffered panic attacks. She had trouble keeping her grades up… trouble fitting in. She’d found ways to cope with it over the years with the help of the school counselor, Miss Cheryl.
Getting this paper finished would relieve a lot of stress.
Most of the campus buildings were dark, only lit by a few lights left on inside and some spotlights outside. So many shadows, perfect for a townie to be lurking. Blake wanted to laugh off Cassie’s comment, but here… alone in the night… she wasn’t so sure it was something to laugh at.
Stopping to adjust her heavy book-bag, Blake became aware of something as the song she was listening to faded out. Footfalls on the snow.
She turned, picturing a salivating pack of townie boys ready to pounce.
Ready to swing her book-bag like a mace, Blake wouldn’t go down without a fight.
She turned and found herself face to face with a campus security guard.
“Hey… hey miss.” The man nodded. “Where are you headed tonight?”
Not wanting to get Billy in trouble, she fibbed.
“Meeting a friend to study.” She smiled.
She noticed his name-tag read ‘Stu’. He looked like a ‘Stu’ Blake thought.
“I see, nose to the grindstone and all that. Commendable.”
“Thanks.”
Blake could feel his eyes on her as she continued on. She felt a little better knowing there was somebody out keeping watch while most of the campus was at the dance.
The library, designed in the mid-sixties, stood out against the rest of the campus which had been renovated in the last few years.
She knocked on the staff door around the building’s back. After a few minutes of standing around waiting, and thinking Billy wasn’t even in there, the lock clicked and the metal door opened.
A young man, a thin shadow of stubble covering his lower face, peeked his head out. His eyes darted back and forth before stopping on Blake.
“Is it secret? Is it safe?”
“Billy.” Blake said, wearily.
He smiled broadly. “Sorry, couldn’t resist… all this clandestine shit.”
“It was your idea for me to use the staff entrance.”
“Didn’t want somebody seeing you come in the front after hours. Old man Styles would have my ass for breakfast.”
Blake shivered as the wind gusted. “Gonna let me in already? My non-existent lady balls are freezing off. ”
Billy stepped aside and Blake entered what appeared to be the library’s office area… a cluttered mess of desks and cabinets. From somewhere in the library, Elvis crooned away as they stepped into the main room. Only half lit, the library was a maze of bookshelves and shadows.
“Feel free to set up shop anywhere, I’ll be down here doing inventory awhile, so don’t worry about getting the boot.”
Blake smiled. “Thank you for this. There’s just too much chaos back at the dorm to focus, besides Cassie didn’t go out tonight.”
“Oh, she didn’t go to the dance?”
“Naw, got stood up.”
“Kind of the same for me, all my help bailed so they could go to the dance.”
“Well, at least you got the King.”
“Music isn’t gonna be a problem is it?”
“Nope. Brought my own.” Blake pointed to her earbuds. “Where’s it coming from anyway?”
“Old man Styles has a record player hooked up to the PA. He’s got a shit ton of vinyl in his office.” Billy pointed over his shoulder at the head librarian’s office. “Helps the night go quicker.”
Blake headed upstairs, and plopped down at a desk off in a corner.
With her paper and reference material laid out on the desk, Blake popped open an energy drink and took a sip.
“Sweet, sweet caffeine.”
She un-paused her music and got to work.

Cassie’s finger hung over the ‘send’ button. How long ago had it been since she’d sent it? She wasn’t sure.
She read the message again:’ I know about the two of you’.
The message remained unseen by Steve. A part of her regretted sending it, the part that still loved him… even though she’d seen them together.
Fuck it. Fuck him, the shit.
“More Cheaters coming up.” The TV promised.
Cassie pet the cat lying next to her.

“Here I am on Valentine’s Day, petting my gay roommate’s pussy, watching Cheaters all alone.”
Cassie groaned, tapping the back of her head against the wall.
“Sorry kitty, but I gotta bounce.”
Cassie put on some lipstick, looking at herself in the mirror.
“Fuck you Steve.”
Putting on her jacket, Cassie looked at the cat curled up on her bed.
“I’ll leave the TV on for you. Learn from Cheaters pal… don’t fall in love.”
Snow had begun to fall, whipped along by the wind. Cassie was in the mood to do something bad.
She could head to the dance, maybe find some action there. No, all those couples… dancing… kissing. She’d feel more alone then back in their dorm room.
Instead, Cassie headed towards the library.
She hugged herself as wind blew across the path, swirling snow in its wake.
Cassie approached the sliding glass doors and peered inside.
She knocked on the glass.
“Hello? Anybody around?”
She shivered and knocked on the window again. There seemed t

Ep.69 – Good to the Last Drop - A Hot Cup of MURDER

3 februari 2021 | 33 min

Episode Notes
Who doesn't like a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter's morning? Well this percolator will make your coffee give you a lot more than a pep in your step, it could make you KILL.
Good To the Last Drop by Rob Fields
For more of Bella Taibon check out Episode 64 "The Last Taibon"
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Adam Lester watched his girlfriend, Jarren Hatley, move around the kitchen. There were days when he really enjoyed seeing how animated she could be as she multitasked. She did it all: worked on washing dishes, tending to the stove for making both her breakfast and her lunch, wiping things down, and even making a fresh pot of coffee. She would even be able to talk to Adam as she did all these things.
Adam was one of the premier basketball players on the Strickfield High School team. Adam had always been about sports from his days in Strickfield Junior High all the way to now. He even had scouts come and see him, some offering him full rides through colleges and universities. However, he would have to keep his grades up and be able to graduate. Mathematics was never his strongest subject, which was why he needed a tutor. Around football season, Adam saw a flyer on the school bulletin board that Jarren Hatley had put up about tutoring. He texted her number, got a response, and she had been tutoring him in math since their first session. Adam hadn’t planned on taking a real liking to this geek, but his overall grades were greatly improving because of her – not just math. He was so grateful to her one day that he kissed her, just intending for it to be a peck on the lips. But it ended up becoming much more. Now Adam and Jarren were an item, the talk of Strickfield High.
The one thing that Adam couldn’t believe about Jarren was how much caffeine she drank. Now, she was pouring her freshly made coffee into a thermal cup to drink at school. She had just finished everything when she smiled at Adam. “Okay, done!”
Adam accepted the breakfast sandwich from her, along with a kiss. The two of them were about to leave when they heard a strange noise. They both looked to see the coffeemaker making louder noises. Then it gave off a sudden surge; they saw a brief, giant spark of electricity. Shortly after, the coffeemaker was smoking.
“Shit . . .” Jarren muttered. “And I just bought it last week.”
“Take it back,” Adam suggested. “You still have the receipt?”
Jarren gave him a look of finality before shaking her head. “Best Buy’s going to think I abused it.” She sighed. “I’ll just have to buy another one, but I’m not going to have time today.”
“That’s right, you’ve got those meetings tonight,” Adam recalled.
Jarren sighed. “Student council after school. Key Club right after. Followed by your football banquet.”
Adam smiled and eased Jarren into his arms to give her a gentle hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you a new coffee pot.”
Jarren looked into his eyes. “You’re not going to have time. We could make it out to Strickfield Towne Center Mall before they close at nine, but Best Buy closes at eight.”
Adam caressed the side of her face. “I’ll get you your coffee pot tonight. That’s a promise.”
They kissed one more time before they left her house and went to school.
* * *
After the football banquet, Adam and Jarren couldn’t get out of Strickfield High fast enough. Adam drove them out to Strickfield Towne Centre Mall. By the time they had pulled in and parked, Adam saw that Jarren was sound asleep.
“Probably hit the wall,” he mumbled to himself.
He wanted to wake her up, but she looked so peaceful that he just let her sleep. He got out and went into the mall. As Jarren had said, Best Buy had closed at eight. There were only a select few other stores open. Adam shook his head to himself. He couldn’t believe this mall was still open. There were so many vacancies, especially after the holidays were over. He kept expecting to come to the mall and see it finally closed for good. Still, it continued to stay open.
Adam moved past the food court, which only had a Subway and a mom-and-pop pizza place. Just thinking about food made him think about Denoyer’s Grill. He checked out the rest of the mall, but he wasn’t having any real luck. There was one last store down where Radio Shack used to be.
“Tinker’s,” he muttered. “What have I got to lose?”
He walked to the store and went in. He couldn’t believe all the odds and ends that were there. Just then, a man in his late forties approached him. “Can I help you, young man?”
Adam shrugged. “I hope. My girlfriend’s coffeemaker crapped out on her this morning, and I promised her I’d get her another one – tonight.”
The man smiled. “Well, my good man, you’re in luck. I just happen to have one right over here.”
The man took him to what appeared to be a percolator. Adam gave the man a look of uncertainty. “She’s more of a Mr. Coffee type person. She wants her coffee as soon as she gets out of bed. I mean, she lives on coffee – and energy drinks.”
“I do have energy drinks in the cooler by the cash register, but I’m afraid I can’t help you in terms of an automatic drip coffee maker.” The man raised his finger. “However, your girlfriend will never have to worry about electricity with this percolator.” He lowered his finger. “Unless she’s using electric . . . ?”
“No, her dad made it so her house either runs on natural gas or burning wood.” He took a deep breath. “How much?”
“Hey, no pressure, son.”
“I know, but I want Jarren to be happy and have her coffee in the morning. Maybe she can learn to appreciate this. If not, I’ll get her what she wants tomorrow after basketball practice.”
The man took the percolator, and they went to the cash register. A few moments later, he quoted Adam the price. “Twenty dollars.”
“Twenty dollars?! For this thing?” Adam raised his hands in front of him. “I mean, this thing’s gotta be an antique.”
“And you are right. However, you look like your heart’s in the right place with wanting to get this for your girlfriend. So for you . . . twenty dollars.”
Adam dug out his wallet.
Adam knew that Jarren’s dad would be uneasy if he brought her home as crashed as she was. Adam carried her from his car and into his house, after he unlocked the back door. He carried her up to his room and laid her down in his bed. After covering her up, he went back downstairs to close and lock everything back up. As he was about to lock up his car, he saw the percolator he’d just bought from Tinker’s and picked it up.
Adam went back inside. After locking the door, he decided to see how the percolator worked. He found a quick video on YouTube and knew he could easily make morning coffee for Jarren.
The next morning, Friday, Jarren yawned and woke up. She saw she was in Adam’s room and turned to see Adam sleeping in the recliner next to the bed. She yawned again and moved to wake him up. Adam opened his eyes, and she kissed him. “Good morning.”
“Hey,” he whispered. “You all right?”
She nodded. “I could really use some coffee, though.”
Adam raised his finger. “Say no more. I bought a percolator for you last night. We can try it out before we leave for school. Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll head downstairs and make your coffee.”
They kissed again. Then Adam watched as Jarren got some fresh clothes out of the two dresser drawers that he let her use for when she’d stay the night. Adam yawned, staggered out of his room, and walked downstairs.
Jarren came down freshly dressed and accepted the mug of hot coffee from Adam. “I never made coffee before, baby, so I hope you like it.”
Jarren didn’t hesitate and took a drink. Then she looked at Adam. “This is really good.”
Adam gave her a weird look. “Really?”
“I’m serious. This is delicious.” She took another drink. “Very strong – just the way I love it!”
Adam wasn’t the cook that Jarren was. All he had to offer her was prepackaged food from the cupboard. She accepted a pack of Pop Tarts and opened them to enjoy with her coffee. Adam poured her some more and topped off her thermal cup that he had washed before going to sleep.
Adam and Jarren had a little time before class, so they sat in the cafeteria and talked about whatever. It wasn’t long before Adam’s fellow jocks approached him. The truth was that Adam never really cared for any of them, especially when they showed their obvious contempt for Jarren.
“Can it wait until class?” Adam demanded, without so much as looking at them.
Brent Haskel snickered. “I don’t know why you put that ho before your bros, man.” Then he looked at Jarren. “Get the fuck outta here!”
Adam was ready to get up and stand up for Jarren. Much to his surprise, Jarren immediately stood up. She looked at Brent with such a sharp glare; Adam had never seen this look from her before. “Why don’t you make me, asshole?”
The other jocks laughed. Then Brent leaned in. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you, geek.”
Jarren didn’t back down. “Yes, you did. You know, this school must be pretty desperate for a basketball team if they’re letting just any dumbasses play for them. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t even won one single basketball game!”
Apparently, Jarren’s stating of the obvious was too much for Brent’s ego, because he grabbed Jarren and raised his fist to hit her. As Adam was about to fight him, Jarren struck first. Still glaring at him, she raised her right hand – with lightning speed – and dug her long fingernails into the side of Brent’s face. She seem

Ep.68 – Careful What You Wish - Only Death Comes From This Genie

27 januari 2021 | 38 min

Episode Notes
Penn and Ed are an unlikely pair who encounter and ancient evil from the deserts of the middle east, how can they stop something with the limitless power to grant any wish?!
Careful What You Wish by David O'Hanlon
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Penn reached for the doorbell. His finger hovered over the button as it had the last two times he tried to bring himself to ring. He sighed and jabbed the button. Ed’s face pressed against the glass of the nearest window. Penn chuckled at the sight of the freckled, buck-tooth face smiling excitedly at him.
The door opened and Penn was greeted by a far-less enthusiastic individual.
Penn shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t look like an ex-con in his new jeans and custom polo shirt, but he felt the same way he did every time he was pulled in for a police lineup. Ed’s mother, Janet, held an obese chocolate-point Siamese cat against her chest and stroked it like a movie villain while she eyed the man on her doorstep. Janet slipped her robe up over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re Ed’s friend?”
Penn shifted the brown paper bag into his left hand and extended the right. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Penn.”
“Been in a few too would be my guess.” She waved him inside. “You’re going to let the other cats out.”
Penn stepped inside and glanced around the restored Brownstone. Three tabbies lounged on the furniture. A Maine Coon lifted its head from the arm of the recliner to survey the new arrival to its domain. The cat was seemingly unimpressed by Penn and went back to sleep.
Penn turned to Janet. Ed had told him his mom used to be a famous model, but the horrible marriage and subsequent vodka-and-valium-based diet hid the fact now. Janet looked like she should be bumming smokes outside a 7-Eleven. Penn felt a tinge of guilt. He knew better than anyone not to judge a person by their circumstances. She dumped the Siamese onto the loveseat and straightened her pajamas before pulling her robe closed and tying the belt tightly around her slender waist.
“Don’t you think it’s weird hanging out with a ten-year-old boy?” Janet snapped the elastic from her bun and let her brown hair fall as she walked past him and into the kitchen. She grabbed a glass from the dish strainer and banged it onto the countertop. “You’re like thirty, after all.”
Penn shrugged. “So are you.”
“Thanks for rubbing salt in that wound.” Janet poured orange juice into a glass and reached for the Popov bottle atop the fridge. “You can have something to drink if you like. Lactose-free milk, sugar-free Kool-Aid, caffeine-free tea. We even have the shitty soda that lacks all of the above.”
“I’ve got a water bottle in the truck, but thanks.”
“Cut the shit, Penn.” Janet sipped from the bottle before pouring a splash into the juice. “The boy’s allergic to everything. No one hangs out with him because they want to. The last date I had was four years ago and Ed broke out in hives because of the guy’s cologne. He has to wear a dust mask to walk through the living room because of the cat hair. The inhaler, the EpiPen, anxiety meds, and Allegra for sinuses. Seizures at the movies, motion sickness at the fair, panic attacks at the mall. There’s nothing you can do with him. Ed shouldn’t even go to the park, or wherever it is that he spends his time. What do you really want with him?”
Ed sneezed around a corner. Penn wasn’t sure where the boy was, but knew he was within earshot. Janet’s eyes flicked toward the noise and back to Penn. Calling her son a loser clearly wasn’t outside the norm. Penn’s fist tightened, crumpling the paper sack noisily.
“Healthwise, there’s a lot of things wrong with Ed. Everyone else sees those conditions as things that make him weak. I see them as the reasons he’s got such a big goddamn heart.” Penn stepped closer to Janet and took the glass from counter before she could drink it. “They’re Ed’s conditions, but you’re right, they do interfere with your life. You have to take the extra precautions and I bet that’s exhausting.”
“Don’t you patronize me!”
“I’m not. Honestly. I can’t imagine what you’ve had to sacrifice to protect him, but that doesn’t change the fact that Ed doesn’t get to be a kid.” Penn chugged the screwdriver and scowled at the aftertaste. He cleared his throat. “What I want is take him for the weekend so he can experience a sleepover, watch cheesy horror flicks, play too many video games, and eat a fuck-ton of red-and-green gummi worms with his friend the way regular kids get to. And you can go to the spa, or the mall, or a date, or at least to a liquor store with better vodka.”
“You are one ballsy sonofabitch.” Janet huffed and put her hands on her hips.
“Thank you for noticing, but let’s keep this professional.”
Janet’s face slipped into a smile for a brief moment, then the serious, judgmental glare returned.
“You want to know what’s in it for me?” Penn shrugged. “Ed’s the only person that’s ever seen anything good in me. I want to return the favor. I want to give him the experiences he should be having and as an extra bonus, I’m giving you the weekend off.”
“He’s got school Monday.” Janet took the glass from Penn and jabbed the rim into his chest. “You have him home by seven Sunday night or you’ll be the one with medical conditions.”
“Whoo-hoo!” Ed shouted from around the corner.

Ed climbed into the unmarked moving truck and clicked his seatbelt. Penn handed him the brown paper bag.
“I don’t think your mom likes me,” he said.
“To be fair, mom doesn’t get enough guests to know how to like people.” Ed uncurled the lip of the bag. “What’s this?”
“A present, obviously.”
“Presents don’t usually come in brown grocery bags, Penn.” Ed giggled and pulled out a black polo shirt. “Hey! It’s like yours.”
“Exactly like mine,” Penn said as he tapped his own embroidered pocket.
Ed found the chest pocket was identical and featured a stitched moving truck in green thread and gold letters surrounded it—Ed and Penn Moving Services. Ed reached into the bag once more and pulled out a lunchbox. He opened it and found a bag of gummi worms, a sandwich, two juice boxes, and a protein bar. Ed smiled sadly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m too weak to help you move things.”
“People have little things to move.” Penn tussled Ed’s shaggy hair. “Besides, you don’t get stronger by not trying. I used to be scrawny.”
“Really?”
“Really. And look at me now.” Penn flexed, straining the sleeve of his shirt. “How do you think I got this strong?”
“Because you had nothing to do but workout when you were in prison?” Ed answered chipperly.
“That’s entirely true, and also not my point.” Penn pursed his lips. “Even if you can’t help with the physical part all the time, I’m going to need someone to help with all the business stuff. They don’t teach book keeping in the joint. And you have to help me paint the truck.”
Ed sat up quickly. “Any color?”
“Of course. Ready for our first job?” Penn held out his fist.
Ed bumped his knuckles against Penn’s hand. “Absolutely, partner.”

Crumbs rolled down Ed’s shirt and joined the others in his lap while Penn lugged the mattress up the loading ramp and into the back of the truck. Penn was right and the couple had lots of little things for Ed to load. Still, he felt bad leaving the heaviest stuff to his friend. He shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.
“Is there more?” he asked between bites.
“Yeah, but not much.” Penn pointed to one wall of the truck. “Think you can move those boxes over in front of the dresser? There’s a big curio cabinet and two footlockers that I think would be more stable there.”
“Sure thing!”
Dahlia patted Penn’s shoulder as he hopped out of the truck and rested her hands on the bumper. “You’re a good helper.”
“Thanks,” Ed said. “You have a lot of cool old stuff.”
Dahlia laughed. “Oh love, this isn’t ours. My grandfather was a bit of an adventurer once upon a time.”
“That’s so cool!” Ed scooped up a box and set it on top of the dresser. “So, this is all his treasures?”
“Some of it. After my grandmother passed away, Poppa Harp became a hermit and most of it just stayed here collecting dust. My daddy used to tell me all his stories. I’m sad to say I never got to meet the man, myself.”
“That does kind of suck.”
“Kind of.” Dahlia tugged at a violet braid and twisted it around her fingers. “Not knowing him means I get to hold onto the hope that some of the magic in those stories might actually be real.”
“Oh, magic is very real.” Ed smiled knowingly. “Where is all of this going?”
“I’m sending it all over to a colleague. They’re going to sort it and sell it for me.”
“Why not keep it?”
Dahlia laughed sweetly. “Oh, I’d love to, but there’s just too much of it. The hubby and I are moving to New York. We found us a cute little townhouse… the operative word, being little.”
“That’s too bad.” Ed lifted an ornate bottle from one of the boxes. “This stuff is really nifty. I’d love to hear the stories about each one.”
“Maybe you will, love. I’ve got a book deal with a big publisher up North. I’m going to write all about Poppa Harp and his adventures.”
“I can’t wait to read them.”
“I’ll send a signed copy to you and your dad,” Dahlia said with a smile.
“Oh, Penn’s not my dad. He’s just my best friend.” Ed’s face soured. “By default.”
Dahlia cocked her head. “How’s that?”
“He’s my only friend, so I guess he has to be the best one.” Ed stared at the bottle in his tiny hands.
“Well, now you got two, Ed.” Dahlia smiled at him. “I got to pack up a couple more

Ep.67 – Adam's Tale - Vicious Bloody Terror Comes in Small Sizes!

20 januari 2021 | 21 min

Episode Notes
On a camping trip Adam learns that bears and wolves aren't the most dangerous creatures in the woods, something else is coming and it's hungry for blood!
Adam's Tale by Joe Solmo
http://pennedinblood.com
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Contact Us/Submit a Story
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
In another time, the cool, damp, night air would have felt good on Adam’s drunk face. The moonlight shone between the thick branches of an ancient maple tree only feet away. It might have been a mile away as far as Adam was concerned. It was the pine tree he worried about. The pine tree that he could smell but not see. Its rough bark dug into his back as he struggled with the bonds that held him in place.
How he got here was some sort of mystery. The woods he remembered. A party he remembered. Camping with friends was the last thing that he remembered. Where were they now? Did one of them do this? Where was Felicia? He tried again to turn his head to get a better view of his surroundings, but he still couldn’t move. Something was around his forehead keeping him against the hard, rough bark of the tree.
He strained his ears, listening for some clue that could give him answers, but the only sounds he heard were a rustling in the branches above him in the trees. At first, he was alarmed but relaxed after realizing that whatever was up there, was too small to give him trouble. It was the animal that tied him up, that he was most interested in, anyway.
“Are you out there?” he asked the night and listened. No response. He knew the man had to be out there somewhere.
“Hello?” Adam called out to his captor. Frustrated, he kicked his feet, disturbing the bed of pine needles. That was when he heard the snicker. In the shadows of the maple in front of him something moved. A flash of orange light illuminated a face Adam had never seen before as it lit his cigarette. Who was this guy?
“Who are you?” Adam asked, straining to see in the dark.
“Let’s not worry about that now. You won’t be around long enough for us to get acquainted. It’s near midnight. The witching hour and all that,” the stranger said, waving his cigarette around as he talked.
“Where are my friends?” Adam asked. “What did you do to them?”
“I didn’t do anything. All I did was set the plate. Everything has to eat,” the stranger mumbled.
“What the fuck does that mean? Untie me!” Adam said.
“Why would I do that. Today has been going great so far. The best in a long time. They will be pleased.”
Adam struggled against the bonds that held his arms behind his back, nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. He grunted with the effort, which made the stranger laugh. He approached Adam and kneeled down, making intense eye contact with Adam. He got so close Adam could smell the man, a combination of cigarette smoke, sweat and halitosis, but the man’s icy stare kept him from retching from the smell. There was a timelessness in those eyes. He was only two inches from Adam’s face now. Too close for Adam.
“Save your strength for the screaming, there will be lots of screaming,” he said and cracked a smile. He touched Adam’s cheek with his lit cigarette.
Adam yelled out and tried to twist out from under the burning cigarette, but the iron clad grip on his head wouldn’t let go. He cried out into the chilly night again and again as the man burned him. Each touch a shock of pain on his cheek.
“Yeah, like that. I think you will do fine,” the stranger said and laughed. In the distance a wolf howled, followed by another. Adam’s eyes widened.
“Don’t you worry about them, now. Even they won’t come here,” the stranger said and flicked the rest of his cigarette at Adam. “This here is a special place. It’s time I head on out. They don’t like to be watched. This should buy my farm some time. They oughta leave me alone for a year at least.”
“Who?” Adam said, but the man wandered off into the darkness without giving him an answer. He heard the wolves again and wondered if that was going to be how he died, torn to pieces by wolves. What was it the stranger said? The wolves won’t come here? Why not, he thought. He could smell the cigarette still burning and thought about it catching the bed of pine needles all over the ground on fire. He had a morbid question cross his mind. Would he rather die in a fire, or eaten by wolves? He almost laughed at the idea of getting a choice. He wondered if the wolves like Bar-B-Que.
A half hour passed, the cigarette burned out and the wolves didn’t get any closer. He could still hear them howling out there in the forest somewhere. His cheek hurt from the stranger’s cigarette burn barrage and he wished he could look at it in the mirror. He heard sound of a small animal rustling in the dead leaves somewhere in front of him, near the maple tree the man had been standing by.
He wished he knew why this was happening to him. The maple tree reminded him that the path beyond it leads to an old natural chimney. A rock formation that leads down into the earth. He had found out about it on a hiking app and he convinced his friends to come out here to hike and camp, but where were they now? He hoped they were ok.
Adam thought his hand was going numb, the pins and needles sensation was beginning to set in, but then he realized it felt more like tiny little bites. He wiggled his fingers, and felt something furry run across his hands. What the fuck was that?
Another nibble on his fingertips. “Ouch, you fucker!” he said and wriggled against his bonds as hard as he could, and to his surprise he freed his hands. He quickly worked on whatever was tying his head to the tree and wriggled free. He stood up and turned around to find a chipmunk sitting there, considering him with its black eyes.
“You the one that bit me?” he called out and kicked at the rodent. It easily dodged his foot in the moonlight. Adam rubbed his cheeks and tried to get a good idea of his surroundings. If the large maple was there, then camp must be this way, he thought and headed off in that direction trying to work the cramps out of his muscles. The little chipmunk hopped after him on the forest trail, keeping its distance.
With all the roots and rocks, Adam stumbled through the woods while trying to make it back to camp, twice he almost fell, his hand was covered in mud and sticky pine pitch. He wiped them on his pants as he continued through the wood. He could just make out a fire ahead in the distance. It must be his friends!
He called out to them. “Felicia! Jacob!” He got no response. He stumbled into the clearing, but he didn’t see anyone. His tent was on the other side of the dying fire, he went over to it and opened the flap. Felicia was inside, wrapped in her sleeping bag. They must have gone to sleep, he thought. He climbed into the tent and shook her, but she didn’t move. She was always a heavy sleeper. He poked her harder and lit the small battery powered lantern they use on camping trips.
“Wake up! We have to get out of here!” he said. Finally, she was stirring he thought as he watched her swallow and turn her head. “Come on!”
Her mouth opened and a chipmunk climbed out, his face a crimson mask of Felicia’s blood. It squeaked twice and ran past him to the tent opening where another one was sitting watching him with those cold black eyes.
“What the fuck is going on?” he called out and looked back down at Felicia. He shook her again, and got a better look at her. Her mouth was agape and he realized with horror that she had no tongue. He turned towards the doorway and saw that now there was about a dozen chipmunks standing there on hind legs watching him. The one with the bloody face took a step forward.
“We are Tamias,” the bloody one squeaked.
“Tamias,” the rest chirped in high pitched unison.
“I’ve fucking lost it,” Adam whispered to himself and shook his head.
“We demand payment for the transgression,” the chipmunk said. “Payment must be made. We demand it. The deal cannot be altered.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. What did you do to Felicia and Jacob?” he asked. Then started to laugh as he realized he was having a conversation with a chipmunk in a tent next to his dead girlfriend. Did he forget that he ate a bunch of mushrooms?
“Two hundred cycles ago the deal was made. This land, our land to be shared. For a price. The blood price must be paid. A life for each season that passes, and we would share our sacred forest with the man and his kin. The most fertile land for his food to grow. Waters that grant a long life,” the chipmunk squeaked. The moonlight lit the orbs that watched him above its chubby cheeks.
“I don’t understand,” Adam said and charged the entrance to the tent. The chipmunks scattered out of his way. He turned towards the tent and started to tear up as he glimpsed Felicia through the tent flap. The Tamias formed a circle around him, keeping out of kicking distance.
“Human. You are the blood price. You and your friends must be given to the Tamias. The price must be paid!” the spokesperson for the chipmunks squeaked angerly.
“You’re not going to get me. JACOB!” he yelled trying to get his friend to wake up. Maybe together they could escape this nightmare.
“You friend is with the Dux Tamias. He cannot hear you,” the bloody chipmunk said calmly. “You will meet him soon yourself. The time draws near. The price must be paid.”
“You can’t have us!” Adam yelled and ran to his friend’s tent. He ripped open the tent flap and jumped back at the horrid scene he saw inside. There was a chipmunk the

Ep.66 – For the Mother - Nordic Legend Becomes Bloody Reality!

13 januari 2021 | 25 min

Episode Notes
In a remote estate distant in the mountains something mysterious and bloody is going on, and it's all FOR THE MOTHER!
For the Mother by Mark T.B. Shields
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Produced by Daniel Wilder
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For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Astrid’s newly married grandparents had immigrated to America from a small Scandinavian village as teenagers a lifetime before she was conceived . In a similarly small California town, they opened an even smaller general store which grew just enough to support them and their one child; a girl named Synnove. The two of them worked very hard and when their only child grew up and married a fine young man from the city by the bay, they bought a small cabin in the nearby mountains on the lake. After a life of hard work and the birth of their first grandchild, they retired to the small cabin.
Thanks to her grandfather, Astrid had always loved Norse mythology. Growing up she had spent most of her summers with her grandparents by that quiet lake. Her grandfather took it upon himself to tell Astrid the many legends he brought with him from his childhood home. She loved him telling and retelling her fantastic tales as they sat by the bonfire each summer night. He told her tales such as “Sif and her Golden Hair”; “Sigurd and the Dragon”; and “Thor’s Fishing Trip”. He seemed to know them all and when he inevitably retold her a story some night months later , they were always nearly identically. He retold them as if he were relaying history; he retold them with passion;. he retold them like he believed them; and she remembered every word.
Of these stories her favorite was always “The Death of Baldur''. The tragic tale of how Odin's wife Frigga's favorite son Baldur was killed by his blind brother Hodur aided by her adopted son Loki. In the tale, a jealous Loki put the arrow in the hand of Hodur that killed Baldur the Beautiful. She always wept by the time it ended. Forever hoping that this time Baldur would survive.
After high school she applied and was accepted at Stanford where she chose her major, Actuarial Science, as a way to ensure future financial success. Although interesting to her, she wanted something a bit more light-hearted to break up the difficult class schedule. On a whim she decided to take an elective in the spring semester of her Junior year called “Early Scandinavian Folklore & Mythology”
.
This class soon became the highlight of her week. At first it was the fact that her knowledge of Scandinavian folklore rivaled that of her professor. She became a textbook example of a “Subject-Matter Expert” for the course and it made her very happy that the other students asked her for help often. She seemed always to be the first to answer questions in discussions and to have the last word when it mattered. Astrid loved the class as it was a way to always feel like she was close to her summer home and to help solidify a rather high GPA.
This unintentional mental domination of the other students went on for nearly half the semester when her world changed forever. A handsome young student started to audit the class and immediately put everyone’s knowledge in that hall to shame. He usurped her position at the top of the class by having the ability to fill in holes of every legend they studied no matter the obscurity of it.
The mysterious new student was not only well versed in Scandinavian Mythology, he was what one would call a perfect physical specimen. In his usual attire of t-shirts and cargo shorts one could see an insanely muscular body that was only highlighted by his long blonde flowing locks and sky-blue eyes.
To her girlish delight he introduced himself to her one day after class. It took her by her own estimation a good sixty seconds before she was able to respond. As he introduced himself as Baldur and looked into her eyes her first thought was “Yes, you are a god”.
When Astrid finally spoke all her timid voice could say was her name “Astrid”.
“Yes, you are divinely beautiful” he said and when he asked her to walk with him, she was literally helpless to say no.
That afternoon as they walked around the campus talking; she thought to herself that she was falling in love with a man she had just met. She didn’t know how this was possible, but she knew it was true. That night she lost her virginity to this God among men and less than a month later they were married. From that point on they were bound for life.

Astrid was glad to be finally meeting Baldur’s family. Although they had been married since late spring, this winter trip had been their first chance to come together.  During the eight-hour drive from Stanford to his family homestead near Mt. Whitney, her excitement grew.
“Are we there yet?”
Not taking his eyes off the winding mountain road Baldur said “Astrid, we are officially five minutes closer than we were when you asked the same question five minutes ago.”
Running her hand down his powerful arm she cooed, “I know, it’s just that I have never met your family and you have told me so little about them.”
“We’re just like most families.  We fight, but love each other. Mom is overbearing; dad is solemn; and my brothers are out to kill me if I don’t watch out.  You see, a normal family dynamic.  We should be at the cabin soon.”
She glanced at the odometer and smiled knowing they were very close.  She giggled “Only about five miles out.”
“Correct” was all he said as he turned up a driveway and drove under a stone arch emblazoned with their family's name; Borson.  As they pulled around the last corner and the home came into view Astrid was stunned.  He said they had money, but the home that sat before her was at least 20,000 square feet.
“How can your family afford this?  You mentioned money, but this looks like money should not be a problem for your great-great-grandkids”
Baldur pulled into the eight-car garage and said "It won’t be.  We are very financially secure."
After he hopped out of the car he swung around and grabbed her door. "Welcome home."   She smiled and followed him in.
As they entered the living room his parents sat sipping what appeared to be iced tea. 
"Mother. Father. We’re finally here." His dad stood and helped his pregnant wife to her feet. "Are we the last to get here?" 
"Yep, your brothers are downstairs preparing for later.  This must be the wife."
"Mother, father meet Astrid.  Astrid this is my father, Odin and my mother Frigga."
Astrid extended her hand. “Great to meet you. Baldur has told me so much about you.”
"Come now dear, we’re family now. Give your new mother a hug."  Reaching out Frigga gave Astrid a hug and Odin followed suit.  While still holding her Odin asked if she liked the house.
"How could I not?   It is the most beautiful home I have ever seen."
“Thank you.  The family has been working on it for a while now.  It was my fathers and his father before him. When I die, it will get passed on to the next generation.  This place is what you would call the family home.”
Releasing the hug Astrid replied “Well, it’s truly breathtaking lovely, and it truly is great to meet Baldur’s parents.”
“Hush dear.” said Odin. “We are your parents as well now. Baldur, let’s go help your brother's downstairs.  Leave the women here to get acquainted." 
Pointing, “After you Father.”
As the two men left the room, Frigga grabbed Astrid ’s arm, "Come, child. Let’s get a drink,”
As they walked, Astrid asked if everyone in the family was named after a Nordic god.
"No, just the three of us.  My other two sons are Larry and Christopher. Not as interesting as Baldur, but still good names. Now come sit. Drink some mead.  We cracked open a barrel.  I will warn you though, it will knock you on your bum."
Astrid walked over and grabbed a mug off the coffee table. "What brand is this?"
"Borson, we make it ourselves." 
"Obviously you guys make it yourself, you’re Nordic gods," Astrid took a drink and was amazed. "This is incredible."
"Thank you, now come sit, before you fall.  We have so much to talk about."  Astrid sat after taking another sip. Her face was already getting warm.
"Now Frigga or should I call you mother?"
"Call me mother that is what I am."
"Ok mother, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think you should be drinking.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, because of the baby. Research shows”
Cutting her off and rubbing her own belly, Frigga said “I can assure you this child is perfectly fine. I drank with all of my children and you can see how they turned out”
“But”
“But nothing, our family all drank the mead and have given birth in this very home”
Astrid was sure she had heard her right.   Europeans had not even gotten to California until the 1800's and as impressive as the home was, over 1000 years was a mistake spoken by a drunk old woman.
Frigga took another drink of her mead and let out a sharp quick cry. Chuckling she said “The baby wants to join the world soon.   Either that or she wants more mead. “
“ You are an amazing woman. How is this possible at your age you even conceived?  How old are you?  I have so many questions?  I am so sorry if I stepped on any toes.” 
“Nonsense.  No toes were stepped on. You are family now and as family you are free to know these things.  This body is 84 years old and the child will be born tonight I would guess.”
“But shouldn’t you go to a hospital. No offense, a woman your age having a baby is incredible, but complications make it far too dangerous to do here. Put down that dri

Ep.65 – The Last Taibon - Bloodsucking Vampires BEWARE!

6 januari 2021 | 34 min

Episode Notes
The Last Taibon by Rob Fields
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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Contact Us/Submit a Story
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
It’s dark, the middle of winter, and it’s a fucking blizzard. I’ve been walking along this highway for a while now, keeping tight hold of my Reebok Pump basketball shoes. I suppose I take great joy in knowing that I’m walking around in the elements half-naked and barefoot, and am actually quite comfy. Also, I’m fucking soaked from all the snow. I’ll have to take my clothes off and let them dry when I can find a place to take shelter. Not the first blizzard I’ve walked through, and it won’t be the last.
It’s about an hour before I finally see the lights of what appears to be a tavern. I turn and walk across the snowy parking lot and past several covered cars. I’m sure there’ll be people inside waiting out the storm. But I’m wondering if a certain motherfucker named Richland Jillian will be inside.
I open the door and walk in. Of course this fucking place is going to be filled with men. They all look at me, some gawking that I’m dressed like a slut, while others are probably wondering how long I’ve been out in the blizzard like this. And, no, I don’t see Richland Jillian in here. Might as well have a drink before I head back out. Not a single motherfucker in the place says anything to me as I make my way to the bar and sit on a stool.
The bartender slowly approaches me. “Can I . . . help you?”
I point to the bottle. “I’ll take that Fire Water – all of it.”
He just looks at me. “All of it?”
I dig into my tattered jean shorts and pull out some money. Then I slam it onto the bar. “Did I fucking stutter?!”
The bartender takes my money and hands me the Fire Water. No asking me for an ID, which is how I like fucking it. After popping the spout off and draining the hot cinnamon liquor, I slam the bottle down and see the looks on everybody’s faces, especially the bartender’s.
“You, um, want anything else?” he asks me. I point to the unopened bottle of Jim Beam. “All of it?”
Slapping the bar gets that bottle put right in front of me. I open it up and this time enjoy my drink. So delicious . . .
Then, one of those motherfuckers finally decides to approach me. I suppose I’m always asking for this kind of fucking shit since I’m a blonde who’s wearing tattered, short denim shorts and an athletic top that’s only good for covering my small titties. Like I said, I look like a total slut. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to wear normal clothes for a very long time. And now . . . I’m pissed when a guy who looks like he could eat me whole puts his hand on my shoulder.
I neither hesitate nor look his way. “Hands off, motherfucker!”
He clamps down on my shoulder now. “Quite a mouth on you, little girl. Little young to be in here, aintya?”
I almost swing my bottle to shatter it on his head, but I stop and remember that it’s Jim Beam. I take hold of his wrist and make him scream in intense pain. Then I turn around and give him a kick that sends him flying across the bar and smashing into the jukebox. Oh well, country music sucks major dick, anyway.
I turn around to see a few other so-called men bold enough to come at me. I have no problem picking one up and slamming him right through a table – one-handed. I grab the other one and throw him behind bar. He hits the back and falls forward. The rest of the motherfuckers quickly back away.
I turn to the bartender and grab him to me. “Nearest town!”
He gulps when he sees my red eyes and points in the direction. “Strickfield! Five miles!”
I let him go. “Thank you.”
I pick up my Jim Beam and my shoes and head back out into the blizzard.
I’ve finished my Jim Beam by the time I cross into Strickfield. After dropping the bottle in a trash can, I walk around some more. Very few people are out in this blizzard. I do see a few cars on the streets, though. Then I see more bright lights and become excited. It’s a twenty-four-hour diner! Yeah, Denoyer’s Grill’s bound to have some good comfort food.
I walk into the diner and get the same looks as the motherfuckers back at the bar. The college boy behind the counter gives me that look. I hold up my wet men’s basketball shoes for him to see. Then I drop them to the floor and slip into them. The guy smiles. “You can sit wherever’s open.”
I park my sexy ass at the counter. Minutes later, I get my order. Wow! Now this is a fucking burger! I pick up the huge burger and take a bite. Sure wish I had more Jim Beam to wash it down. The Coke will be just fine. The counter boy keeps stealing peeks at me. Can’t really blame him. Some of the other patrons in here are staring at me with contempt. Fuck them!
I ask the counter boy, “You don’t have any booze in here, do you?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Unlimited soft drink refills is the best I got, Miss.”
I slide my empty Coke glass to him. “Fine.”
After I get my refill, I slip my shoes back off and relax some more. The counter guy is still looking at me. “You’re probably wondering what my fucking story is, right?”
“Miss, please refrain from using profanity,” he asks me. “We’ve got other customers in here.”
I smile a little. “Okay . . .” I look at his nametag. “. . . Martin. Since you asked nicely . . .” Also, this guy’s really cute, pretty easy going. I think I kind of like him.
“What’s your name?” Martin asks.
I flash him a sexy smile. “Bella.”
Martin finally answers my question. “Okay, Bella . . . I guess you could say I’m curious, yes. I mean, it ain’t every day that I meet . . . well . . .”
“A hot little devil like me?” I finish for him. “I get it. I know I’m not dressed for that blizzard outside – far from it. I’m cold and wet all over. But when you’re me, things like blizzards and summer heat don’t really bother you.”
“Um, you’re not on any kind of drugs, are you?” Martin asks.
I laugh a little. “I can drink all the booze I want and down a hundred ecstasy tablets. None of that affects me. Not when you’re not human.”
Okay, fuckers! Here’s where you pay attention to what I’m about to tell you – and Martin, instead of wondering when I’m going to take my clothes off and fuck Martin’s brains out.
As I’m sure you horror freaks already know, I’m not a normal girl. I mean, come on . . . a girl like me who looks about seventeen or eighteen doesn’t just throw around big men like they’re pillows. And I certainly wouldn’t be walking around nearly naked in a fucking blizzard, neither. I’m what you would call a Master Vampire. Or maybe . . . a derivative of one.
My story begins around 1889. I came from Shore Village, which would years later become the huge megalopolis known as Shore City. I came from a family that was anything but normal. See, when you’re a Taibon, you’re forever fucked. Your life is tied to shit such as magic and the supernatural. You spend your whole fucking life training and fighting this shit. I actually started training under Gramps when I was about four.
Every day it was the same fucking shit. Up in the morning . . . breakfast . . . training . . . lunch . . . more training . . . dinner . . . nightly hunting . . . sleep. I was already a trained killer by the age of six – and the bitch that I am now. In other words, innocence lost. Even then, I found I was always having to compete with my older brother, Nicholas. It was always a motherfucking rivalry between him and me.
Nicholas was a good three years older than me. Still, he would prove to be a way better fighter than me. I’m not afraid to admit it. Still, he was always so sure of himself that he made it a point to prove it even to me. Probably why he always called me Runt. Still, I could be a pain in his ass, too. Gramps and Grams saw how vicious and clever I could be and called me Little Devil. Anyway, Gramps used our sibling rivalry to make us better fighters. Probably too well. I couldn’t tell you how many times Gramps had to break us up when we’d lose our shit and go at each other.
Anyway, Nicholas got to be so good at what Gramps taught him, that he was actually good at killing Master Vampires. Master Vampires are quite powerful and are many times older than your average garden variety vampires. The older vampires get, the more powerful they become. I don’t mind telling you that Master Vampires are harder than fuck to destroy. Still, Nicholas actually surprised Gramps out in the field by taking one down – by himself. He understood the vampire weaknesses much better than anyone in our family. The fact that Nicholas liked to face Master Vampires by himself didn’t sit too well with Gramps. Even I voiced my concerns. Of course, Nicholas didn’t want to hear me and let me know about it on no uncertain terms. It was shit like that that made me just want to yank his dick off and choke him with it.
So . . . Gramps started spending more time with me and working with me himself. Even though Nicholas continued to show his dominance out in the field, I had that gut feeling that he was asking for it. I mean, how long would his luck last? Remember that saying about how no matter how good you are, there’s always going to be someone else better than you?
That someone was Thornton Jillian, who was the worst Master Vampire the Taibon family had ever faced. Jillian was thousands of years old and had slaughtered many of our family, including my own parents. The Taibons were renowned for taking down the supernatural, but Thornton Jillian would prove to be the deadliest motherfucker we’d ever faced. In fact, he was the reason why I’m the last Taibon.
Th

Ep.64 – Satan's Shotgun - Death Won't Stop His Gory Vengeance!

30 december 2020 | 23 min

Episode Notes
On New Year's Eve 1899 the ball isn't dropping but bodies are falling all around! A bloody vengeance that spams over lifetimes is about to conclude! Shotguns and rifles are nice, but an undying revenge can't be stopped!
Satan's Shotgun by Daniel Wilder
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
I had me a revelation come New Year’s Eve of 1899… Jesus weren't nothin’.
I reckon I could resurrect myself like a right heavyweight champion… long as my boy’s bones held out that is… but admittedly I couldn’t hold a candle to that water to rotgut routine, and I sure as fuck couldn’t walk on water, and there sure as shit aren’t any virgins in my vicinity… I guess I truly meant that coming back from the dead wasn’t any great shakes.
What brought me to that bit o’ revelation were the events of nearly 12 years prior… 1887 if you can cipher… the night Gideon Pharoh’s Nightmare Zodiac Death Gang came a-knockin’… and that’s exactly as those hocus-pocus braggarts billed themselves too; Nightmare Zodiac Death Gang… should have spent more time practicing with pistols than coming up with candy-ass gang titles, but I digress…
Ya see, I was a simple man then… farming… maybe a bit of trapping, not to mention interpreting for the local tribes and those they cottoned to trade with. It wasn’t the high life, but it was good enough for me, ‘Lizbeth, and our boy… Lazarus.
That name was a bit of on the nose serendipity that the fates served up to us by the by, let me tell ya true… and I sure as hell wasn’t amused.
T’weren’t eighteen months after our boy’s birth that that sack-headed side-winder Gideon and his posse arrived on our doorstep and ended his life… and his momma’s… but as was their folly, they never checked if my heart had stopped… and to be fair I never asked them why they were so sore with me and mine, so yeah, mistakes were made all ‘round on that day.
So, once their devilish deeds were done, they headed off into the still night with nary a thought of the hell they had born that day… and still my heart continued to beat… like a native drum… a doom dirge banging away to attract any midnight mother fucker within six hundred and sixty-six yards… and attract it surely did.
The shaman entered what remained of our home casual as can be… the fully bandaged man he lead on a leash followed seemingly devoid of thought as well as grace.
He slinked his way over to me like a mongoose, all sinew and glide… the bones around his waist clanking together like the gnashing teeth of some desert devil risen from an unholy hell ready to feast.
As my eyes strained to focus, I saw that bastard light a fire of green flame… a flame he used to rend the prone form of my boy to ashes and bone in as much time as it takes to tell.
I admit the darkness took me then as I was a powerful sight weaker in constitution than I am now… though I have a dread vision of that bandaged fella placing a lip-less mouth o’er my own and blowing a dust that reeked to high hell of rot deep into my lungs that made them feel as it they were filled with the fires of ol’ Scratch himself!
I came too walking along a trail deep in the nearby Adirondacks, a foul scented wrapping from the shaman’s… friend… tied tightly around my eyes. While you may get to thinking that would seriously impede my journey, the exact opposite held true… I could sense where I was going, and just where the first of those I sought were hunkered down.
So onward I trekked; my boy’s bones rattling in the leather sack strapped to my left shoulder.
That same rattle let any man or beast in my path know that I surely was not to be fucked with as I began my stride along revenge’s rough road.
I walked those wicked woods until the sun fell low, and the sky was streaked in hues of lavender and rose… and it was then I came upon the cabin on New Year’s Eve, painted as it were in two differing colors… sky blue and soft pink… the abode of Gemini, two doses of poison in one pill.
The smoke that poured from the chimney let me know those that needed correcting were home sweet home.
I didn’t stand on formality…
The door exploded inward from the impact of my left shit-kicker, splinters spreading out like buckshot acting as my callin’ card.
It took me a fraction of a second to realize no one was visible in the room, magic eyewear or no… but I could smell them just fine.
Naturally, they didn’t surprise me none when the exploded from the shadows of the cabin’s ceiling… however the fact they could move together like a great spider in their conjoined state definitely raised an eyebrow.
I unloaded my rifle with a thunderous roar. The shot tore a nice chunk in whatever the lady side of this thing was called, but she wasn’t going down by a long shot.
Before I knew it, the male side of the equation had maneuvered himself in such a way that he both knocked me to the ground, and managed to wrap the fleshy band that kept these two eternally bound around my neck.
That same bit of flesh began flexing and throbbing until I couldn’t draw a breath, the various veins and sinew contained under that warm sleeve pulsing like a bag of snakes.
Things began swirling and growing ever darker… that’s when I died for the first time.
The shaman appeared shortly thereafter though my enemies never noticed, although if they did I wager they’d have been confused as all get out. See, that fella simply strolled in, leaned low, and whispered in my ear.
“Use a bone?”
I didn’t quite gather what he was on about, but it seemed like a question I should answer in the affirmative.
He reached into my rucksack, pulled out one of the twelve bones of my boy that clattered inside and shoved that rune covered ivory femur right in my mouth.
It dissolved on contact with my tongue, and I was back in business.
I sat up, puked, and roared at my killers who had now sat down to a nice warm meal after their deed was done.
What I did next would become a bit of a legend.
See, I grabbed the steak knife out of the hand of the twin closest to me… who honestly didn’t even resist… probably the shock of a corpse interrupting his din-din.
Anyway, I took that blade and commenced to slice that ribbon that held them together like a rabid wolf. But then I had a pang of conscious… these two have been together since day one, so it would be a shame to take that away from them.
Fortunately, I learned to sew at a tender age.
I can only imagine the look on Gideon’s face when he saw one… or two… not sure how they counted themselves… anyway, saw a member of his posse fixed mouth to crotch of their opposite number like those Yin-Yang symbols the Chinese fellas out west were so fond of.
And “imagine” it would have to be as once my work was done I sunk into the Earth outside the Gemini’s doorstep and there I slept for a full year.

And so it went; at the very end of each and every year I’d rise up and put a murder on one of those psychos.
Pieces… hard to breathe with concrete in your gills.
Taurus… let’s just say he wasn’t just a bull from the shoulders up, but that would be his undoing when I rammed that tally-whacker straight down his throat.
Aries, Leo, Cancer, Sagittarius, Virgo, Libra, Capricorn, Aquarius… dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, and double dead… don’t ask.
Year after year I fought, and year after year I lost a little bit more of my boy, piece by piece.

Finally I came to Scorpio, and if you think the other menagerie made for a one-of-a-kind corpse gallery I can assure you all that the final member of that gang… minus their ringmaster, but I’ll get to his arcane ass in a tick.
See, after the decade and change of carnival exhibits I’d tussled with I wouldn’t blame ya none if you wagered Scorpio would be some kind of insect man, but it wasn’t, hell it wasn’t even a man.
As you could guess from the hiring of those darling siblings I jawed about earlier, Gideon didn’t give a single shit if those that worked for him were men or women… a real rarity as far as evil posses went in the late 1800’s… course half those mother fuckers would be a right challenge to even classify as human.
When I sauntered up to that gypsy wagon lady Scorpio called home I could just tell I was in for a hell of a time.
The scent of burning herbs filled the air, and the roaring flame burning brightly beside the gaudy wagon was doing a solid job of roasting a large pheasant.
I hunkered down by the fire… it always feels good to warm my hands after pointing my boots towards the sky for twelve months.
The lavender and crimson curtains that covered the entrance to the wagon parted and she appeared. A raven haired beauty with eyes as cruel and cold then a whole nest of vipers could possess.
“I told Gideon doing your wife and boy was a grave mistake.”
“Well, it’s a mistake that will surely put you in your grave, Missy.”
She laughed, and I had to admit it was an unbelievably delicate thing.
“If that is to be my fate there is little I can do to change it.”
I spit at her feet. “Yup.”
“Won’t you come inside a moment?”
“It’s your funeral, you can have it any way you want.”
I entered the wagon, and beheld the interior which contained nothing save for an opulent bed. I sat down and waited for the show to start.
She slid into the bed beside me, pushed me down, and started to rub up against me all feline like. I grabbed her hair, tugged it hard and whispered the most romantic thing I could think of into her ear…
“This is for ‘Lizbeth!”
I drove the blade of the hunting knife through the back of her head before she could even realize I had pulled it from my left boot.
She made that weird gargle

Ep.63 – Satan Claus - Revenge is his Gift and it isn't Free!

25 december 2020 | 31 min

Episode Notes
On Christmas Eve a brother and sister decide to invoke the urban legend of "Satan Claus" to get revenge on their rotten stepfather. Will the fabled bloodthirsty monster come to their aid or is the true horror what awaits them living in their own home?
Satan Claus by Keith Tomlin
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
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facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
December 25, 1998, 1:45 am.
Edward burst out of the backdoor of his house. His foot missed the second step of the concrete stairs and he went sprawling, landing hard on the neglected wooden deck of his back patio.
Gasping for breath, he struggled to his feet, losing one of his slippers. After a few tries, he regained his balance and raced off into the woods that edged his backyard. Burrs and thorns tore at his skin and clothing as he plunged into the darkness.
As Edward ran, he heard a loud crash as something large and powerful followed after him. An unearthly roar, filled with hate and rage, rang through the night. Edward pushed himself harder, charging faster into the forest.
After a few minutes of running in a blind panic, Edward felt a sharp pain run from his chest and down his arm. He gasped and dropped at the base of a large elm tree. Sobbing, he worked himself into a sitting position, trying to breathe through the pain. He wiped blood from his face, some his, some from his wife.
Hearing a branch breaking, Edward tried to push himself up but the pain in his chest nearly caused him to blackout. Fighting unconsciousness, he felt hot breath on his face as he fought to open his eyes. When he did, Edward saw yellow, bloodshot eyes staring into his as the creature snorted, sending its moist, rancid breath into his face. It let out a blood-curdling scream as it reached for him with long arms ending in razor-sharp claws.
As the creature tore Edward apart, his last thought was not of the intense pain or the realization that his life was over, it was a question.
‘Is that thing wearing a Santa hat?’ Edward thought as he passed into darkness.
December 24, 1999, 11:15 am.
Emily looked incredulously at her 13-year-old brother, Tyler. “Satan Claus? Are you fuckin’ serious?” she said.
“Well, yeah… I mean… It’s real, well, not real but they think it’s real.” Tyler said, trying to gather his thoughts.
“So, we’re going to summon a pretend demon dressed like Santa Claus to take care of our stepfather?” Emily said with scorn.
“Well, sorta.” Tyler sighed, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. “Ok, so… take the legend of Bloody Mary. The story goes that if you look in the mirror and say her name three times, she will appear and start killing people. Now, everyone knows that’s not real. If you’re having a sleepover with friends and they dare you to look in the mirror and say her name, you will. You know it’s not true and nothing will happen. But,” he said excitedly, “If it’s night and you’re alone in the house and you’re standing in front of a mirror when the thought crosses your mind to say her name three times, will do you it?”
Without waiting for an answer, Tyler went on, “No, you would not. And why not? The logical part of your mind will say, ‘surely, it’s not real, it’s just crazy talk’ but, on a primal level, you know that if you say her name three times, she may appear. This belief is what gives these creatures their power.” Tyler paused, slightly out of breath.
“You are one weird kid,” Emily said.
“Yeah, well, you know… growing up in this house does tend to make one unusual,” Tyler replied, solemnly.
Emily shook her head, “Ok, I’m still confused, what creatures are you talking about?”
Tyler looked Emily in the eyes, something he rarely did with anyone, “To be honest, I don’t know. I just know they exist. Throughout history, different cultures had legends of horrific creatures that terrorized the common folk. I think that these were all some kind of a supernatural force that draws power from the beliefs and fears of the people. If enough people believe in them, then these ghosts, demons, or whatever, can draw strength and life from these beliefs and they will actually become these creatures.”
“Wow, I… I think this is insane.” said Emily, speechless.
“I know and I accept that but I need your help. For you, this is a win-win. If you help and it works, we will be rid of that asshole forever.” Tyler looked at Emily, who nodded emphatically. “If it doesn’t work, then you have something else to make fun of me for, not that there is any lack of material for that.” Tyler said, pointing to the piles of role-playing manuals and superhero comic books stacked up around his bedroom.
Not for the first time, Emily was amazed at how smart her brother was, naïve and childlike but also so goddamn smart. She had sworn to herself to do whatever she had to do to make sure that he reaches adulthood without life crushing his soul. She was only a year older than him but she was a survivor. She could take all of the pain and suffering that life, and her stepfather, could dish out. Tyler, however, was a fragile soul. If this helped him deal with all the bullshit then she was willing to go along with it.
“Fuck it, I’m in,” she said, “consider it your Christmas present.”
“Well, uh… really?” Tyler said, clearly expecting more resistance.
Emily continued, “Look, this is the most batshit crazy thing I’ve ever heard but, you’re my brother, and I’ll do anything to support you. So…. Satan Claus?”
Tyler took a few seconds to blink some tears away. “Ok, so… Satan Claus is an urban legend that has been around for at least 15 years. Basically, it’s a story of a department store Santa that was beaten to death by a gang of kids and his wife got her revenge by baking cookies with her blood. She tricked the kids into eating them, which caused her husband to come back from the dead and kill everyone.” Tyler finally paused to take a breath. “At least nine times in the last seven years, there have been a series of gruesome deaths on Christmas eve so brutal that the police have suspected it was either the work of a satanic cult or some kind of huge, unidentified wild creature. I disagree, I think it was the legend of Satan Claus that killed them and that’s what I want for dear old Frank.” Tyler said, referring to their stepfather.
“He deserves to die,” Emily said in a cold, hard voice, “For what he has done to mom, you, and what he has tried to do to….” Emily trailed off.
Tyler awkwardly reached out and patted her hand. “I know, he will pay for all of it.”
“So, all we need to do is get Frank to eat some cookies?” Emily asked.
Tyler nodded.
“What do you need from me?” Emily finally asked.
December 25, 1999, 12:36 am
Emily rubbed the Band-Aid covering her finger, thinking that only her brother could talk her into using her blood as an ingredient in a cookie recipe. If she had to be honest, she enjoyed cutting her finger more than baking the cookies. The first batch ended up a burned, smoking mess and she had to mix up, and recut, a second batch. She shook her head, thinking about the things that people do for family.
Emily looked down at her brother, asleep on the couch next to her, and sighed. She loved that crazy little bastard. She turned back towards the large picture window to keep up her vigil on the dark street outside.
After a minute or so, the lights from an approaching car lit up the neighboring houses. Emily leaned further over the back of the couch, face pressed against the window, to get a better look. When a familiar car pulled into the driveway of the house across the street, Emily grabbed her brother and shook him awake.
“Tyler! Frank just pulled in our driveway.” Emily whispered loudly.
Tyler sat up, rubbing his eyes. Looking around, he asked, “Where is Mrs. Patterson?”
“Mrs. Patterson is in bed, it’s past midnight.” Emily said. Mrs. Patterson was an elderly woman who lived across the street from them and, understanding their volatile family situation, often let the kids spend the night at her house while their mom was working the graveyard shift at the nursing home.
“Grab the binoculars and keep your voice down.” Emily commanded.
Tyler’s eyes popped open as he suddenly remembered what they had planned for Frank. He grabbed his cheap pair of binoculars from the coffee table and joined his sister, leaning over the back of the couch.
Frank pulled into the snow-covered driveway, his ragged old Ford sliding to a stop, almost hitting the garage door. He opened the car door and stumbled out.
Frank was a tall, lean man, what some may call wiry. He had a face that used to be quite handsome and may still be to some, hidden under the years of hard living and even harder drinking. Frank lived to drink and spent most evenings complaining about his miserable life to the regulars at Whitey’s Tavern, a dive bar a few blocks from his house. He would usually come home shitfaced; tonight, however, he was well beyond that. One of the bar patrons, a well-to-do businessman that liked to flaunt his success, kept buying drinks for the house. Frank kept drinking and he kept getting angrier.
Frank’s past kept rolling around in his head. Why has his life turned out like shit? Why is everyone against him? Why did that bitch of an ex-wife keep hounding him for money to buy gifts for a bunch of ungrateful little shits? Why did his current wife keep picking up extra shifts when she should be home taking care of him? Why do her fucking brats show him no respect, in his own goddamn house!?
Frank shut the car door and made his way up the icy walkway to the front of the house. Swaying, he opened up the fr

Ep.62 – The Weather Outside is Frightful - There's a Blizzard and This Killer's Blood is Just as Cold!

23 december 2020 | 24 min

Episode Notes
During a record breaking blizzard two cops answer a call that turns into more than they bargained for when they discover an ax weilding maniac hell bent on spreading Christmas fear!
The Weather Outside is Frightful by Shane Migliavacca
Buy the new book!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
It was the worst blizzard the city had seen in over a decade. In time the storm would be known as ‘The Christmas Eve Blizzard of ‘73’, but tonight it was just ‘the storm’.
Patrolwoman Halsey Stone strained her eyes scanning the sidewalk as the radio car crawled down the street, her partner Officer Roy Soccorso at the wheel. This part of the city had been hit hard by the country's current financial stagnation… decaying buildings, junk piled on the side of the street, broke down cars left to rot in open lots… for Stone this was too much like the poverty she'd grown up around.
Many of the large buildings were seemingly abandoned, but in truth whole families lived within their walls, as did the normal cast of junkies, drunks, and other shady characters.
An anonymous caller had reported a woman screaming for help. They'd circled the block a few times, but come up with nothing. The blizzard had driven everyone indoors… between the strong gusts of wind and the visibility being shit, nobody in their right mind would be out here. But here they were, on Christmas Eve no less... not that either of them had anywhere else to be… Stone had left her family behind when she’d moved to the “big city.”, and her partner was estranged from his wife and daughter.
Stone’s left hand clasped and unclasped her holster. Almost keeping a steady rhythm.
"Enough," snapped Soccorso.
"What?"
"With the holster kid."
Shit. She hadn't realized she'd been doing it. She could get lost in thought sometimes. "Sorry."
"This is just a bullshit call kid."
"Sure."
Stone took off her uniform cap. She smoothed back some of her long blonde hair that obstinately refused to corporate.
"What? You think there's something to this call? Probably just some junkie trying to steal a few bucks… or some asshole trying to stay warm by raping a bitc-" He stopped himself. His face reddened a little. "Sorry kid."
Stone adjusted her dirty blonde ponytail. Maybe he was right…
"How long do you want this to go on?" Soccorso said.
"What? Your shitty attitude?"
"No Okie. Looking for our phantom suspect."
God she hated that. When somebody back at the precinct found out about her family coming from the Ozarks, one of the assholes had started calling her ‘Okie’. They'd got it from some old song, and it stuck like glue.
"You got somewhere to be?" She said, somehow making it sound like “fuck you”.
He shot her a look. "No, just think our time could be spent better."
She drummed her fingers on the dash. All she wanted to do was bounce Soccorso's head off the dash… the anger was always there, had always been there. Once it scared her, now it was a friend.
"You know what, Okie? I'm going to make it your call. Do we continue looking?"
Stone took a deep breath. "My choice? No bitching?"
"Your call."
Since she’d been a kid, she’d had a “feeling”… she could always tell when something bad was coming. Stone had that feeling now.
"Another time around. If there's nothing… we go."
"Okay. Fair enough."
Soccorso turned the corner, as outside the wind gusted. Stone could feel the car move a little pushed by the wind.
"We've been at this dance for almost a month now kid, I'm supposed to be training you… be your partner… and I know jack and shit about you."
That was the way she liked it. There was too much in her past.
"What's there to know? I'm from Missouri."
"You should open up more. Hang out with some of us."
"Why? You guys constantly make fun of me… where I came from."
"That's just ribbing you… no different than any other rookie. You make it harder on yourself anyway, acting like a brat."
"Sorry I'm just not Miss Fun and Games."
The woman came out of the blanket of falling snow, running at their car screaming. There was blood on her hands and jacket.
Soccorso swerved the car, and ended up in a snowbank. Stone was already undoing her seat belt.
"Fuck! You okay kid?"
"Yeah."
The woman came running towards them. Stone started to open the door.
"Oh god, officer I'm so sorry."
"Ma'am, take it easy. Is that your blood? Are you injured?"
She shook her head. "No." The woman was shaking. "His-his blood."
Soccorso tried getting his door open, but the snowbank wouldn't give as he slammed the door repeatedly against the packed snow.
Stone took the panicked women towards their car.
"What's your name ma'am?"
"Dorothy. It's Dorothy."
"Okay Dorothy, I need you to get in the back of the car."
Dorothy hesitated.
"What? Why?"
"You'll be safe. Until we can get somebody to look at you."
Soccorso finally gave up on getting his door open.
Dorothy slid in, and sat in the middle of the backseat. A steel mesh separated Dorothy from Soccorso.
"You'll be safe here. Now can you tell me what happened Dorothy?"
Dorothy told her how she'd been cutting through the alleyway on her way home from the corner store when a large man had come out of a nook in the alley and chased after her. When she fell on the icy ground he grabbed her. Terrified she pulled a metal nail file from her purse, stuck it into his leg, and made her escape.
Dorothy pointed to the alley across the street a little ways back.
"It was there."
"Thank you Dorothy." Stone said. "You’re very brave. My partner will take care of you until an ambulance arrives.”
"I will?"
Dorothy looked up at Stone, perhaps sensing what was about to happen. "I looked into his eyes, officer… there was nothing inside."
Stone tied to reassure her. "It's going to be okay."
"Kid, don't even think-" Soccorso said.
She cut him off. "Call it in. Get back up."
Stone slammed the door shut before he could protest any more.
Stone took off down the street towards the alley Dorothy had indicated.
This was it… that feeling of dread that she’d felt. Her heart felt like it was going to break free from her chest.
She made it to the alley. He could still be here… nursing his wound she thought. Ultimately he wasn’t in the alley… but something was.
The nail file. He'd pulled it out… now he'd bleed more and make her job easier. Stone followed the blood down another alley and out on to a deserted street.
She had never been much of a hunter. Her dad had tried to teach her, but her patience was lacking. He'd seemed so disappointed in her, but those times out in the woods with him, just walking, those were some of her favorite memories of growing up.
But now her father was spending another Christmas in prison. She sighed.
From somewhere above, Christmas music drifted down. Hark the Herald Angels.
The heavy snowfall was quickly covering the blood.
Stone came out of the alley. She heard voices and a door close.
She spun around, her gun at the ready.
A young couple stood there holding Christmas gifts, a look of shock etched on their faces. Their little dog on a leash yelped at her.
The man raised his hands dropping the gifts.
"Have you seen anybody suspicious.. other than me… maybe bleeding?"
The dog continued yelping. The man pulled hard on its leash. "Shut up Mitzy."
Stone wouldn't mind slamming the guy against the wall.
"No, officer."
"I need you both to go back inside. There's a dangerous and wounded man in the vicinity."
Stone crossed the street. The trail continued down the side of the street past a large abandoned building. Then it stopped.
Ahead of her, Stone heard a loud metallic ‘clank’… like a metal door or lid closing.
She regretted leaving Soccorso behind. “No” Stone thought, “This is where I show them what I can do”.
She crouched. Slowly she peeked around the corner of the building until she had a full view of the small street that lay beyond.
There, next to an abandoned theater, was a metal hatch set in the ground. Those led to basements Soccorso had told her. Stone, gun at the ready inched towards it. Snow had been brushed off… very recently.
And there was a bloody handprint on the hatch. “Got you bastard” she thought!
She pulled a rag from her jacket. There was no way she was taking a chance of fucking up the evidence.
Her service pistol ready, Stone pulled on the hatch. Locked… of course. She'd have to find another way in.
Then she heard it… the rustle of wings. Stone looked up.
Perched on a rusty metal railing was a large white owl. It stared at her with its large luminous eyes… eyes that looked into her. She stared at it transfixed.
Then it struck her what it was sitting on… the railing of a fire escape!
She ran over and discovered the bottom of the escape’s ladder was just out of reach. Frantically she looked around for something she could use to get up there.
And there it was, sitting against the far wall of an adjacent building. An old plastic chair. She carried the chair over, and on tiptoes she reached and pulled herself up. All that tree climbing as a kid paid off.
The fire escape led to a locked second story metal door. Not far from it was a window set above a narrow ledge. She stepped over the metal railing, and on to the ledge.
The wind howled. She feared a really strong gust might blow her off her perch on the ledge. Her feet knocked snow free as she inched towards the window.
Finally she made it to the window. Using the flashlight from her belt Stone smashed through the glass and climbed through the window into the dark interior.
She played the beam of the flashlight over the floor and walls of what had once been an office. The broken glass crumbled underfoo

Ep.61 – Babes in Terrorland/Santa's Letters - A Blood Red Christmas is in Store for You!

16 december 2020 | 31 min

Episode Notes
Tonight we have a DOUBLE FEATURE! Two wicked stories! One about a cute toy shop with a dark secret and another about someone who is playing a DEADLY GAME of Secret Santa...
Babes in Terrorland/Santa's Letters by Morgan Moore
Get the Book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_X.p2FbW448V8Z
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Babes in Terrorland
As with many holiday seasons before it, parents and children flocked to Barron’s Toy Store, in the village of Greenseas.
In the middle of the crowd was Justin Barron, a fourteen year old with an apron featuring a handsewn version of the store’s logo in the middle. Justin was staying with his grandmother, the owner of the store, for the holidays while his parents were away on a business trip. He was enlisted to lend a hand almost immediately upon his arrival with it being the store’s busiest time of the year.
Justin could never understand how she managed it all on her own… but she had been doing it ever since his grandfather died a few years ago, and was managing it successfully somehow.
Justin moved around the store as best he could seeing how crowded the small store was. The building itself was an old brownstone with the store situated on the ground floor and Mrs.
Barron’s home on the second floor.
The store could become a claustrophobic nightmare when business was booming, but he managed stocking the shelves and helping out customers as best he could.
By the time three o’ clock came around Justin was spent and was ready for the day to be over so he could finally get some rest. Those thoughts were interrupted when he laid eyes on Cathy Wilcox.
He had known her since fourth grade and had a crush on her that never faded. Justin always wanted to tell her how he felt, but he could never muster up the courage to do it. Somehow he could picture everything he wanted to say, but anytime he saw her it all vanished.
Justin felt himself beginning to melt as he kept looking at her. His face turned bright red and immediately Justin began to do some busy week around the area, trying to disguise the fact that
he had been staring at her.
Justin’s heart beat faster and faster as if somebody was pounding away on a drum, but that came to an immediate halt when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Cathy there.
“Hi Justin.” Cathy said sweetly.
“H-hi Cathy.” Justin stammered, his face feeling like it was on fire.
Cathy gave him an intimate smile, her blue eyes seeming to shimmer to Justin. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
Uh-oh Justin thought. She’s gonna chew me out for looking at her, and in the middle of the store too. Everybody’s going to think I’m some perv. “Sure.” Justin responded after a brief pause.
“Could you help me and my sister real quick?”
What a relief Justin thought. “Oh, yeah, for sure. What do you guys need?” He asked, she then began to walk away down an aisle, Justin followed close behind her.
“My sister found something she wants but I can’t reach it and neither can she. I saw you and thought I’d ask you to bring it down for me, since your so tall and all.” Cathy explained.
“Ohhhh. Yeah I should be able to get it for you.” Justin replied with a smile.
Cathy returned the smile. Man she’s sooooo cute Justin thought as they kept walking beside one another.
The two eventually got to their location and joined Cathy’s sister Janet. Upon seeing Justin and the apron identifying him as a store employee, Janet pointed upwards towards the top of the shelf she was standing at.
“That one please.” Janet asked Justin.
Justin looked up to where the child pointed and saw a clown doll. The doll had been in the store ever since he could remember. It had a wooden head and hands and was dressed in a hand sewn outfit colored silver and blue. A jester hat adorned it’s head; bells dangling down playfully.
Justin had always thought it looked creepy, and other people must have thought the same thing, as the doll had been around the store ever since he was a child. But maybe, finally, someone had found the doll appealing and wanted to give it a home.
Justin smiled and reached up, just barely able to get to the doll. He got a grip on it and brought it down, handing it gently to the little girl.
“Here you go.” Justin said.
Janet smiled as she held and stared at the doll. Cathy turned to Justin and gave him a big smile, he returned it in kind.
“I want him!” Janet responded energetically as she held the clown doll up to the two.
“How much is it?” Cathy asked Justin.
“I’m not sure, it doesn’t look like it has a tag on it. Let’s ask my grandma.” Justin said.
They arrived at the register, to find Justin’s grandmother smiling at the three. “There you are Justin, what cute friends you have there” she said. Cathy blushed lightly at the comment.
“Hey grandma,how much is this? There’s no tag on it or even a sign on the shelf it was on.”
His grandmother’s smile turned to a slight frown. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. That doll isn’t for sale. I only keep it on the shelf for decoration.” She explained as sweetly as possible.
“But I want it.” Janet told her.
“Are sure you’re not able to sell it?” Cathy asked.
“Unfortunately I am dear. My husband made the doll many years ago for Justin’s mother, and it has too much sentimental value for me to sell it… it’s been watching over the store for years” Justin’s grandma explained to the three.
Janet frowned, tears starting to well up.
Justin smiled a little bit at the two and at his grandma. “It’s alright. I’ll put him back.” Justin said. He then made a motion with his head for Cathy and Janet to follow him.
The three of them made their way back to the aisle. Janet looked utterly devastated that she couldn’t have the doll, and Cathy looked equally saddened for her sister.
Once they got back to the aisle, Justin put the doll back up. He then turned to Cathy with a small grin. She tilted her head in confusion.
“What is it? Why are you grinning like that.” She asked him.
“Because, I know of a way to get the doll for Janet.” He explained. Janet’s face brightened up at once. “Really?! How?!”
Justin moved a bit closer to Cathy so that he could talk to her in semi privacy, Janet frowning when she realized what was going on.
“My grandma is going out to a party tonight and I’ll be alone for hours. Come on by around eight and I’ll let you in. We can get the doll then.” He explained to her.
“But she’ll notice won’t she?” Cathy asked.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Just be here by eight.”

Later that night Justin made his way downstairs to the store,and opened the front door to find Cathy and Janet standing there. Justin frowned a tiny bit as the two girls made their way inside.
“Why’d you bring your sister?” He asked, doing his best to hide his disappointment that it wasn’t just Cathy.
“She wanted to come and I couldn’t get her to stay home without spilling the beans. I told my parents I was going out with friends and she threatened to tell them what was really going on.” Cathy explained.
“I mean it isn’t entirely untrue. You are hanging out with a friend.” Justin said with a small smile.
“I’m going!” Janet blurted out and ran towards the aisle with the doll.
“How are you going to explain this to your grandma?” Cathy asked as she walked past a display of a toy war scene.
“Oh. I’m going to tell her I ordered a pizza and just forgot to lock the door on my way back up. I’ll take some money out of the register and hide a few other toys, maybe knock some displays over to make it look like somebody broke in and robbed the place.” He explained.
“That’s pretty clever. Mean… but clever.” She responded as she stopped by the register, Justin stopping in front of her.
“Hey what can I say.” Justin said.
Cathy smiled a bit as she fiddled with some small toys by the register. She looked around and then returned her gaze to Justin. “Why are you doing this for us? Why are you risking getting in trouble?”
His mind raced at a million miles an hour, trying to figure out how to explain why he was so willing to help her sister out. No, help her out. Before he could give it any more thought he blurted out his response.
“It’s because I like you I've always liked you I think you’re sweet and cute, and I just wanted to help because I like you and thought maybe you’d like me back if I did it!”
He gasped for breath.
Justin closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, eventually regaining control of his breathing. After a few brief minutes he opened his eyes, finding that Cathy was staring at him, her mouth dropped open some and eyes wide.
Dread filled Justin, his heart beating harder and harder. Oh no, she’s gonna leave and never speak to me again and tell everybody I’m a loser and freak.
But she surprised him by smiling at him, warmly and widely. Justin slowly smiled back. They brought their faces close to one another, only a hairs breadth apart.
The scream that ripped through the air put an end to that.
“Janet!” Cathy called out and rushed off towards the location the scream emanated from, Justin following in her wake.
The duo arrived to find Janet laying on the floor screaming and crying in agony, her eye sockets bleeding profusely. As for the former residents of those yawning black holes, they were in the hands of the clown doll. The toy turned its head and looked at them.
Justin and Cathy bolted from the aisle, the clown doll right behind them. As they ran down the aisles Cathy shrieked as other toys began to spring from the shelves and joined the hunt.
Stuffed bears and lions pawed at them with vicious claws that sprang from their plush paws as metal model cars pelted down on the teens

Ep.60 – Welcome to Tiny Christmas, Iowa! - The Secret Santa Here is DEADLY

9 december 2020 | 35 min

Episode Notes
An overworked business woman takes a new job in the midwest winter wonderland town of Tiny Christmas, Iowa. As her Christmas spirit starts to warm up like a hot cup of cocoa something isn't quite right and giftwrap isn't all that's hiding things.
Welcome to Tiny Christmas, Iowa! by Michelle Adler
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
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
I let out a sigh as my Uber passed the "Now Entering Tiny Christmas Iowa" sign.
"According to the sign it's the Tiniest most Christmasiest place in all of Iowa!" My Uber driver Ajeet chuckled, sensing my displeasure.
"I'm sure it's just as Christmasy as all fuck" I say, trying to come off cheery and almost succeeding until that curse word at the end.
I lied on my interview. I hate Christmas, I hate the midwest, the only thing I know about Iowa is that it’s a Slipknot album, and I have never designed a window display in my life. I am just an unemployable, grumpy, freelance graphic designer from New York City, trying to find any work that isn’t stocking shelves at a grocery store.
To be honest, I didn’t realize the position was out of state until after I’d applied. I’d initially intended to turn the job down as I’d never had any desire to live anywhere other than the city that never sleeps. The high-rise condos, rats, street vendors, homeless people on every street corner, bodegas also on every corner, and constant bustle are things I’ve lived for, but at this point, maybe it’s time to stop pretending I could make it in NYC anymore.
It wasn’t like I had a support system either. No family left and no friends to speak of. I hadn’t even been on a date in the last two years. My social life revolved mostly around my interactions with my landlord, none of which were pleasant. I heard that she was so happy I was leaving apparently she even threw me a goodbye party.. After I left.
I lived for my work, but things had been so hard lately. Maybe It was time for me to give up. Maybe it was time for me to start over.
“Ma’am, that’s all good and fine, but we’re here.” Ajeet said while simultaneously unlocking the doors. I hadn’t realized we’d even stopped… or that I was talking outloud. I guess it had been awhile since I’d been around other people.
I started to open the door before even looking at where I was. When I did, I pulled it back shut. “This can’t be right,” I mumbled, fumbling for my phone to pull up the address I’d been given. I was sure I was supposed to be in front of a house, my new house, or, I don’t know, anything, but instead we sat in a desolate parking lot on the outskirts of what was hopefully the correct town at least. Though it looked anything but Christmassy. In front of me, bloomed an industrial complex with a small collection of seemingly long abandoned warehouses and factories. I felt a jolt of fear ping through my body. It was quiet here, too quiet. Quiet enough for me to be raped and murdered without anyone noticing.
“This is as far as I can take you,” I jumped as I realized Ajeet was already grabbing my luggage from the trunk.
“What? Why?” So no murder then?
“It’s a small town and a beautiful day. Why not take a nice stroll through town on your way? I think the farmer’s market goes till 3..” He dodged.
“No.. I-I don’t want to walk and it’s 30 degrees!” I said while repositioning the luggage he’d removed back into the uber, “I just want you to finish driving me. What’s the big deal, it’s your job for christ’s sake!”
Ajeet paused. “Listen, I don’t go in there. Tiny Christmas is not a town for people like me” He pointed to his turban.
“They’re racist…?”
“I don’t know what you want to call it, but I just don’t want to spend the afternoon stuck there while they try to convert me… again. Last time I didn’t even get to take a lunch break and I’m really hungry today, so you’re on your own.” He said as he finished re-removing my luggage. “Like I said, small town, very friendly, I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding the place.”
“W-well, I personally respect the Islamic religion” I chased him as he walked back around to the drivers side door and pulled it open, “I’ll even buy you lunch, how’s that?!”
“Nope. Therapist said I need to start defining my boundaries or people are going to walk all over me for the rest of my life, “He slammed the door and pressed the lock down, “Enjoy your stay in Tiny Christmas, I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.” With that he and his Nissan Altima, pulled out of the lot.
“Wait! You can’t be serious!!”
“And I’m Sikh, you asshole!” He called back as he sped away.
I stood there shivering in the cold, confused and becoming increasingly angry at my predicament. “No, you’re the asshole,” I grumbled as I grabbed my luggage and resigned myself to walking into town.
As I’d mentioned before, I was basically left to fend for myself in an abandoned wasteland. A beautiful young woman such as myself should not have to subject herself to such a dangerous situation. I pushed through the dystopian scenery with a confident stride, preparing myself for whatever unsavory situation lay ahead of me. However when I finally rounded the last warehouse, I was not prepared for what I saw.
Ahead of me, across a set of train tracks, lay the most adorable little downtown I had ever laid my eyes on. As I walked onward the air became filled with the scent of pine, cinnamon, and roasted chestnuts. The streets were packed with happy looking townsfolk, each one going out of their way to say hello as I passed. And Ajeet was right, there was a farmers market!
As nice as this all was, I have to admit I was a little uncomfortable with the level of friendliness and Christmas I was experiencing. I felt a bit of guilt well up inside me for not immediately being drawn into the merriness. I managed to brush it off quickly, though. I wasn’t wrong, they were the ones that were wrong. As I slowly became increasingly annoyed at the pleasantries I happened upon a coffee shop.
“Welcome to Christmas Coffee!” An overweight elderly woman hollered in an alarmingly cheery tone as the door jingled closed behind me.
"Would you be able to point me in the direction of 616 Pine St?" I am an unemployed graphic designer with no chit chat skills.
"Oh! I know who you are! You're the new window display coordinator from the big city!"
"Well yes, and I'm running late--"
"Oh sweetie, you look just about chilled to the bone! Did some ethnic cab driver refuse to take you the whole way?" She asked. I wondered how common of a thing that was. "Here you go," she poured a cup of coffee and slid it to me "free coffee, on the house! I'm Amanda by the way."
I took the coffee avoiding her outstretched arm, "that's really very nice of you, I'll be sure to stop back when I'm settled, but I'm running late right now, so.." Yeah, I was never coming back.
"Oh right, 616 Pine was it? Make a left then it's two blocks down. You couldn't even miss it if you wanted to!"
I thanked her and sped out the door before she could continue to waste my time. I took a sip of the coffee as I walked out into the holiday pandemonium and stopped dead as the warmth hit my tongue.
This was... the best cup of coffee I'd ever had in my life. It was rich and full bodied with notes of cinnamon, allspice, and honey. It brought back a flood of childhood memories. Drinking hot chocolate after school as my mother brushed the snow out of my hair, watching movies huddled by the fire, my mothers warmth as she rocked me to sleep. God, I missed her. If only, I thought, I could have something like that again in a real, non coffee based sense..
Wait, what was I thinking? I am a powerful, competent, unemployed graphic designer. I’d never wish for a family, I convinced myself, brushing the tears from my eyes. I went to take another sip of coffee, but I was beginning to feel nauseous, so instead I dropped it in the next available garbage can.
Amanda was right, this place was hard to miss. Two blocks down was almost a full mile away and basically in the woods. The quant tutor with 616 scrolled across the door was the only building on the entire street. As I walked up the driveway, I realized how eerily quiet it had become. I hadn’t seen a single car pass me in the last half mile. I shivered as the wind whipped up, this was the perfect place for an unsuspecting young woman to be raped and murdered. I was all alone.. No wait, I was being watched.
“Well hello there, Rachel!” I jumped as the door of the house popped open to reveal a smiling middle aged man in a suit.
“Oh. oh, hi…” I tried to collect myself, “You must be--”
“Correct! I’m Jake from the agency, so glad you were able to find your way here! I was getting a little worried that you hadn’t been able to find a ride into town.”
“Funny you should say that---”
“Anyway, this is the place!” He cut me off, holding the door open beckoning me inside. The interior, despite having a certain charm, was covered in a layer of dust and white sheets. The air had a musty quality that signaled that this place had been long forgotten. I sighed, I do not like cleaning.
“As mentioned earlier,” he continued, “it’s $250/month and you’re responsible for paying all utilities as well as any yard work or snow removal that needs to be done. Also, I think there are Christmas lights in the basement so you won't even need to buy any to decorate.”
“I won’t be needing them, but thank you, I just want to settle in.”
“Oh,” He seemed crushed, “Well, they’re there in case you change your mind. It would probably go a long way to making the place feel like home.”
“Umm thanks… well, how long has it been vacant?” I slid my fingers through the dust on the firepl

Ep.59 – Christmas Rage! - Santa Has an Axe and He's Coming!

2 december 2020 | 35 min

Episode Notes
It's Christmas Eve and a maniac has gone crazy with an axe, killing anyone that crosses his path... However there is an ever more dangerous predator out on the streets and they aren't out caroling...
Christmas Rage by Rob Fields
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
December 23rd – Evening
Strickfield Towne Centre Mall only seemed to be a hopping place around the holidays. The vacancies left during the usual ten months out of the year were mostly filled by seasonal stores. There was even a Santa Claus House in the mall’s center court. Families would line up with their children, many of whom had Christmas lists to give to Santa.
But on this day, things were about to take a macabre turn . . .
Santa Claus had just taken his seat on his throne. Templeton Mirren, the owner of the mall, and his family were right there in front of him. Santa just sat there and looked right at them.
Templeton appeared to be patient. When Santa’s silence got to be too much, Templeton leaned in and whispered loudly, “If you don’t get your act together, Stanley, you’ll be enjoying this Christmas on your fucking welfare check!”
Stanley Monroe was always tapped to play Santa Claus from Black Friday until Christmas Eve at Strickfield Towne Centre Mall. But as Santa slowly stood up and glared at Templeton Mirren and his family, he seemed to have a foreboding presence. Then, Santa opened the door to his house and received several screams when the slain, bloody body of Stanley Monroe just fell onto the porch.
The families scattered in different directions. Santa took his time as he reached inside the house and pulled out the same bloody ax that he had used on Stanley earlier. Then he marched toward Templeton Mirren, raising his lethal weapon. Templeton Mirren turned and yanked a nearby father right in front of the Santa. The father never uttered a peep as Santa buried the blade right in his head. The other bystanders were too frightened to see what Templeton Mirren had done. They never saw him or his wicked wife grab their children and leave.
From there, Santa pulled the ax out of the father’s head and buried it in another bystander as It Came Upon a Midnight Clear slowly began to play over the mall speakers.
Christmas Eve Morning
I awaken in a different room and remember that I’m here at Franklin Sloane’s house. Franklin invited me to come home with him for Christmas. Franklin and I have been seeing each other since late August. In fact, he’s been my only companion this semester.
After I take a shower and get dressed, I hear arguing downstairs. I make my way down and stop short when I hear that I’m the topic of discussion. Actually, it’s more like Franklin’s parents are giving him a hard time about me. The more I listen, I more I hear his father, Joseph, and his stepmother, Delphine, just discouraging him. His dad tells him there’s no way that a ‘big-titted puttana’ like me would ever care for him. They tell him that I’m just using him for my own selfish ends.
Franklin argues back and tells them that I’m nothing like that. He tells them that we’ve been seeing each other since the beginning of the fall semester. He asks them what I could possibly be using him for.
Here’s the irony. I am using Franklin, but not for the reasons his parents are implying. They think I’m with him for money, or that I’m waiting to humiliate him. I’m fully aware that people look at Franklin and decide that he’s the biggest nerd there is. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard people whisper that to each other when they think I’m not listening? I even hear those same people wondering how someone like me would even be with Franklin.
Delphine tells Franklin that I’m way too beautiful for him. She even tells Franklin that I would never have sex with him, that people like me belong with fraternity boys. Yes, I certainly could have had my pick of a fraternity boy, or even a jock. The problem with those types of guys is that they would only want to have sex with me just for a short time. They would not want to commit to me. No, I need much more than they’re willing to give.
For those of you who haven’t been following me since the beginning . . . From the time I came into the world, I have never felt so much as a single emotion. Perhaps my being emotionless is why I’m a serial killer. Your society has labeled me the Angel of Death, because I destroy those who prey on innocent people. I suppose the closest thing to emotions that I feel is my ever-insistent bloodlust, which pushes me onward to claim my victims. In fact, I’m feeling the urgent need to kill right now.
I make my way to the dining room. The family doesn’t hear me come in until I’m right there, right when Franklin yells at Delphine, “That’s your problem. You always think everybody’s out to get me. Well, Raige isn’t like that!”
Franklin becomes quiet when he realizes I’m here. The family is just looking at me now.
“Perhaps I should just go,” I say. “Clearly, I’m not wanted or welcome here. I’ll just get my things and go back to my dorm.”
Delphine looks sternly at me. “You heard everything?”
I nod once. “I did. And you’re wrong about me.” I fold my arms in front of me. “Please, enlighten me. What do I hope to gain by using Franklin?”
Delphine takes a deep breath. “Do you see yourself, Raigen? Do you see Franklin? Do you see how completely mismatched the two of you are? You can have any man you want. Why would you settle for Franklin?”
While I myself don’t have emotions, I have come to understand a great deal about how emotions can move people, both positively and negatively. Watching enough television and being around Mama long enough will do that for someone like me. “So, let me get this straight . . . just because I’m a beautiful girl and Franklin’s a nerd, I would not want to be with someone like him? Then . . . why would I date Franklin? Why would I agree to come home with him for Christmas?”
Delphine glares at me now. “Well, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell us?”
“I agreed to come here with Franklin, because he asked me to,” I reply. “I wasn’t going home for Christmas, and Franklin didn’t want me to be alone. I’m thinking he invited me out of the kindness of his heart. That’s why I choose to be with Franklin. He’s kind to me. He’s never once tried to take advantage of me. I enjoy his company.” I unfold and lower my arms. “I can’t believe that you and your husband would cut Franklin down like this. Especially you – a church minister.”
Delphine took over being the minister of Strickfield Community Church after the scandal with Minister Darren Harlow years ago. Yes, it’s the usual type of scandal you read about – with children. After Harlow was removed, Delphine became the new minister. She had to work very hard to keep the church going, but she managed to do it. I was a freshman in high school when this happened, by the way. Delphine’s been quite strict on Franklin ever since, according to what he’s told me about her and from what I’ve just witnessed.
I put a comforting hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Franklin shakes his head. “Can we just leave, Raige?”
“Yes! Yes, we can!” I reply. “Go pack a few things and we can have Christmas at my dorm.”
Franklin leaves the dining room. His parents only glare at me before I turn and head back up to the guestroom to pack my things. You’re thinking that I want to kill them both, right? Nope! They’re both innocent, so I can’t kill them.
Ah, yes . . . Now we’re getting to what I want to tell you. I currently have an even greater need to satisfy – even more than my need to kill. Now, while I don’t feel anything emotional, I do feel things that are physical. I know when I need to eat, drink, sleep, clean my body, seek comfort . . . I did say that I’m looking to use Franklin. As of late, I’m feeling the need to have sex. I was able to get by for many years without having to fulfill this basic need. Now my sex drive is becoming as insistent as my bloodlust. It’s because of this that I’ve come to realize that I need a mate, a constant companion. I need someone who can be good company for me and satisfy my sexual desires when the need arises. In turn, I would be just as responsive to my mate.
Would you call me a primal girl, in spite of my highly developed brain? Perhaps you would be right. Franklin Sloane is one of the few young men at Strickfield University who has taken an interest in me. Over time, he has shown me that he is both a suitable companion and an intellectual peer. I really don’t care that Franklin is a skinny nerd who talks about chess or contemporary movies. I don’t even care that the rest of you in the female population are repulsed by him. Unlike you, I don’t have it me to be repulsed by him. On the other hand, I don’t even have it in me to be able to love him. Regardless, Franklin has proven himself to be a suitable companion for me, and my desire is for him to be my mate.
Franklin comes and gets me. “You ready, Raige?”
“Yes, we can go.”
We head downstairs and to the front door. Before we leave, Franklin turns to his parents. “I really thought we were going to have a normal family Christmas this time, even with my bringing Raige. But I can see that’s never going to happen. Come on, Raige, let’s go.”
Once more, Franklin’s parents and I exchange looks. Then I turn and leave with Franklin.
Franklin is settled in my dorm room; I didn’t have a roommate during the fall semester. The only reason I’m allowed to stay over the holiday break is because I’m attending classes here at Strickfield University next semester.
Franklin looks pretty down. “I’m sorry you had to see that

Ep.58 – Turkey Shoot - Blood Thirsty Vengeance is on the Menu!

25 november 2020 | 35 min

Episode Notes
On Thanksgiving day something is hungry and loose in a small down and it's not content to be the centerpiece of your dinner anymore. Murderous turkey's are coming, and you pissed them off!
Turkey Shoot by David O'Hanlon
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
The white sheet was a Rorschach test of ruddy blooms across the uneven surface. Sheriff Eldon Hart dabbed VapoRub on his upper lip as he entered the makeshift morgue of Rhoda Baines’ office. It was little more than a meat locker built along the back wall of Country Smiles Dentistry. The tiny township of Fiddler’s Gap rarely needed a morgue—and nestled in the Ozark Mountains, they didn’t call on a dentist much either. Still, between her dental practice and double-duty as county corner, Rhoda’s office stayed busy enough.
Deputy Alex Hargrove was new to area. Despite eight years in law enforcement, this was his first corpse and he slathered the VapoRub on his lip into a greasy mustache. Rhoda waved him off when he offered her the jar and she chuckled softly. The sound was somewhere between melodious playfulness and a braying mule and it brought a smile to the stone face of Sheriff Hart.
Rhoda snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves and passed the box to the cops who did the same. Hart flipped on the articulated examination light. He nodded to Rhoda who pulled the sheet back like a lounge-act magician clearing a tablecloth from beneath the guests’ glasses.
“Whoo!” Deputy Hargrove leaned away. “That’s not what I was expecting.”
“Nope,” Hart added, simply.
The body was largely held together by the remains of his clothing. The face consisted of a few patches of flesh too stubborn to come off. The eyes were gone, along with the lips which left the tobacco-and-blood-stained teeth grinning around a maw occupied only by the stumpy remains of the victim’s tongue. The spine was a stretch of ashen desert between ravaged muscles with the soft tissue of the throat completely absent. Hart walked along the length of the steel table as he continued his observations.
Holes, ranging from pencil-width to fist-sized, dotted the torso and the flannel shirt was in tatters around the wounds. The connective tissue of the left arm had been torn away, leaving the appendage in the sleeve, but no longer attached to the body. The gut was hollowed like a jack-o-lantern. The shredded blue jeans held much of the same. Hart poked his finger into a hole in the man’s thigh and then examined the bare tibia below.
“Okay, so what are we looking at here?” he finally asked.
“Dead Caucasian male in his thirties. No ID, but he does have a tattoo on his forearm… the part that wasn’t ate, that is.” Rhoda used a sponge to clean the torso. “Foxy found our victim about five this morning and brought him to me. I’ve left him alone, but I did a cursory examination.”
“Hell, Foxy shakes like a tweaker in an earthquake. How’d the old fart bring…” Hargrove waved his hand at the body, “this, without it falling apart?”
“Carefully.” Rhoda shrugged.
“Alright, but what was an old hermit doing out in the woods that early?” the deputy asked.
“Foxy hunts turkeys for family’s that can’t afford one for Thanksgiving,” Hart answered. “The Fox family’s done it since the Great Depression. Foxy doesn’t like people, but he cares about them.” He prodded another hole. “What’d you mean by the part that wasn’t ate?”
“The soft tissue was destroyed—throat, crook of the arm, belly, eyes. The intestines are missing large portions and some organs are gone in their entirety.” Rhoda took a gauge and measured a puncture wound for their benefit. “These are peck marks.”
“Well, shit. I’ll go put out the APB right away.” Hargrove clapped his hands together. “Big ass bird, red thing on his head, answers to Woody.”
Hart smirked and then cleared his throat. “Scavengers dig in through the soft spots. Could be vultures found him.”
“That was my first thought.” Rhoda rolled the man on his side and raised his shirt. More peck marks and long cuts adorned the flesh. “There’s no lividity, however.”
“Meaning?” Hart scratched at his stubble, suddenly wishing he’d stopped to make himself presentable before coming to see Rhoda. He snapped his fingers best the gloves would allow. “Shit! He bled out.”
Rhoda bit her lip and smiled. “Precisely. He was either very recently dead or… nevermind, that’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe not,” Hargrove said, catching up with Rhoda’s line of thought. “Maybe he fell and knocked himself out cold. Might’ve been in a coma or something and they thought he was dead.”
“Perhaps.” Rhoda watched the young deputy for a moment. “Pretty good theory, regardless.”
“We need Foxy to take us where he found him.” Hart leaned in to examine the cuts. “This is a murder until we prove otherwise.”

Benoit ‘Foxy’ Foxworth III leaned on the tailgate of Chevy C100 with his pipe clenched between his teeth. The truck was four different colors and two shades of rust, putting it at odds with the palatial home beyond. The Foxworths made their money in copper mining and then reinvested in oil which ensured Foxy could live comfortably for twenty lifetimes. Still, he never liked people enough to bother impressing them, so he only kept the truck running at best.
The octogenarian sharpened the thin-bladed knife meticulously while he watched the battered Dodge Durango crunch up the gravel drive. Foxy kept the trees clear so he could welcome any guests with a warning shot should they come up uninvited. Foxy set the whetstone down and sheathed the blade before going to meet the officers.
“I ain’t kill him,” Foxy said before the window was down all the way.
“I didn’t reckon you did.” Hart put the SUV in park and turned his hands over thoughtfully. “Now if he’d been shot, that would be different.”
“Well he weren’t.” Foxy stared at the sheriff before sighing and opening the backdoor of the Durango. “If we’re going back out there, you’re taking me to get some groceries on the way back. I forgot bread.”
“I think we can manage that.”
The ride along the old highway took them by Caroline Marvell’s Dine Inn motel and eatery, which counted as the area’s fine dining. The girl was barely twenty and inherited the establishment after her parents were murdered. She didn’t know much about business, but Hart made sure she turned a profit—any petty offense would be overlooked if you went straight to the Dine Inn and tipped very generously.
Caroline waved from the front door as she finished setting up the sandwich board advertising the annual community Thanksgiving dinner that evening. The locals started the tradition when the mines dried up in the last days of the nineteenth century and kept it alive ever since. Hart even made a trip to nearby Marshall to pick up rolls and canned cranberry sauce. It didn’t seem like much of a contribution compared to the work others put in, but no one was hungry enough to eat the Sheriff’s cooking—including him. The general store’s freezer section provided the meals he didn’t get at the diner.
“You been to the Dine Inn yet, Alex?” Hart asked.
“It’s on my list of things to do, sir.” Hargrove stared out the window at valley just beyond the flimsy guardrail. “You really think it was birds?”
“Weird shit happens out here.” Hart slowed for the turn on the old logging road. “Foxy, we going to be able to reach this spot?”
“Mostly.” Foxy puffed the sweet, rich smoke between the officers. “Game trail is pretty clear but she’s going to be bumpy. We’ll have to go across the holler on foot though and then it’s about a mile as the crow flies.”
“Why’d you go all that way to shoot a turkey?” Hargrove asked.
“Ever hunted turkey, boy?” Foxy squinted at the deputy.
Hargrove turned in his seat. “No. I used to hunt deer back home, but we don’t get a lot of turkeys.”
“They’re elusive,” Foxy grunted. “The valley we’re going to has natural borders that aren’t worth the effort to most hunters—human and otherwise. When I was a kid, we called the valley Turkey Shoot, because there were so many of them critters about. Then came the ‘quake of ’53. Weren’t no easy way out there after that. No one hunts Turkey Shoot no more.”
“So, what made you take the trip, Foxy?” Hart teeth clacked together as the tire dropped into a pothole.
“Been hearing the gobblers out there for a bit. They’re getting loud like there’s too many of them, so I went to check and found a path.” Foxy scratched his chin. “When they opened the dam a few months back, it must have moved some stuff. Left a pass straight to Big Creek.”
Hart turned onto the trail. They bounced in their seats until the tires found Foxy’s ruts and settled in for a marginally smoother ride. Hargrove braced himself against the dashboard and shook his head while they banged down the path.
“This is more than bumpy.” Hargrove’s head thumped against the window. “Are we there yet?”
“’Bout another twenty minutes,” Foxy laughed.

Foxy had a great sense of time. Twenty-one minutes later, they got out of the SUV, put on their coats and grab some water bottles.
“Is that,” Hart pointed at the metallic backpack, “what I think it is?”
“Oh, damn. Umm, I forgot to tell you about that,” Hargrove said. “You sent me to Searcy County to buy their old gear last week. Remember?”
“I don’t remember a flamethrower being on the list.” Hart scowled.
“They used to burn weed crops with it and I thought it might be useful.” Hargrove shrugged. “Besides, it was only fifty-bucks.”
“A flamethrower is never going to be useful.” Hart shut the hatch and shook his head. “Maybe next time you can find a bazooka.”
Hargrove’s smile beamed. “I think they have two over in Pulaski. Want me to call them?”
Hart pinched the br

Ep.57 – Reaper Requisitions - Death is Only The Grim Beginning!

18 november 2020 | 35 min

Episode Notes
Most people fear death, but that is only the beginning. We learn all about the life of a Reaper, the trials, tribulations, and of course paperwork... Lots and lots of paperwork...
Reaper Requisitions by Christopher Dowell
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
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcription:
She felt numb. She remembered that it was only a short time ago when she felt her breaths slow and her body begin to cool. Everything seemed hazy, almost as though there was a film over her eyes. She couldn’t explain the feeling, but it felt as if everything had become disconnected, almost as though —
Her front door burst open with a loud bang as a mist began to pour into her home. Everything shifted to a pale shade of blue as a bell rang from all around her. Crows began to caw despite there not being any indication of the carrion feeders anywhere nearby. But something strange shook through her body as the tolling of the bell resounded: She couldn’t feel her heartbeat despite the fear coursing through her. Then, with a final ringing of the bell, silence filled her home.
A figure clad in black robes and a hood obscuring its face floated through the room and pointed at her. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls,” the figure in the black robes bellowed in a deep, echoing voice. “It tolls for thee.”
As the figure came closer to her, its boney finger motioning in a “come hither” gesture, she screamed and ran as fast as she could to the back of her house and burst out of the back door.

“Listen, running just makes us mad and makes our job harder, okay?” The woman and the figure she now knew as “the reaper” stood in front of an elevator waiting for it to arrive. The reaper’s voice was now higher-pitched than it had been before. “Plus they won’t update our uniform. Seriously, running in these robes is annoying.”
The woman shook. “S-s-sorry.”
The reaper put its hand on the woman’s shoulder. She jumped. “It’s alright. Dying isn’t easy and, well, the show I like to put on makes it a little worse. But you’ll thank me for making your death seem like a memorable and significant experience after you’ve finished the 8,000 years of paperwork it takes to get you properly set up in the afterlife.”
Tears began to form on the edges of the woman’s eyes.
“I’m kidding. It’s not that much paperwork. But it is seriously boring.”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The reaper took the woman’s hand and led her inside. An uncountable number of buttons lined the walls of the elevator and the reaper pressed the lowest one. The elevator jerked to life as it descended. The reaper saw the woman clench and her body tighten.
“It’s alright. Just because we’re going down doesn’t mean we’re ‘going down,’ if you know what I mean.” The reaper leaned against the wall. “You might as well get comfortable. We’re going to be on this elevator for a while. If you have anything to ask, you’ve got the time before we get you processed.”
“Processed?” The woman turned, her eyes wide as she stared into the black void inside the reaper’s hood.
“Yeah. When we get to the ground floor you’ll get put in the department that best suits you. Or you could always choose to be a reaper, but, eh… ” The reaper trailed off as it stared into the woman’s eyes. “You’re better off just going where they put you.”
“Where they put me?” The woman looked away from the reaper’s hood. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not too complicated. You see, what you’ve been told about the afterlife is somewhat true, but there are some differences. First off, there’s no Heaven, Hell, eternal punishment, eternal paradise, or so on.” The reaper sat down on the elevator’s floor and motioned for the woman to join it. She didn’t. “What we have instead is a bureaucratic, ‘efficient’ business situation where people are assigned tasks based upon their strengths shown in life.”
“Wait, then why are we going down?”
“Because that’s where the Assignment desk is.”
The woman slumped to the floor, hitting a few buttons on the side of the wall as she did so. “So you’re saying that all the good, all the bad I did in life doesn’t matter? You’re saying the only thing that matters is how good I am at filing documents?”
The reaper turned to look at her sitting on the floor beside him. “Paperwork, spreadsheets, flipping burgers, whatever career you’ve been found to excel at. Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Also,” the reaper motioned to the lit up buttons on the wall. “You shouldn’t have done that. We’re going to be in this elevator forever now.”
“Wait, forever?” the woman’s eyes grew wide once more.
“Not literally forever. Maybe like 20 minutes. But it’ll feel like forever.”
The woman and the reaper sighed along with one another.

“Listen, boss, we gotta talk.” The reaper burst through the office door as a man in a pinstripe suit jumped.
“Haven’t you heard of knocking, 7142?” the man said as he rearranged the paperwork on his desk.
“Haven’t you heard of keeping your promises?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, 7142, but if you have an issue, you know the proper procedure.”
The reaper sat down in an empty chair in front of the pinstripe-suited man’s desk. “Listen, boss, I’m not going to go down to Complaints. It will take 70 years before you even get an acknowledgement that there’s a complaint filed, let alone know its content or go to Reparations to ensure that the complaint is received.” The reaper leaned forward. “No, I’m not going to wait any longer.”
“Whatever are you talking about, 7142?” The pinstripe-suited man rubbed at his temples. “You’ve got work to do. Those souls aren’t going to ferry themselves.”
The reaper stood up, knocking the chair over as he did so. “That’s exactly why I’m here. When I took this job I was told I could retire once I ferried a billion souls. The woman I just brought down to Assignments makes 100 million more than that. I’m done, boss.”
The pinstripe-suited man opened a drawer and pulled out a file labeled “7142” and opened it. He licked his fingers as he leafed through the documents, stamping and initialing random pages as he did so. He leaned back in his chair.
“You’re right, 7142. It seems you were due for retirement 100 million souls ago. However,” the pinstripe-suited man slid a form across his desk to the reaper, “if you look at your contract you’ll see that part of your retirement requires you to send in a request to train a replacement before you can resign. I have yet to receive a request to train a new reaper, 7142.”
The reaper snatched the paper off the pinstripe-suited man’s desk. It read the words on repeat and saw — in the smallest print the reaper could read with squinted eyes — that yes, at 1 billion souls he was to send a request form — in quadruplicate — to Reaper Requisitions for a recruit to train as an intern until which point said intern could perform tasks on its own.
The reaper shook its head. “I need to take a long lunch today, boss. I have some paperwork to fill out.”
The pinstripe-suited man slid a form across his desk. “You’ll need to fill this out and wait for approval before you can take your long lunch. And I’m also giving you an infraction for busting in here without an appointment. You know the rules.”
The reaper’s shoulders slumped, and it shook its head as it took the forms and a yellow paper infraction. That yellow piece of paper meant the reaper would have to bring in another million souls.

61 years after the meeting with its boss, the reaper received approval to take a long lunch. This meant the reaper gained an extra 10 minutes to its break-time.
When the reaper reached the Complaints Department, it already had its paperwork filled out and signed in quadruplicate. The reaper didn’t think it would take any longer to include a complaint about the robes. If approved, that complaint would allow the next generation of reapers to enjoy the freedom afforded to them by actual pants. But the reaper doubted it would get approved — at least not any time soon.
After the reaper filed its request for an intern and its complaint about the robes its lunch had ended without it having time to eat anything. It would have to pick up something to eat during its next soul run. It wouldn’t be the first time the reaper had to eat on the job.

“7142,” the speaker rang out as the reaper sat in Reaper Requisitions 124 years after filing his request for an intern.
The reaper stood up and walked to the window where a woman in a pant-suit sat behind plexiglass. She didn’t look up at the reaper as she stamped stacks of papers, which was fine. It allowed the reaper some time to admire the woman's pants and long for the feeling of pleated fabric caressing its inner thighs. The woman cleared her throat, breaking the reaper out of its pants fantasy.
“Get to the point and stop dilly-dallying,” the pant-suited woman said, still not looking up at the reaper. “You have no idea how busy it’s been for the past few centuries.”
“Sorry.”
“So you’re here for an intern, right? I hope you’re not here to keep inundating us with that uniform crap,” the pant-suited woman stopped stamping and looked at the reaper. “Do you have any idea how much more work a uniform change would cause?”
“I sure don’t. That’s not my department.”
The pant-suited woman scoffed. “Of course,” she continued moving papers and stamping them. “Just take this form and go down to processing and walk down the hall. There are recruits waiting there. Interview them and pick the best fit." The pant-suited woman slid a form to the reaper, and it took it.
“I thought you all procured and interviewed the interns. I don’t have time to take off to interview them. Isn’t that exactly what your departmen

Ep.56 – The Babysitter - The Killer is Watching and You Have No Idea!

11 november 2020 | 33 min

Episode Notes
A babysitter is watching after some kids to make some quick cash when the phone calls start... But the killer is closer than anyone could imagine!
The Babysitter by Rob Fields
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
I’m walking down Sheffield Avenue, which is located over in Strickfield Commons. As I’m looking at all of the beautiful homes that line each and every block here, I remember that everybody and anybody who lives in Strickfield knows that this is where the rich people live. Further down this street, I can see the wall that surrounds the properties where all of those Mirrens live. It must be nice to have the kind of money that they’ve got. They sure don’t have to take babysitting jobs just to be able to make money.
“Kelsey?” a woman calls out to me.
I quickly come out of my thoughts and turn to see Mrs. Nancy Marsden standing in the front door of the house I’m supposed to be babysitting for. “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own thoughts,” I say to her in my mousy voice.
She gives me a little smile. “Well, come on in. My husband and I are getting ready to leave. We were just waiting on you.”
I turn and walk to the front porch. I walk up the steps and Mrs. Marsden steps aside to let me come in. This house always smells like potpourri. Definitely a pleasant smell. This beautiful house isn’t one of those mansions the Mirrens live in, but I would live in a house like this if I had that kind of money.
The potpourri smell is overtaken by the smells of something savory, which makes my stomach growl. Then Jonathan Marsden himself comes out of the kitchen. “Kelsey, glad you could finally make it.”
“Um, aren’t you two going out tonight?” I ask.
“Oh, we are,” he says. “I’m actually putting dinner on the table for you and the kids.”
One of the perks about babysitting for the Marsdens? They feed me real good. Either they give me money to order something to have delivered or Jonathan makes dinner. I take off my coat and let Mrs. Marsden have it. Then I go into the dining room and see three very nice turkey dinners on the table.
“Oh, you’re way too kind,” I say.
“I’ve got to take good care of you, Kelsey, since you take good care of our kids,” he says with a wink. “Sit.”
I go and sit at the table. Then the two children I’m babysitting come in and sit. Stephen and David are across from each other, nine and ten. They both give me those dirty looks.
“Can’t you get a better babysitter?” Stephen complains to his dad.
“Yeah, she’s such a nerd,” David adds. “Kelsey wears those stupid glasses and she can’t even play video games that good.”
Jonathan gives them a gentle sigh. “Now, you two . . . Kelsey takes good care of you both, doesn’t she?”
They give me their dirty looks again. As you can tell, they really don’t like me that much. Still, they can’t tell their dad that I hurt them in any way. No, I treat them with kid gloves and pretty much let them do whatever they want.
When the kids don’t reply, Jonathan tells us to go ahead and eat. Nancy comes into the kitchen. “We’d better get going, dear. We don’t want to be late.”
“Right!” Jonathan agrees.
When Nancy leaves, Jonathan comes up behind me and pats my shoulder. “You’ve got this under control. As always, I’ll pay you when we get back. You’ll probably get a bonus if there are no issues.”
Jonathan and Nancy leave. Now it’s just me and the kids. They start giving me a hard time again about my glasses and how I suck at video games. Then Stephen tells me the only reason their dad hires me to babysit them is because he says I’m a cute little thing. Then David tells me I look like a little girl. Sigh . . . I sure wish my body would have developed as much as my brain. They’re right when they say I look really young for my age; I’ve been told that I look like I’m twelve, when I’m really much older. I can’t even get into R-rated movies without having my I.D. with me.
After we finish dinner, I go ahead and do the dishes. The kids are running around and acting like . . . kids. I have to tell them to settle down. When I’m done with the dishes, I join the boys in the living room. Then they attack me and start wrestling me. I end up getting a little rough with them, not enough to hurt them of course. In time, I get them to sit down and we watch a couple of movies (their choices).
When it gets to be around ten o’clock, I tell them it’s time to head upstairs and go to bed. Of course, they always have to ask me if I can let them stay up a little later. I bend a little and give them another half hour. Then I finally make them go upstairs. In fact, I make sure they’re both in their pajamas and getting into bed. One other time before, I caught them messing around in their parents’ room.
“Don’t even think about raiding any of the other rooms up here,” I tell them. “I can hear you downstairs and I’ll be up.”
“Yeah, you’re just waiting for Dad to get home,” David quips.
“Well, yeah,” I say. “He’s got to pay me, right?”
“And then you can show him your boobs,” Stephen teases.
I open my mouth wide. “Stephen! You are much too young to be talking about things like that!” I point at both of them. “Now get to bed! Remember, I’m downstairs and I’ll hear you if you’re messing around up here. And if I hear you . . . I’m coming back up here and killing you both.”
They both give me pouty sighs and finally get under their covers. I wait a bit before I turn out the light and head back downstairs. I sit in a recliner and turn on the TV. I turn the volume down enough so I can hear it and not disturb the kids. There’s a news program that shows the Statton house, which is just a few blocks away, still here in Stickfield Commons. A reporter is talking about a murder that happened there just last night. Turns out the three children who lived in that house were all murdered – violently! They’ve been reporting on a lot of kids being murdered in the last few months. They obviously haven’t caught whomever did it.
I click the remote and try to find something to watch. It’s one of those nights where nothing’s on. I adjust my new glasses and wish I hadn’t broken my other ones. I guess that’s what happens when you get careless, right? I turn off the TV and pull out my smartphone. Just as I’m about to mess around on it, I hear the telephone ring. It surprises me that the Marsdens still have a landline, as rich as they are.
I get up and answer the phone. “Hello? Marsden residence.”
“How are the children this evening?” this weird voice asks me.
“Excuse me?”
“How are the children this evening?” the voice repeats.
“Um, can I help you with something?” I demand impatiently.
CLICK!!
“Stupid crank callers . . .” I mutter as I hang up the receiver.
I go back to the living room and sit down with my smartphone. I open up Facebook and check out my notifications. Then I mess around on Twitter and post a few responses. After that, I look at some of my pics. After a while, the telephone rings again. I groan and get up to go and answer it. I pick up the receiver. “Hello? Marsden residence.”
“Don’t you think you should be keeping a closer eye on the children?” It’s that weird voice again.
“Seriously, what do you want? The Marsdens aren’t home right now. You’ll have to call back later. Preferably tomorrow morning,” I say, with a bit more impatience.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.”
CLICK!!
I groan and hang up the receiver.
I realize I have to go to the bathroom. After I finish, I’m washing my hands. Then I’m looking at myself in the mirror. “Yeah, right. I’m a cute little girl? Give me a break,” I mutter to myself.
I look myself over in the mirror again. The best I can do to describe myself is that I look like a small beanpole version of Velma from “Scooby-Doo”. I’ve got the same dark hair as Velma, except mine is straight and goes halfway down my back. I also have freckles on my cheeks. Then I look down at my chest. I can’t believe that Stephen would attack me and talk about my boobs. Okay, I’m not endowed like many of the cheerleaders at Strickfield High, but I’d like to think that I have enough to at least tell people I’m really a woman and not a little girl. So frustrating . . .
I turn away from the mirror and leave the bathroom, turning off the light. And . . . the telephone’s ringing again. I groan again and go pick up the receiver. “Yes?”
“Did you even check to see if all of the doors were locked?” A pause. “Kelsey!!”
My eyes open real wide! “Seriously, what do you want?”
“I’d be checking those doors if I were you.”
CLICK!!
I growl and slam the receiver down. Then I move and check the doors. They’re all locked up tight. I even check the windows down here. I mean, the Marsdens wouldn’t have them unlocked anyway, right? Not in the middle of November. Seriously, what does this person want? Why does he keep calling here?
I take a deep breath. Keep it together now. It’s just some idiot who’s trying to scare you for some cheap thrills. I return to the telephone and wait for it to ring again, which it does. I pick it up. “Now what?!”
“You should have been checking the doors to make sure you could UNLOCK them. I’ll be coming for you very soon, Kelsey. There will be NO ESCAPE for you.”
This time I’m the one who hangs up on him. I need to go and check on the kids. Then the telephone rings again! I swear I am going to rip the phone cord out! I pick up the receiver. “Leave me alone!” I yell.
“In a little while, you’ll be more alone than you think . . . permanently! I’ll be coming for you in just a short while! You will belong to me!”
CLICK!!
I have had it! I hang up the receiver and then pick it back up again. I dial 0 for the operator. Yes!! I can

Ep.55 – The Dead Thing Under the House - Sometimes Death is Only the Beginning!

4 november 2020 | 28 min

Episode Notes
Blake has been tasked with going into the crawlspace to find the source of a putrid odor, but that was only the tip of the iceberg of morbid insanity that awaits him.
The Dead Thing Under the House by David O'Hanlon
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Old Man Jennings ventured from his home on Sundays. He’d amble down the gravel path that led from his porch to his mailbox for the weekly accumulation of sales ads and bills, and promptly retreat into seclusion. In Blake’s thirty-one years, he’d never seen anyone come to visit Meadowview’s mysterious hermit. Once a week, a lawncare service came out to take care of his yard. Twice a year, someone power washed his siding. He paid them all with a check, slipped through the mail slot, when they were finished.
A barred door with two locks hung on both the front and rear of the house and they stayed shut. He would open the ornate front door with its beveled stained-glass window to enjoy the weather, but never the security door. His windows were much the same with heavy, blackout curtains on the inside and bars on the out. His groceries were delivered promptly at one in the afternoon, every Thursday for as long as Blake could remember. A little doggie-door, for lack of a better term, would lift out and Jennings would pull the bags through to the obscure solitude of his self-imposed prison.
Theorizing about what went on inside the home was a Meadowview pastime as familiar as the annual crawdad boil or the town’s community yard sale. Depending on who you asked, Old Man Jennings was a Satanist, a serial killer, or a space alien. Some people even believed he was already dead and his ghost was just stuck there. Blake didn’t believe any of it.
The ancient coot would have to leave the house to murder people, after all. As kids, Blake and his friends dedicated enough hours spying on the man to know that never happened. As an adult, his divorce had forced him to move back in with his mother… directly across the street from Jennings. Blake found himself peering through the blinds out of habit and the geezer still stayed locked inside, just like he always had.
So, it would be an understatement to say Blake was shocked to find Old Man Jennings standing on the porch when he answered the geriatric’s frantic knocking. Jennings’ hair was an explosion of white that jutted from his dark scalp in all directions. The mane was much more ample than Blake’s own, which was retreating faster than a chubby kid at fat camp. Jennings stood on the porch with the grim stature and utter silence of an animated skeleton. Blake shut the door, removed the chain lock and opened it fully.
“Mister Jennings, are you lost?”
“No,” Jennings said. “There’s something dead in my crawlspace.”
Blake squinted at the elderly man. “Pretty sure there’s people that take care of that.”
“There is, but I don’t like strangers.” Jennings pointed a bony, accusatory finger at Blake. “That’s why I came to you. I’ve known you longer than anyone.”
“We don’t really know each other, though,” Blake muttered in confusion.
“Then how did you know my name?” Jennings’ lips peeled away from toothbrush-commercial quality chompers in what might have been a genuine smile. “Is your mother home?”
Blake shook his head. “She’s in Toledo, visiting my sister.”
“Oh? How is Sharon? Still married to that banker?” Jennings looked away and tsked. “Sorry, about your own divorce, by the by.”
Blake’s jaw dropped open. “How’d you know about that?”
“Just because I don’t leave my house doesn’t mean I don’t talk to my neighbors.” Jennings shrugged. “Your mother’s been my pen pal since 1984.”
Blake looked over Jennings’ shoulder at his home. “My mom sends you letters? From across the street?”
“She respects my eccentricities.” Jennings jabbed his thumb toward the street. “Speaking of, think you can help me with the dead thing under the house?”
Blake sighed. “Yeah. Let me change into something else first.”
He shut the door and headed upstairs. He wasn’t about to mess up his favorite self-pity outfit crawling around in the mud and spiderwebs that surely occupied the crawlspace. The thought of all those spiders hiding in the dark prickled his skin with a wave of primal terror. He pulled the Ghoulies II t-shirt away from his goose bumped flesh.
Blake Sterling’s father gave him the most heroic name in history before he split.
However, it wasn’t a name he ever lived up to it. Spiders were only one of his many phobias. Stretch marks peeked over the band of his sweat pants from a childhood full of expired Twinkies and Ding Dongs his mom brought home from her job at the gas station. Years of bullying led ‘Blake the Blob’ away from the sweets… and food in general. He looked like one of those kids the infomercial people feed for a nickel a day. His dainty form lacked definition or distinction, minus a single tattoo. His ex-wife’s name was coiled around a rose over his heart. He got it the day she said she’d marry him. The mirror inside the closet door reminded him of all the reasons Kayla left.
Blake grabbed a black t-shirt from a drawer and pulled it over his head before changing into a battered pair of Wranglers that were already stained from painting his kitchen. His face soured. It wasn’t his kitchen anymore. He threw on his sneakers and didn’t bother tying them. The crawlspace was going to be more fun than his usual day of self-imposed purgatory. Blake slumped down the stairs and met Jennings on the porch.
The two men made their way across the street and through the gate of Jennings’ chain-link fence. A piece of the butterscotch lattice was removed from the side of the house to reveal the access point between the cinderblocks. The mid-morning sun was blocked by the trio of white oaks in the front yard leaving Blake to unravel the mysteries of the crawlspace on his own. The putrid-sweet stench of rotting meat lingered leisurely from the opening. Blake knelt down and groaned.
“A bit tight,” he said.
“It’s called a crawlspace for a reason.” Jennings tapped him on the shoulder with a small, metallic flashlight. “The smell is strongest in my bedroom. Straight ahead fifteen feet and then hang a left. You should find whatever it is in that area.”
“Right.” Blake took the light and let its beam stab into the tangible darkness. “Mister Jennings, are you sure you don’t want to call someone that knows what they’re doing?”
“You’re a grown up now, you can stop with the ‘Mister Jennings’ stuff. My name’s Harp. And you do know what you’re doing, Blake. You’re pulling a carcass out from under my house for me.” He turned to leave then twisted back. “Oh, I’ve got an apple pie cooling right now for you too. Come get me when you’re all finished.”
Blake shimmied into the space. The flashlight revealed a few broken spiderwebs dangling from the floor. Whatever died had crawled in along the same path that Blake now took and the goose bumps quickly returned. He clamped the flashlight between his teeth and crawled along, panning his head from side to side looking for the vagrant spiders as much as he was the dead thing. Once he made it what he surmised to be fifteen feet, he turned as Harp had instructed. A wave of steam swirled in front of his light and he paused.
Blake took the instrument from his mouth and huffed hard watching the breath fog. He crawled forward slowly, shivering at the sudden bite of cold pressing against his face. The progression was like stepping into a meat locker as he left the warm summer air behind him. The temperature continued dropping with his advance.
Something jutted out of the earth in front of him. He squinted at the shape, trying to discern its nature. It didn’t help. Harp’s pungent guest spread its perfume with exponential intensity as he inched closer. The light flickered and dimmed before it could reveal the source of the growing stench and then went out completely.
Blake continued onward, shaking his head like a dog in an attempt to bring life back to the tool. It worked…
And he wished in hadn’t.
The illumination fell on the mound of disturbed dirt and then onto the arm—the very human arm that reached out of the shallow grave with its fingers furled into the soil. Blake followed the limb to the naked shoulder, up the livid flesh of the neck to the face. Between the strands of dirt-caked, blonde hair the dead woman’s expression was frozen in a final moment of stark terror. The flashlight plopped next to the corpse with Blake’s panicked screaming. He scurried backwards until he was far enough away to risk taking his eyes off the corpse and turned in a mad dash for the exit.
Blake collapsed onto Harp’s porch swing. The neglected chains called out in a demented screech at the arrival of its first guest in decades. Harp pushed open the security door and watched Blake shudder with heaving breaths.
“There’s a dead woman under your house,” Blake whispered.
Harp leaned on the porch rail and crossed his arms. “Just the one?”
“What?” Blake took his eyes off his shaking hands and looked at Harp.
“Was there only the one body down there?”
“I… I don’t know. I didn’t keep looking after I found that one. Why would there be more than one? Why are there any?” Blake shot up. “Why the fuck are you so calm right now? Exactly how many dead bodies under your house would you consider too many?”
“Three,” Harp answered, matter-of-factly. “Three would be very bad. Did you bring the body out?”
“I’m not disturbing a crime scene!”
“Do you know she was murdered?” Harp raised an eyebrow and held his hands open waiting for an answer. When Blake shook his head, he continued. “So, it’s not a crime scene. She might have craw

Ep.54 – Another Mischief Night - She's Loose and She's Ready to Kill You!

31 oktober 2020 | 39 min

Episode Notes
This is our Halloween Episode, so on top of our haunting story we have some fun skits and music as well to celebrate our favorite holiday!
On Halloween things aren't so good at the Forbe's mental hospital as their star pupil has escaped and gone on a rampage to quench her thirst for blood and carnage!
Mischief Night 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
Transcription:
Fresh from nursing school, Kay Farris had only been at Forbes Sanitarium for three months… yet, she was already sure she’d never get used to the building or the psychotics that dwelled within.
Lightning flashed outside, it’s crooked fingers searching for the ground. Halloween was a few days away, but for Kay it may as well be tonight. The dark hallways and stillness of level 5 were creeping her out, and the damn storm wasn’t helping matters.
Dr. Chandler had all the patients on level 5 sedated early; something to be thankful for, she thought, as she made her rounds. But with the storm it was really the only course of action as bad weather tended to knock out the sanitarium’s power… and since the doors were locked electronically, if the power went out, all the doors would unlock. The cheapskates in charge refused to pay for a backup generator.
She stopped.
Ahead was the end of the hall… and the last door on the left behind which sat Patient 15.
Patient 15; that girl in the mask, Amanda Williams… she was worse than all the others. The girl just sat there, day and night in her white mask, never making a sound. Chandler, who had treated the girl since she’d first arrived, said she wore the mask out of shame… shame that her brother was murdered in a botched robbery while she stood by, paralyzed with fear.
Kay heard noises coming from the room late at night… not surprising since Amanda was the only patient that was never sedated as Chandler felt it unnecessary. Kay suspected the old man thought of the girl as a daughter. She chuckled, picturing them sitting down for a Sunday dinner.
She started down the hall again when there was a bright flash of lightning, followed by a loud crash of thunder. The lights dimmed before finally flickering back on.
“Spooky shit huh?”
Kay jumped, she spun around to see Johnny Earl behind her. The husky orderly smirked and she felt her face turning red.
“What?”
“Down there. The last cell.” His loud booming voice trailed off into a whisper. “Patient 15.”
“I guess.” Kay shrugged, not wanting to let on how freaked the girl made her feel.
“All the ghosts and goblins will be coming out soon. “ He made eerie sounds. “I can protect you.”
“Save the trick or treat shit for Halloween night, Johnny Earl.”
Thank god Halloween was on a Saturday this year Kay thought, safe in the knowledge she had the day off.
“Hey, I’m sorry. How about I make it up to you?” He touched her arm, making Kay flinch.
“There’s some empty rooms downstairs, we could take a little break.”
She pulled away from the big orderly. “Not a chance.”
“Stuck up bitch.” Kay heard him mumble as she walked away.
Smiling at his disappointment, she walked back to the nurse’s station. An older nurse sat watching a small TV which sat next to a large Jack-o Lantern. Lightning flashed, causing the lights to dim again. The woman looked up as Kay approached.
“Don’t worry.” The older woman took out a cigarette, lighting it up. “Happens every time there’s a big storm.”
A sinister laugh erupted from the TV.
“31 Days of Halloween will return with: Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter after these horrendous arcane adverts!”
Mrs. Bradley was the senior nurse on the 5th floor, which meant she could do whatever the hell she wanted… so, the old nurse spent her shift watching old horror movies and smoking.
“How are all our little chickadees?”
“Sleeping.”
“Good.” Mrs. Bradley coughed. “Sit down for a bit. They ain’t going anywhere.”
Kay sat, stifling a cough. She hadn’t talked to the older nurse much since staring at Forbes. Bradley intimidated her, and Kay had heard stories from the other nurses that the old woman could be quite the tyrant if you crossed her… so Kay did as she was told and kept her head down.
“You like it here?”
She felt her throat tighten as Kay strained to think of the appropriate words.
“Um…”
“It’s a shithole.” Mrs. Bradley laughed. “Don’t worry about trying to kiss my ass and say this is a great place. Do your job, put in your time, and if you're smart you’ll use this as a stepping stone.”
After a few moments of silence, Kay worked up the courage to ask a question.
“How come you stayed?”
Before answering, the old nurse tapped some ash into a coffee cup.
“Big fish small pond. If I’d gone somewhere else, I’d have to start over again.”
Johnny Earl sauntered towards them. “Well, well. Nobody told me it was break time.” He made a hurt face.
Standing, Kay adjusted her uniform. “Well, back to it.” She walked by Johnny Earl, giving him the cold shoulder. Kay could feel them both watching her as she walked away. She listened to the squeak of her sneakers on the cold linoleum floor.
Outside lightning flashed, the brightest one yet. On its heels was a building-shaking rumble as thunder rolled above the earth.
The light’s flickered and hummed again before going out. This time, they remained dark.
“Oh fuck.” Kay muttered to herself.
She stood alone in the hallway, darkness surrounding her. Kay used the faint light from outside to find the wall. Slowly, feeling along the wall, her hand glided over the concrete of the wall and the metal of the doors.
She continued on this way until she bumped face first into the wall at the hall’s end.
Embarrassed, Kay headed back. She could see the pumpkin grinning there by the now dark TV. A fiery face grinning at her… a beacon in the dark.
Another sharp blast of lightning revealed the older nurse sitting there in her chair. Kay’s eyes strained to adjust after the bright flash of light.
“This is something.” Kay said, feeling a little better in the veteran’s presence. “I’m sure the power will be back on soon, right?”
Unable to see but the faintest outline of the older nurse, Kay turned the face of the Jack-O-Lantern towards the woman.
“Mrs. Bradley?”
The woman’s head slumped to the side, her eyes open and wide. Her swollen tongue hung limp from her mouth, which was frozen in a silent scream.
Nearly tripping over her own feet, Kay backed away.
What should she do? Find Johnny Earl… call the cops?
Slowly turning, Kay came face to face with a blank white face mask. Narrowed eyes sized her up from behind it.
“Amanda.” Was all Kay could spit out before strong muscular hands gripped her by the throat, lifting her off the ground. Amanda’s eyes met Kay’s… cold, deep and somehow innocent.
Suddenly there was a deafening crack and it was over. Kay’s body hit the linoleum floor with a dull thud. Amanda stepped over the body without a second glance. She had much to do.

Kyle Williams felt guilty as he put on his Halloween costume. Amanda would want him to go out, have a good time. The thought of her made him touch the side of his face as he ran his hand over the scar on his cheek.
If only he’d done something to help her that night.
“Come on lead ass!”
Trevor, his impatient roommate stood in the door dressed as Dracula.
“Them wild wild women ain’t waiting forever.”
“Sure, almost done.”
Truthfully, he was glad to be going… it was a chance to get out of the dorm, instead of sitting around by himself while everybody had fun.
“I can’t believe you're going as a hobo.”
“I’m not a hobo.” Kyle groaned. “I’m Dr. Who.”
“I’ve seen Dr. Who, he doesn’t dress like a hobo.”
“The second one did.”
Trevor shook his head. “Whatever man, I’ll take your word for it. Let’s go.”

As they pulled up the driveway, Kyle was amazed by just how many people were there.
“Holy shit.”
“Got that right.” Trevor said, looking for an open spot on the lawn to park. “I think the whole collage is here and then some.”
Finding a spot on the outer edge of the lawn. Trevor parked. They got out, both marveling at the lit up three story house. Halloween lights crisscrossing it’s front.
A pretty Latino woman in a revealing red dress and shoddy black wig, a close enough approximation of Sigourney Weaver from Ghostbusters, brushed past Kyle as he and Trevor made their way towards the house.
“Sorry.” She said, turning to look at Kyle, before disappearing behind a van.
“No prob.” Kyle replied. Watching her go.
“Dude, she was checking you out.”
“Yeah right.”
“Fuck, she was. Trust me.”
“Really?”
Trevor nods. “Go on. I’ll be inside.”
Kyle hesitated for a moment, before going to look for the girl in the red dress.
Poking his head around the other side of the van, Kyle scanned the rows of parked cars. A guy, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a karate gi and a blonde girl in a cheerleader uniform stared at him as he prowled around looking for the girl.
He headed back towards where they’d parked. It was like the girl had vanished into thin air.

“Hey. Over here.”
Kyle turned to see the girl in the red dress leaning against a tree.

“Hi.” He stammered.
She beckoned him over.
“Kyle Williams?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Come with me if you want to live.”
“What?”
“I always wanted to say that.”
A man cleared his throat, stepping from behind a tree. “Officer Mortez, we don’t have time for shenanigans.”
The man rubbed his hands together. His thinning white hair was combed back. Kyle was very familiar with the little man.
“Dr. Chandler?” Kyle said, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”
The doctor stroked his chin. “Your sister escaped… after killing two nurses and an orderly.”
“And later she st

Ep.53 – The Pumpkin King - Hungry Zombies Are on the Prowl!

28 oktober 2020 | 35 min

Episode Notes
On Halloween Night two of the most unlikely heroes you could ever imagine are tasked with fending off the undead and coming face to face with the impossibly evil Pumpkin King!
The Pumpkin King by David O'Hanlon
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Barley and Clyde Sawyer were not the nicest men in Boucher, Arkansas. If they were,
they never would have found themselves in my employment. The rural community of Boucher was somewhere between a large town and a small city and had attracted, throughout its years, a veritable rogues’ gallery ranging from petty thieves to serial killers. The Sawyer cousins fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum.
The boys worked any number of odd jobs, but often supplemented their income by... creative means. The cousins were the perfect partnership, seeing as Barley was strong as an ox and Clyde was, well almost, smart as one.
What Clyde lacked in intelligence he made up for in loyalty and tenacity. Qualities found rarely in men of his ilk, if they’re ever found at all. Clyde brought a heart of gold to the team— fool’s gold, as it may have been. And damned if he wasn’t the best shot, I’ve ever known.
Barley on the other hand, was not. In fact, if the boy managed to hit the broadside of a barn, you could safely bet he’d been aiming the opposite direction. Luckily for him, he was hellfire in a brawl. Barley also served as the thinker of the two—a meager accomplishment, to be sure. It was, as it turns out, Barley’s bright idea that led the boys to my doorstep.
My name is Barnabas A. Lambert and I will do my best to relate to you the events that would later bring me to employ Barley and Clyde. Some of the details may have been exaggerated in their recollections, so please try not to hold that against me—I’m only telling you, how I heard it.
“Well sumbitch, Clyde,” Barley said.
He said it a lot. It was only by the inflection that Clyde Sawyer knew exactly how to take it. The slow, drawn out tempo of the catchphrase told him Barley was not at all impressed by the turn of events. Clyde never missed a shot, not even on purpose. It was like every bullet he fired magically found the bullseye. The fat man’s head leaked across the truck bed.
“Could’ve at least wrapped him in plastic,” Barley griped.
“I ain’t have none.” Clyde wheezed and dug in his pocket for his inhaler. “That bastard weighs a ton and I had to pick him up all by my lonesome.”
“If you hadn’t shot him in the head, you wouldn’t have had to pick him up at all.” Barley grabbed the man’s collar and jerked him out of the back of the truck in three tries. The body poured over the tailgate into a contorted heap. “Ugh! He squirted brain juice on me. I didn’t say anything about shooting him.”
“Ain’t say nothing about not shooting him either.” Clyde straightened the corpse out. “Things got a little out of hand. I had to improvise.”
Author’s Surname / Barley and Clyde Meet the Pumpkin King / 3
“Out of hand, my ass. You just needed to give him the brick and get the bag of money.” Clyde sighed. “I got the money and we can sell the brick again.”
“Ain’t the point, Clyde.” Barley shook his head. “What kind of drug dealers can’t be
trusted to keep their word?”
Clyde scratched his head. “All of them, I reckon.”
“Well, that shit’s gotta change.” Barley grabbed the man’s ankles. “Lift with your knees.
We ain’t got no workman’s comp.”
Clyde hooked the body under the arms and they began the arduous trek down the levy
with their portly cargo. Thanks to Clyde’s hair-trigger and Barley’s short-temper, the duo was getting good at disposing of unwanted bodies—a skill they sold to others, as well.
“Clyde, make me a promise.” Barley wrestled to fix his grip around the gargantuan thighs.
“What’s that, Barley?”
“Make the fat ones run a bit before you shoot them.”
Clyde laughed and lost his grip, sending Barley and the body rolling to the bottom of the
incline. He stopped laughing when he heard the splash and trotted down quickly. Barley shook off the water and unraveled the plastic sheeting from his pocket in silence—near silence, anyhow. A low hiss alerted them to another presence.
“Clever bastard.” Clyde pointed behind Barley. “That’s the same one as last time.”
The alligator inched closer, but stayed to the water’s edge. Gators were smart critters and knew the sound of the Sawyers’ 1978 Dodge Warlock meant a free meal was coming. Barley laid the sheet out and rolled the man onto it.
“If they’re working, they might as well be getting paid for it,” Barley said and unsheathed the knife from his boot. “Hell, we might even get a couple of them to keep at the house. Be a damn sight better than coming way out here to dump a body.”
Barley ripped open the man’s shirt and set about the grim task of hollowing the corpse while Clyde went up top to retrieve the bags of landscaping rocks. By the time the younger Sawyer brought the duffel back, Barley was finished with his end. Barley tossed a kidney to the gator to thank him for waiting patiently while Clyde stuffed the body with stones. They wrapped the plastic around the man and secured it with duct tape before loading him into the camouflaged johnboat. As they rowed away, the gator went for the viscera left ashore.
The channel wound around a series of bends and into the maze of swamps that occupied the southeast of Fagan County. There was little in the way of civilization in that nook of the Natural State. Barley and Clyde paddled until they reached a tiny island known locally as Frog’s Ass—so called because it was bare and wet as an amphibian’s behind. Arkansans can be quite colorful in their colloquialisms.
They rolled the body into the water before mooring the boat to the ramshackle pier. Frog’s Ass used to be a popular spot with the peculiar church of Ebenezer Whitt. The sinister minister, and founder, of the nearby community of Whitt’s End was something of a local boogeyman. The Spanish Flu found its way into the tiny village and spread amongst the congregation like wildfire.
At least that’s what they say.
Fact of the matter is, like most stories in the South, there’s the truth... and then there’s what really happened. Whichever version you believe, the ending is the same—everyone in Whitt’s End died badly. As the years went on, some of the yokels began venturing to Frog’s Ass
Author’s Surname / Barley and Clyde Meet the Pumpkin King / 5
to party without the nuisances of local law enforcement. Reports of strange occurrences were rampant, as were the disappearances. The island, not much larger than a Walmart, was eventually forgotten about except by those of ill repute—those like Barley and Clyde.
The boys got off the boat and stretched their legs. Rusted beer cans poked out of the dirt like headstones of fun times long since dead and served as the only proof anyone had ever come to the isle before them. They didn’t use the small motor when carrying anything of legal ambiguity and the two hours of rowing took its toll, so they rested on the island whenever their work took them so far into the wetlands. Barley laid back and let the cool mud sooth his tired muscles. A single cloud drifted lazily across the full moon.
“Hey, Barley,” Clyde called as he urinated noisily against a stone protrusion. “Come look at this.”
“I reckon I’ll pass.” Barley sat up and pulled his shirt back on. “Best keep it away from the water though. Some snapper might think that little white wiggler of yours is a minnow and bite it off.”
“This is why you ain’t got no friends, Barley.” Clyde’s zipper punctuated the statement. “I meant come look what I was peeing on.”
“This better be good.” Barley left his flashlight sticking out of the mud and joined his cousin. He took of his ball cap and scratched at his shoulder-length hair. “Yep, that’s definitely interesting.”
“It’s one them devil altars, that’s what it is,” Clyde informed him.
“That’s just lies they tell in movies, Clyde,” Barley felt the carved lines of the knee-high stone pillar. “The pentagram means good things, most the time. Folks used it to symbolize the Five Wounds of Christ, for example. It’s even big in China.”
“Damn, you always learning me something, cuz.” Clyde spat tobacco juice across it and inspected it with his penlight. “So, this is a good thing, then?”
Barley checked his watch and grunted. “Well Clyde, I don’t reckon this one is actually.” “How’s that?”
“You see, Clyde, we was here two nights ago... and it weren’t.”
“That is a bit worrisome.” Clyde leaned closer to the symbol. “Maybe we just overlooked
it.”
“Could be.” Barley snugged his hat back on his head. “But it’s been Halloween for about
three hours now and it’s a full moon and I’d much rather we didn’t fuck around with the pentagram in the swamp if it’s all the same to you.”
“Big Barley scared of an old star? Ain’t that something.” Clyde pointed at an indentation in the center of the star. “What you reckon that is?”
“Looks like a hand. Let’s get on back to the house. We promised we’d do them hayrides for the kiddies tonight.” Barley turned to leave. “And don’t touch the—”
A cypress exploded in a flash of lightning across the swamp. The animals went silent, like scalded children cowering before an angry mother. Barley rubbed his eyes to clear the spots from his vision. Frog’s Ass shuddered twice and the muddy bank bubbled. The ground shook again and Barley’s boots sunk into the liquifying soil beneath him. He exhaled sharply and shook his head before looking back at his cousin. Clyde’s jaw was hanging open—and his hand was pressed firmly in the middle of the bizarre altar.
“Well sumbitch, Clyde!”
The carved star glowed brightly and the younger Sawyer j

Ep.52 – Bad Cop in a Small Town on Halloween Night - Mayhem and Blood Rain on All Hallows' Eve!

21 oktober 2020 | 36 min

Episode Notes
Halloween is the last shift for a bad cop, but on his final watch he stumbles upon something truly sinister... Can he rise to the occasion and do the right thing for once?
Bad Cop in a Small Town on Halloween Night by John Oak Dalton
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Faron didn’t know what a viral video was, until his daughter showed him a recording of him sleeping in the patrol car in the parking lot of the school. Some asshole kid had shot it on a cell phone and sent it to a friend who posted it on Twitter and the rest went how it went.
That was on a Wednesday morning and by that night there was a dance club mix with Faron’s loud snores and a sample from Junie Morrison’s song “Suzie Thundertussy.”
By Friday night the memes were in full swing—there was a screen cap of Faron sleeping in the patrol car and the text read “When you’ve been racial profiling all day and the donut shop is out of coffee.” And a lot worse than that.
Monday night was the town council meeting, and if Faron didn’t know anything about social media he sure didn’t think the town council did. But he was wrong.
It was a three-person board who met once a month at the library with a handful of old people and a few cranks in the audience. Ellen Soames was the board president and also the town librarian which was a tough combination. Joe Linseed was a retired farmer who held court at the gas station out by the highway most mornings but didn’t do much here. Buster Winsome was the son of a retired teacher named Ann Winsome and when she passed away Buster filled the rest of her term and then nobody could think of any reason to vote him off.
Faron gave his usual monthly report about his speeding ticket quota and one or two domestic calls and one or two drunk driving stops but he skipped over the fight at the high school because he didn’t want to mention the high school. The town board seemed to be listening unusually closely and afterwards Ellen asked him to stay and talk.
“We’ve got some changes that have been in the works for a long time,” Ellen started.
Faron didn’t bother to ask what changes, he just stood there.
Ellen started back up. “The county has agreed to drive through town a couple of times a day. And the high school has been wanting to hire their own resource officer anyway. So we will need you as town marshal through Halloween on October 31st but that’s it.”
Now Faron reacted. “That’s this Friday.”
“It’s been in the works for a long while, Faron.”
“Can I at least get my insurance through December? That’s for Abby.”
“It isn’t going to work that way.”
Ellen looked at him with sorrow on her face but Faron knew it was for herself. When her son got back from Afghanistan it was Faron who talked him through what it was like to be a civilian. Faron had gone from high school to Desert Shield and then had been town marshal ever since so maybe he wasn’t the best bet but he was all Darren Soames had. It still didn’t stop Darren from ending it all with a Tokarev pistol he shouldn’t have been allowed to bring back from in country.
“We can let you resign,” she said.
“I’m going to need the unemployment,” Faron answered.
“Nobody is going to know until the week after Thanksgiving. That’s the next meeting.”
“It’s okay, I don’t got my daughter for Thanksgiving.”
Faron walked out.
The next day Faron was sitting in his patrol car by the flashing light on the main street. It was Highway One but through town it was called Hadley Street although everyone called it Had Been Street. Like there Had Been a grocery store there, and that Had Been a Bank, and that empty field Had Been the school before consolidation.
People were speeding and doing rolling stops but why did that matter now? He was talking to his daughter on his cell.
“Has the teasing died down at the school?” he asked.
“It was never that bad. Mercedes dressed her dog up in an octopus costume and put it on TikTok like Wednesday or Thursday. People got into that.”
“Well, thank Mercedes for me.”
“Are you going to get in trouble, Dad?”
What Abby was really asking was her father going to be able to pay for her college, which he agreed to do as part of the divorce decree five years ago and was happy to make happen. He worked as a bouncer at a bar called the Red Triangle in Ohio on the weekends, which was outside his agreement as a law officer in Indiana, and was why he was asleep Monday morning at his third job as resource officer at the high school.
“If I get in trouble I can get out of it,” he answered. “I’ll see you on Halloween. I’ll have candy in the patrol car.”
“I’m a senior, I’m too old for trick or treating.”
“Well, walk down there anyways.”
“Okay.”
And they hung up.
Faron turned on the radio in the patrol car and put it on the country station everybody listened to. His ex was the mid-day DJ and had done a lunchtime request show for years that Faron still liked. Dolly was singing about how hard it was to be a diamond in a rhinestone world. But then she played Willie singing about the Red-Headed Stranger and the Yellow-Haired Lady and his heart fell in his chest. Faron was a redhead and his ex was a blonde and they danced to this song at their wedding. So that’s how Faron knew that news had spread through the little town already about his firing; his ex was playing the song because she was thinking of him.
Faron didn’t want to think about what it would be like to be an ex-cop. Everybody he’d pulled over and ticketed, when pretty women were let go after a smile and sometimes the promise of a drink or more, all the guys he knew had hit girlfriends or wives or kids or all three and might have accidentally bumped their face on the patrol car, or found their paperwork lost for days when they got dropped off at county, all the dealers who were busted because they weren’t his dealer. That was all worth thinking about but having the pity of his ex-wife was the worst.
And then his thoughts turned to Abby. He could pick up more bouncer shifts at the Red Triangle, but not too many more, and he could go back to doing security at the big outdoor venue where they had stock races in the fall and concerts in the summer, but it was an hour each way and the tweakers were bad, you could put them in choke holds and kick them in the balls over and over and they just didn’t seem to feel any pain or care. At least the Red Triangle had mostly drunks and stoners and only a biker once in a great while. And anymore most of the bikers were cops and firemen running wild on the weekends, and they always got a pass on behavior.
He might be able to scratch together money but he wouldn’t have insurance, medical or life or anything. He had it all until October 31st and then there was nothing.
And a little thought squatted in the corner, and he only looked at it out of the side of his eye until Halloween night.
Then Faron sat in his cruiser at the flashing light on Hadley starting around 6 o’clock and gave out candy, He waited until Abby came by and she had dressed up after all and dragged out a couple of girlfriends and it was all meant to be ironic but they were having fun. Faron ribbed them but told his daughter that he loved her, because of the thoughts that had been growing in his mind all week. She was wearing a mask so he couldn’t gauge her reaction.
As soon as she was gone he put the patrol car in gear and drove south out of town and then a little farther. Two summers ago during the town bicentennial they had closed the main road through town and had a carnival come in. But a night or two in there was an immigration raid of some kind and all the carnies were dragged off or ran off. After a few days of complaints, and nobody from the carnival coming back, Joe Linseed rode his tractor into town and dragged the rides off one at a time to a farm field the government was paying him to keep fallow.
There those old rides rotted away, along with some busted-up trailers and some other ragged odds and ends. It’s where Faron pulled in and parked, and saw a little campfire in the dying light. He knew Joe Linseed’s nephews or cousin’s kids or some kin hung out here all the time but Linseed was kind of his boss so Faron did nothing. Even though he had an idea what they were doing out here.
Faron took a Remington 870 shotgun out of the trunk and started walking towards the campfire where several figures crouched or sat in broken-down patio furniture. Young guys still shirtless in the fall chill. There was a chemical smell in the air.
“Hello, Walls.”
The call from the gloom brought Faron up short. Only one person called him that, and it was his childhood friend and adult weed dealer Rickey Webb. He knew his mother had named him after her favorite singer Faron Young and had loved his hit song “Hello, Walls.” Rickey was a nephew on Joe Linseed’s wife’s side but never came out to this little encampment people up the road called Rustytown.
Faron thought for a moment, but kept coming.
“You look damn serious, Walls.”
“And all you hillbillies out here look damn jumpy.”
The energy shifted towards Junior, though who he was junior to Faron couldn’t remember. He was the lead dog in this younger group and went from juvie to county to state prison and only recently returned from the grand tour. The shining whites of his eyes stared out at Faron and his neck tattoos looked like bruises in the blue light.
“If you want some of that Leopold Gold I done brought up from Tell City last week, come by my place tomorrow. You don’t need to be out here,” Rickey said.
“Neither do you.”
“I ain’t never out here but I got business tonight.”
“I do too. So

Ep.51 – Photosensitive - You're the Focus of a KILLER on Halloween Night!

14 oktober 2020 | 32 min

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

Ep.50 – Halloween Heist - Sex and Revenge Go Hand in Hand!

7 oktober 2020 | 31 min

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

Ep.49 – Boxed In - You Can't See the Light and You Can't Breathe!

30 september 2020 | 18 min

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

Ep.48 – The Lady in the Germ Box - Your Wish is Her CURSE!

23 september 2020 | 33 min

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

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

Ep.47 – Silvia - Slithering Revenge Awaits You!

16 september 2020 | 32 min

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

Ep.46 – All the Busy Bees - Are you HUNGRY for Horror?!

9 september 2020 | 26 min

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

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

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

Ep.45 – Eh, Real Monsters from NEPA - Small Town Werewolf, BIG TIME TERROR

2 september 2020 | 27 min

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

Ep.44 – Cry Baby Bridge - She Needs A New Baby... to DROWN!

26 augusti 2020 | 25 min

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

Ep.43 – The Triangle People - You Can't Escape!

19 augusti 2020 | 22 min

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

Ep.42 – Suffer the Little Children - Don't Go to the Haunted Quarry at NIGHT!

12 augusti 2020 | 23 min

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

Ep.41 – Quarantine: A Story of Isolation and Madness!

5 augusti 2020 | 28 min

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

Ep.40 – The Hook - He's Needs a New Victim, is it You?!

29 juli 2020 | 23 min

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

Ep.39 – The Chain of Time - You Are What SHE Eats!

22 juli 2020 | 35 min

Episode Notes
The Chain of Time by Killian Crane
After the disappearance of a little girl in the woods by a Middle School another boy is lured into the woods, the house isn't made of gingerbread but the oven is just as dangerous!
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Andrew Leid felt like a freshly poured fountain drink; from his blond curls to his pudgy 12-year-old belly, he absolutely fizzed. He was blind to the children enjoying recess around him on the playground of Pine Hill Middle School. His entire world was a bridge of grass to Claire Ellis.
Claire sat in the front corner of his class. Andrew, who would never admit it to anyone, found himself looking at her more often than the white board.
She faced away from him, staring into the expansive forest behind the school. She had brown hair held up in a long pony tail by a pink ribbon.
He knew he had no business talking to a girl like her, but he decided that morning that he would ask her if she’d like to go to the Gumbo Festival with him. He just couldn’t seem to move his feet.
He finessed past several crinkling snack wrappers and drew his brass pocket watch. Flipped open, it showed there was still fifteen minutes of recess.
As he tried to put the watch away, the chain went taught and flew from his hand. Bewildered, Andrew turned to see Thomas Daniels. Thomas jiggled the watch, making it glint wildly.
“Whatcha doing, chubber?” Thomas asked.
Andrew’s fist clenched. “Thomas, please. Just give it back.”
“Oh, I will,” Thomas jeered. He swung the watch evenly. “If you can catch me.” Andrew saw Claire still staring into the woods, and then focused on Thomas. He
made a clumsy lunge, and Thomas pulled it taught, palming the watch then letting it fall free again as if he was walking the dog with a yoyo.
“Try again, fatty.”
Andrew did, but Thomas still held the watch.
“Cut it out, Thomas!”
The metal grazed Andrew’s fingers before it was pulled free a third time. Children gathered around to watch the spectacle. Thomas, the circus master, led
Andrew in a wide circle like a prize animal.
“Uh uh uh!” he teased.
Andrew’s face grew blood red with anger and effort. He charged, head low. Thomas
dodged and stuck his foot out to catch Andrew in an embarrassing trap. The crowd roared approval as he thudded to the ground.
He struggled to his feet, his heart limping in his chest. He put his hands over his head, fighting the need to puke.
“Look at those fat titties!” one kid squealed.
Andrew, instantly shamed, covered his chest with his hands.
“Who said that?” he squeaked, spinning around, trying not to jostle himself. No one
answered, they simply pointed and laughed.
Thomas spun the pocket watch high above his head, cocking his arm to throw it,
when an adult voice cut through the laughs of the children.
“What’s going on here?” Miss Minner demanded.
The circle fell instantly silent. Her eyes locked onto Thomas.
“Office, mister Daniels. Everyone else, back inside. Recess is over.”
There was a collective groan as the crowd headed for class. Thomas flung the watch
hard into Andrew’s chest.
Once the watch was safe, Andrew searched the crowd for Claire. He didn’t see her
pink bow anywhere.
The tree line, like a storm on the horizon, loomed silent and empty.
Ten minutes into class, Claire still wasn’t in her seat in the front corner. When he saw that Miss Minner still hadn’t noticed, Andrew raised his hand.
In the five weeks after Claire’s disappearance, Andrew gained twenty pounds.
He sat at the dinner table of his mother’s small apartment, watching a man who claimed to be an expert on the occult.
The man waved his hands excitedly. “In fact, people back then always kept precious metals on their person. Certain metals were believed to ward off the evil eye.”
Andrew’s mother changed the channel to the news. The oven chimed, and soon a baking sheet packed end to end with French toast lay before Andrew. Crispy crusts, buttery middles, and the perfect amount of cinnamon. It was Andrew’s favorite dessert.
“Thank you, mama.” Andrew said as he dug in.
She tousled his hair. “Love you, gummy bear.”
The Leid family hadn’t always lived in a small apartment. Once upon a time, the
Leid’s were the proud owners of a successful restaurant. Andrew’s father ran the business, and his mother was head chef. Andrew was the professional taste tester, if he finished his homework. Monday nights, when business was usually slow, they watched Westerns at the bar.
Despite great business, Andrew’s father had made many mistakes with the money. The last thing Andrew ever heard his father say was “It’s getting where we can’t even afford to feed him!”
The next morning, his father was gone.
Andrew’s mother sold the restaurant, their house, traded in her car, and moved them into the apartment. Despite their tight budget, she always made sure that her son was fed. She cooked three hearty meals every day, with plenty of snacks in between.
Shortly after his father left, Andrew began to gain weight.
The telephone rang and she quickly answered it. She looked over her shoulder before going out of the room to take the call in private. Andrew wiped his fingers clean, and downed the last of his chocolate milk. On the television, the window over the reporter’s shoulder faded into a picture of Claire sheepishly smiling.
A piece of ice lodged itself in his heart, and the reporter’s words drove the ice home.
“The search for Claire Ellis, twelve-year-old daughter of James and Olivia Ellis, has been discontinued by authorities. Claire was last seen wandering into the woods behind Pine Hill Middle School. The Ellis family asks that anyone with information involving Claire’s disappearance to call the number below.”
Feet pattered from down the hall back into the living room.
“A candle light vigil will be held Saturday at six p.m. at the Pine Hill Middle School. On behalf of all of us here at Channel 6 News, -”
The channel abruptly changed to cartoons. Andrew’s mother held out the remote, letting out a sharp breath as she replaced the phone.
“I’m sorry you saw that, gummy bear. Let’s not think about that tonight, okay?”
But Andrew had thought of Claire every night. As far as the police had learned, Andrew was the last one to see Claire. Despite being full, he wanted something to snack on.
He flipped open the brass pocket watch. It was only seven.
His mother sounded like a cracked china cup as she spoke. “What’s your watch say, cowboy?”
The previous year, Andrew and his mother went to the movies and saw a vintage western. When the hero strode into town, two bad guys leveled their guns. The hero
pulled a brass pocket watch from his duster and said “Will ya look at that? It’s high time things changed ‘round here.” He pulled his gun and shot the men down. Andrew had been overjoyed, clapping loud enough to draw a “Shhhh!” from somewhere in the dark. On Christmas day, Andrew had an exact replica of the watch.
“Seven. It’s getting late,” he told her, holstering the watch.
Though he truly loved the watch, it reminded him of times with his father, watching westerns. They had been a family then, and Andrew, whether he meant to or not, had ruined that. He was the reason his father left. The more he thought about his failures, to his family, to Claire, the more he wanted to eat and forget.
He rose and gave his mother a gentle hug. “I’m gonna go to bed, mama. I feel really tired.”
She hugged him back, and Andrew remembered a time when she had been able to wrap her arms all the way around him.
“Goodnight, gummy bear. I’ll have a big breakfast for you in the morning.” “Sounds good, mama. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He drifted to his room, closing the door behind him. He no longer felt nice and full
and sleepy. He felt fat.
If he hadn’t been fat, he wouldn’t have been picked on by Thomas. He wouldn’t have
had a problem asking Claire to go to the Gumbo Festival with him. Claire wouldn’t have disappeared.
The large bag of pretzels he kept in his night stand lay in his lap, open. He sat on his bed watching the pocket watch tick away the seconds, silently eating the pretzels until they were gone.
The next day, the children were allowed on the playground for the first time since the disappearance. Andrew sat at the edge of the forest eating from a plastic sleeve of mini donuts, watching the other kids play. Thomas was occupied humiliating another target.
Behind Andrew, the new fence polls stood, but no fence barred the forest. During a lonely lunch two days before, Andrew heard Coach Bart say to another teacher, “those guys building the fence are really dragging butt.”
In the distance, Thomas gave some poor soul an atomic wedgie, pulling him off the ground, feet kicking.
“I wish I could help you, kid,” Andrew said around a mouthful of donut.
A familiar voice hissed behind him. “You could help me, Andrew.”
He turned wide eyed to see the back of Claire Ellis. She looked exactly the same as
the day she disappeared, down to her long ponytail tied with a pink bow. “Claire?”
She laughed.
There was a scream from the playground, making Andrew wheel around. Coach Bart, who had taken Miss Minner’s place as Andrew’s teacher, had Thomas by the ear, marching him towards the school. A crowd of kids followed, cheering and laughing.
When Andrew turned back to the forest. “Claire?”
The smallest crescent of Claire’s face peeked from behind a tree deep inside. “Claire... people have been really worried about you. Where have you been?” She grinned, saying nothing.
The wrapper crinkled in his trembling hand. “You want a donut?”
With a laugh, she turned and fled deeper into the woods.
“Claire, wait!” he called out as he breached the tree li

Ep.38 – The Worm Has Turned - A Psychopath Wants YOUR SKIN

15 juli 2020 | 28 min

Episode Notes
Penn is an ex-con and he needs a job, but on one fateful night he gets more than he bargained for when a maniac wants his SKIN! And that's before we even get to the monster...
The Worm Has Turned by David O’Hanlon
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
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Transcription:
Penn scratched at the burgundy paint of the park’s picnic table with his thumbnail. He hated waiting almost as much as he hated being broke. Unfortunately for him, waiting was the only way his bills were getting paid. Penn’s employment history consisted entirely of community service and eight years on a prison farm. Car jacking and armed robbery didn’t look great under the ‘special skills’ portion of his resume. So, he waited.
“Hi,” a tiny voice squeaked beside him. “I’m Ed.”
Penn looked over at the boy who had slipped onto the bench beside him. He was scrawny, with oversized glasses and a shaggy mop of brown hair that filled the space between the lens and his eyes. His shirt was striped intentionally with horizontal bars of color—and unintentionally with vertical runs of ketchup. The offending condiment was drying around his mouth where it seemed to break away into the constellations of freckles that covered his entire face. Penn sighed. There was no way this kid had any friends to go bother instead.
“You don’t look like an Ed,” Penn said. “Here with your folks?”
“Nope,” Ed replied. He stared up at Penn, clearly not intending on giving up more information. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Everyone calls me Penn.” Penn hadn’t meant to answer, but part of him felt the need to give the kid a break. Life clearly wasn’t. “Shouldn’t you be playing? The swings look fun,” he suggested.
“I’m allergic to just about everything and I have basically no immune system.” Ed shrugged his narrow shoulders. “The swings give me motion sickness, anyways.”
“Then why are you at the park?”
“Got nowhere else to be. Mom says her cats are allergic to me too and that I should give them a break. What about you?” Ed scooped the hair to the outside of the glasses so he could see a little better. “You’re too old for swings.”
“First of all, no one is too old for swings.” Penn held up two fingers. “Secondly, I’m working.”
Ed nodded sagely. “What job has you sit in a park?”
“The kind that requires solitude.”
“Oh,” Ed sighed. “I’d be really good at that job.”
“Jesus Christ, kid.” Penn pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve seen Lifetime movies that were less depressing than you are. Do you want some food?”
“Just had three hot dogs,” Ed chirped happily.
Penn looked the frail little boy over suspiciously. “Where’d you put them, in your pockets?”
“I have a really high metabolism. I can’t gain weight.” Ed’s face soured then perked back up. “It’s kind of nice because I could eat all the ice cream I wanted if I wasn’t lactose intolerant.”
Penn’s eyes rolled on their own. “Of course you are. Is there anything you don’t have wrong with you?”
“It’s probably safe to say I don’t have gigantism.” Ed snickered.
Penn’s stone face cracked and he busted out laughing. He patted Ed on the shoulder. “Well done, kid.”
Ed poked Penn’s right forearm. “That’s a neat tattoo. Does it mean something?”
Penn glanced at the arabesque design whose floral pattern twisted from the back of his hand to just past his elbow with a lion-like creature roaring in the center. “Yeah. It’s Burmese. That’s where my grandmother was from. She raised me, so I did this to remember her. She had an amulet with the same symbol that she wore everywhere. She said it was magic and protected her from evil.”
“That’s nifty. Do you believe in magic?”
“Not particularly. You?”
“Of course.” Ed took a bag of gummi worms from his cargo pants and set them on the table. “Today is National Gummi Worm Day.”
“That a real thing?” Penn asked.
“Sure.” Ed opened the bag and plucked out a red-and-green worm. He put it between his buck-teeth and slurped it into his mouth with a giggle.
Penn smiled at the boy. It wasn’t an expression he got to use much. “I guess that’s a holiday I could get behind.”
“It’s also Give Something Away Day.”
“I’m generally on the other side of that one.” Penn snagged one of the boy’s worms with a wink.
“Then you’re in luck.” Ed took another bag of worms and set it in front of Penn. “I want to give you these.”
Penn’s eyebrow lurched at the gesture. “Why?”
“Because that way I can celebrate both holidays at once. It’s more efficient.”
“No, I meant why give them to me?” Penn stared at the bag like it might explode. “There’s plenty of kids here.”
Ed turned on the little bench and waved a bony hand across the expanse of the park. Kids shrieked and ran around, old men played chess under the trees, couples picnicked in the open areas, and a group of teens sold pot next to the forgotten volleyball court.
Ed slurped another worm. “We’re the only two that are here alone,” he said between chewy bites. “I think that makes you worth sharing with.”
“Correction, you’re a Hallmark movie.” Penn rubbed the kid’s head. “Guess we’re not alone now. Thanks, Ed.”
“No problem.” Ed pointed at a man walking toward them with a large envelope tucked under his arm and a gravestone expression on his square face. “That guy needs friends more than I do.”
“Oh, shit.” Penn stood up and dug in his pocket for second. He pulled out his last five-dollar-bill. “That’s my boss. Happy Give Something Away Day. Now, go get you some non-dairy ice cream.”
“Don’t forget your worms. I think you’re going to need them.” Ed smiled and took the money. “Want to hang out tomorrow?”
Penn tucked the gummi worms into his pocket and nodded. “Yeah, kid. We’ll meet here tomorrow, same time.”
Ed checked his watch, which was struggling to stay over his hand. “Roger, that.”
Ed jumped up and hugged Penn around the waist. Penn stood perfectly still, not sure of what to do before deciding on a simple pat on the back.
“Stay safe, Ed.” He walked away from the boy and went to meet the grim gentleman.
“Bye, Penn.” Ed waved frantically and trotted away.
“Who the fuck is that?” the man asked with nod in Ed’s direction.
“An undercover cop,” Penn replied. “He’s really good, don’t you think?”
“Listen, wise ass, I can find any number of cons to get in on this. I’m talking to you as a favor, so when I ask a question, you give me a straight answer.”
“Chill, Richter.” Penn took the envelope from him. “He’s just a lonely kid looking for someone to talk to.”
“No shit he’s lonely. Look at the little loser,” Richter said. “I’ve seen bigger abortions.”
Penn smacked his lips and turned the envelope over in his hands. “You know, just because we’re criminals, doesn’t mean we have to be pricks.”
Richter smiled at him. It wasn’t the kind of smile Penn shared with Ed. It was the kind Penn saw on inmates right before they stuck a sharpened toothbrush in someone’s throat. The expression was a morbid scar across Richter’s face and his words oozed like septic pus.
“I heard you tell him to be back here tomorrow. Maybe you were just playing nice, but he’ll be here regardless. You’re going to go do your homework and be ready for my boys to pick you up and you’re going to cut the biggest-dick-in-the-cellblock routine.” Richter pressed two fingers into Penn’s chest and leaned closer. “Or tomorrow, I’m going to come here and I’m going to rip that little boy’s guts out to decorate the goddamn see-saw. This job goes off, smooth and by the numbers. Say ‘yes, sir’ and get moving.”
Penn glanced at Ed waiting in line for the ice cream. “Yes, sir.”

The job was not going smooth or by the numbers. Richter’s boys showed up at Penn’s apartment and took him to the fancy downtown apartments. The three of them rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor in their AES coveralls with their respective equipment stashed in toolboxes marked with the electric company’s logo.
Only the seventeenth floor didn’t look like the pictures in Richter’s packet.
The three men panned their flashlights around the darkened space. Penn noticed the painter’s drop clothes on the floor and the paper that masked the windows from the overspray first. Then he noticed the lack of overspray. Where there were supposed to be apartments, there was only exposed pipes, conduit, and two-by-fours marking off their future locations. Not only were the units unlived in, but they were nowhere near being ready to paint.
“Anyone else got a bad feeling about this?” Penn asked.
“Zip it,” the larger man on the crew said in a voice like shattering glass—high and coarse with an accent of the danger it brought. “Maybe we got the wrong floor.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” the other reassured him. Sweat beaded his brow above the snake tattoo that cut down the left side of his face. “We just got off on the wrong floor.”
“You’re both idiots,” Penn grunted. “Unless we’re stealing power tools, we’re in the wrong building. The package said this place was fully rented.”
“Obviously they didn’t count the floors that were under construction,” the big one said.
Penn leaned on the frame of a future kitchen counter and dug the bag of gummi worms from his pocket. “When one of you geniuses figures out which floor we’re supposed to be on, let me know. How about that?”
“What are you doing?” the man with the face tat asked.
“Taking lunch.” Penn put a pair of the delectable worms in his mouth. He shook the bag in his direction. “I should probably share since it’s Give Something Away Day.”
“That a real thing?” Snake-face asked.
“Of course.” Penn swallowed half the mouthful. “It’s also Gummi Worm Day. No one thinks the drop clothes are out of place?”
“They’re in the perfect place,” someone said.
The words carried through the darkened hallway like a chill breeze

Ep.37 – People Can Lick Too - Slithering Revenge That Bites Back!

8 juli 2020 | 23 min

Episode Notes
After betraying his ex-girl a young man discovers that there truly is no fury like a woman scored!
People Can Lick Too by Rob Fields
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
I was having some hot sex with my girlfriend, Jensen Mirren, in my bedroom at the house. We came here to finish our date. I’d been seeing Jensen since the start of junior year at Strickfield University, about three months after I broke up with Silvia Charmer. Man! Fuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!! Just thinking about that creepy girl . . . !
Suddenly, I felt Jensen shove me off her. I fell to the floor and was greeted by my dog Sparky, who was usually lying underneath my bed. I got up and saw Jensen’s angry look.
“You’re thinking about her again, Zach!” she snapped.
“I wasn’t –” I started to protest.
“Yes, you were!” she interrupted. “I know, because you don’t make love to me with passion whenever you’re thinking about her.” She looked at me like she’d just found out I was still sleeping with Silvia. I mean I wasn’t! That was just how she looked. “I know I’m not as hot as her, I get it.”
I got back on the bed with her. A tear was streaming down her cheek. “Why do you still love her, Zach? You’re with me, but you still love her. Why?!”
I quickly snatched Jensen to me. “I don’t love her! I love you!”
Jensen shook her head quickly. “No . . . ! No, you still keep thinking about Silvia.”
Jensen pulled away from me and got off the bed. She grabbed her clothes and got dressed. Then she stormed out. I could hear her crying as she reached the front door and left.
Sigh . . . !
Jensen was wrong. Okay, yes, I still thought about Silvia Charmer, but not because I was still madly in love with her. Yes, Jenson was right about Silvia being one nicely stacked girl. I mean, Silvia was both hot and wild. Just seeing her flaming red hair and glowing green eyes was enough to put you under her spell. I mean, Silvia could have had any guy she wanted, but she had her eyes on me the day we started our freshman year at Strickfield University.
It started with us talking. Then it was a coffee date. Then we were at her house and in her bed – right after the coffee date! For almost two years, the two of us burned each other’s beds from all the hot sex we were having. And I know what you’re thinking . . . Why would I break up with someone as sizzling as Silvia Charmer? I’m sure you’d quickly point out that she’s also rich and independent. But it’s what you don’t know!
One day, after sophomore year was over, Silvia invited me to her house to spend the afternoon with her. Her plan was for us to hang out at her indoor pool. I got to her house and let myself in like she texted me to do. I knew I’d find her in her bedroom. When I did find her, I about shit myself! She was lying on her bed in her bikini . . .
And she had fucking snakes moving all over her body!!
Yeah, that’s right! She had several snakes hissing and slithering all over her body! They weren’t just any household snakes, neither – if there is such a thing. The first one I noticed was the rattlesnake on her belly. I knew another one was a black mamba, because we’d just seen one in the zoology lab on the other side of Strickfield University during a class. I’ll never forget that king cobra that was rubbing up against the side of her face. And don’t even get me started on that huge boa constrictor.
When I gasped, the snakes looked at me – all at once! They didn’t move to attack me, though. Silvia just sat up casually. “Oh, hi, Zach.” Then she picked up the king cobra – like anybody could have easily done it! That was the whole creepy thing right there. None of those fucking snakes ever once attacked Silvia.
I didn’t give Silvia time to explain. I just turned and got the fuck out of that house and never looked back. In fact, I never went to Silvia’s part of town ever again.
Silvia tried to get with me to explain, but I didn’t want to hear her. I blocked her number on my phone. I blocked her on social media. I wouldn’t see her when she came to my house. I even avoided her on campus. I just wasn’t going to deal with her creepy shit. It had taken a few months before Silvia finally got the hint. Or so I thought . . .
Getting to Jensen Mirren, I ended up taking a liking to her when she was assigned as my lab partner in my zoology class at the start of junior year. Things started off about the same as with Silvia: just talking, a coffee date . . . But this time, we went on a few actual real dates before we started sleeping together. I also found out later that this girl was rich, too. Now, I don’t want you thinking I only dated rich girls. That was just how things turned out.
Silvia Charmer soon came back into the picture. She found out I was seeing Jensen and decided to confront me. In fact, she surprised me in one of the campus science labs. I stayed late on Friday afternoon to get some work done. I didn’t even see she’d come into the lab until she was a good six feet away. And wouldn’t you know it? She was cradling one of her fucking snakes – a copperhead!
Silvia’s green eyes practically burned right through me. “So this is how it is, Zach? I really thought you were a decent guy, but you’re just like all the others. The second you find out what my . . . one flaw is, you just turn tail and run. Not only run, but run right into another girl’s waiting tits.”
I staggered back when the copperhead looked right at me and started to move. “Oh, shit!”
Silvia turned and gently put the snake down on one of the tables beside her. Petting its head, she told it, “You behave now, Coppy, and stay right here.”
The snake just looked right at her, as if it understood exactly what Silvia told it to do. Then Silvia turned her attention back to me. “Now, we’re going to talk things through here. We were together for two years. You owe me that!”
I laid it out for her and told her how she creeped me out with her snakes. I drilled her by asking if she let her snakes roam free in her house. I even asked her what would have happened if one of them would have bit me while we would have been making love at her house.
Silvia looked pissed. “So . . . you dumped me just because of my snakes? My snakes are my pets, my friends. Nobody loves, appreciates, and understands snakes the way I do. My babies would never have hurt you in any way. Not unless you tried to hurt me, or them.” Her eyes burned right through me again. “I did nothing wrong, except love you with all my heart and soul for two years. When I finally decided to reveal this part of who I am to you, you fucking turned your back on me! You really hurt me, Zach! Badly! Is that all I ever was to you, hot sex?”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t like that, Silvia! I really loved you! But seeing you like that, with those snakes all over you . . . I’m sorry, but I just can’t be with you.”
I didn’t realize how dangerously close Silvia was to me now. Her face was just a few inches from mine. Her arms gently wrapped around me. Before I knew it, those amazingly soft lips were right on mine. My mind drifted back to our first kiss after our coffee date. It was exactly like this. My arms moved around her on their own. I couldn’t stop kissing her. Then I felt her tongue slithering into my mouth.
I cried out in terror and shoved her so hard that she fell onto her side. I pointed down at her. “Get the fuck away from me!” Then her snake lifted itself and hissed loudly at me, making me scream.
I picked up a lab pan and smashed the snake with it. I didn’t even hear Silvia’s screams or protests. When the snake fell on the floor, I stomped on its head and crushed it. I didn’t stop stomping it until I knew for sure it was dead. My heart never pounded so hard in my entire life.
I turned to look at Silvia. Tears were streaming down her face as she slowly pulled herself up. “You bastard! You fucking son of a bitch!”
Silvia lashed out and shoved me as hard as she could. Now I was on the floor. “And to think I still loved you and wanted you back!” She lowered herself and gently cradled her bloody, dead snake into her arms. “Coppy . . .” she sobbed.
Silvia looked back at me, her eyes burned through me – hotter than ever. “Hurting me was one thing, but you crossed the line today, Zach.” Then she screamed, “I fucking hate you! I will get revenge on you for Coppy!”
She sobbed again as she left with her dead snake.
Funny thing . . . Ever since that day, Jensen had really been acting strange. She seemed more possessive now. She didn’t wait for me to ask her out anymore. She’d come and approach me for dates. She even got more aggressive in the bedroom. She’d gotten to the point to where she would actually grab my hair or run her nails down my back when we’d fuck.
I was on my bed and kept thinking about everything that had happened that day in the lab with Silvia and her snake. I let my arm drop off the bed. When I felt something wet brush across my fingers, I gasped and quickly got off the bed and stood at the doorway. A few seconds later, I saw the head of my dog rise from the other side of the bed.
“Jesus, Sparky!” I got back on the bed and let my German Shepherd climb up and lay down with me. Then I scratched his head the way I knew he liked it. “Crazy dog, always underneath my bed.”
But no matter how many times Sparky was underneath my bed and licking my hand, I could never forget how Silvia’s eyes just kept burning through me whenever we crossed paths on campus. She said she’d get revenge on me for killing her snake. And now I also had to deal with Jensen’s possessiveness. The last time Jensen and I fucked, she grabbed my hair and literally slammed my head into the

Ep.36 – A Dog and His Boy - Ferocious Revenge from a Four Legged Maniac!

1 juli 2020 | 26 min

Episode Notes
On the 4th of July one quirky canine has had enough of the dangerous fireworks display and now he's out for BLOOD.
A Dog and His Boy by David O'Hanlon
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Rocko eyed the bags suspiciously as his boy brought them through the living room. He recognized the starburst logo of Discount Demolitions Firework Emporium and shivered slightly. This was his third Fourth of July since the adoption and he’d already decided where he would be cowering for most of the evening. When the big artillery shells went off, he would make his way to Ryan’s closet where he could burrow into the safety of all the extra blankets. Rocko laid his head on his paws and snorted.
Stupid humans, Rocko thought. Just because you can’t bark, doesn’t mean you have to overcompensate with the big noise makers. We still love you even though you’re frail and feeble.
Rocko climbed down from the couch and stretched away his morning nap in preparation of the coming game of fetch. Ryan always played fetch with him when he came home from school. Rocko wasn’t sure why his human enjoyed throwing a ball or stick so many times, but if it brought him joy, then Rocko would gladly oblige the simple creature. There were more pressing issues to attend to first, however.
Rocko dragged his butt across the living room floor all the way to the point the carpet ended and the linoleum began. It was a simple act, but one that required great skill nonetheless. If he misjudged his distance, even slightly, he wouldn’t get the whole itch before he ran out of plush, comfortable shag. Rocko trotted into the kitchen and Ryan dropped to his knees and held his arms open.
“Come here, boy,” his human called.
Rocko jogged promptly to him and let the ten-year-old hug him and scratch him behind the ears and under his chin. Ryan asked him the usual questions, same as every day.
“Who’s a good dog? Did you miss me while I was gone? Are you ready to go play? Would you like a Milk Bone?”
Humans matured slower than dogs, so Rocko barked with increasing excitement to each question. And twice as much to make sure Ryan understood his willingness to accept a Milk Bone. There were few things as good as those delicious, bone-shaped morsels. Real bones were nice, but all the flavor was on the outside and Ryan’s mother sprayed him with a hose last time he attempted to acquire some from a squirrel that forgot its place in the food chain.
Ryan’s arm stretched up to the kitchen table and the bag of fireworks swung like a clock pendulum in his chubby little fist. Rocko’s head sagged at the sight. Ryan dumped out the contents.
“Look what we’ve got, boy.” Ryan waved his hand at the stockpile. “I know you don’t like the loud ones. I got us smoke balls, sparklers, and Roman candles so we can still have fireworks without it scaring you.”
The collie’s eyebrow raised slightly. Humans weren’t even polite enough to sniff each other’s butts, but his boy had been considerate enough to get dog-friendly ordinance for his yearly war on peace and quiet? Rocko buried his head into Ryan’s chest and nuzzled him softly.
I love my human. Rocko licked the boy’s mouth to a chorus of excited giggles. Especially when he doesn’t wash all the pizza off his face.

Rocko chewed a mouthful of grass under his favorite tree. Two games of fetch and six Milk Bones were playing hell on his stomach. The chocolate Ryan’s mom dropped while making brownies might not have helped matters, either. Rocko shallowed the weeds thoughtfully. He’d never seen Ryan eating those brownies. She kept her own personal stash and Rocko couldn’t blame her. They made him feel great… and hungry.
Why do humans eat things that make them want to eat more things? He pondered. Bacon doesn’t make you want to eat anything other than more bacon. Bacon seems much healthier.
Rocko vomited precisely as he intended and then sprinted to Ryan’s side. His boy was striking the fire-maker next to a colorful ball. The fuse sparkled brilliantly and Ryan tossed it a few feet away. A plume of smoke rose from the orb with a soft hiss and a horrible stench.
“Too bad you can’t see the color, Rocko,” Ryan said.
It’s blue, kid. Rocko wasn’t sure who decided dogs couldn’t see colors. He could see all three of them just fine.
Ryan throw another of the smoke balls. It was brown. It was also anticlimactic. Rocko appreciated Ryan’s efforts to include him in the festivities, but felt a little bad for him. The other kids were already starting in with their screeching rockets and boom sticks. Rocko’s butt tucked in as he scurried closer to the boy and away from ungodly explosion on the other side of the fence.
Heathens.
Rocko would try to tolerate it a bit longer so Ryan could enjoy his other goodies. The boy lit a pair of sparklers and danced about merrily, twirling patterns into the dimming sky. Rocko watched the devices spit gouts of color changing flame and found himself impressed with the show. It seemed a useless invention, but it was making Ryan happy so Rocko thought it was great. Almost as great as cartoons.
Rocko’s tail wagged excitedly. If Ryan had pizza at school, that meant it was Friday. Which meant tomorrow was Saturday and that meant it was cartoons and Lucky Charms day. It also meant he got to sleep on the bed all day. A sudden explosion brought him back to the present and he yelped, before curling into a ball at Ryan’s feet.
Ryan knelt next to him and stoked his ears. “It’s starting to get loud now. I guess, that means it’s time for the big finale, Rocko. Let’s do some Roman candles and then we’ll go inside where it’s quiet and safe.”
Rocko sprang up and danced in a happy circle. The sooner they went inside the sooner it would be tomorrow. Ryan lifted one of the long sticks and pointed it into the air. Rocko observed the rest of them in their cellophane packaging while Ryan tried to light the fuse. The collie cocked his head at the tiny, human words written down the side. He looked up at Ryan and then back at the warning.
I’m pretty sure this says not to hold it, kid. Rocko barked to get his attention. Really, it says it right here in plain human. Rocko picked one of the tubes up and poked at Ryan’s leg.
“It’s not for fetch, silly.” The boy laughed and struck the lighter again. The fuse sparkled to life.
I’m not trying to play fetch. Rocko growled urgently. You’re not supposed to—.
The bang wasn’t that loud. It was muffled by Ryan’s closed fist.
Rocko whined mournfully as his boy collapsed to the grass.
Rocko sighed. Damn it.
Ryan’s mom came running outside to answer the child’s screams. The shattered carboard tube sputtered and smoked beside him. She scooped her son up and ran back to the house. Rocko started to follow when he remembered something that seemed important. He turned back to retrieve Ryan’s thumb and bolted after them with the dismembered digit clutched gingerly between his teeth. The backdoor smacked him in the nose and he toppled off the steps.
A series of explosions made him cower and he turned his eyes up to the fiery sky flowers blossoming overhead. He laid Ryan’s thumb gently on the steps and scampered to his tree. He was locked out. His boy was injured on his watch. He failed to keep Ryan safe and now he was trapped outside with the fireworks. It was a fitting punishment.
He looked at the finger with its scorched knuckle and whimpered.
Please be okay, boy. Rocko curled into a ball beneath the tree’s canopy. I don’t have thumbs and I do alright. I’ll teach you how to read human so it never happens again.

It was well past dark and the fireworks were coming faster than Rocko could count. Even the squirrels, the mental half-wits that they were, knew to hide from the human thunder. Rocko took it upon himself to personally destroy the remaining weapons of mass destruction. They tasted horrible, but it was a small price to pay to protect his boy. Ryan only had one thumb left, after all.
“Hey, look-it,” a shrill, adolescent voice said through the knot hole in the fence. “It’s that stupid dog with the girly hair.”
Rocko recognized the voice. Rocko hated Timmy Treadwell as much as he hated those damned Roman candle things.
It’s a mane, you simpleton. Like a lion, but better because I’m not a cat.
“I saw that little wimp and his mom leave a while ago,” another boy said. “Let’s have some fun.”
If Timmy was outside, that meant Bud and Lenny were with him. After all, you can’t have a dick without two balls hanging about. The high school trio was a scourge to the kids in the neighborhood. They chased Ryan home on more than one occasion until Rocko managed to get over the fence. A warm fuzzy feeling hit the collie’s stomach as he fondly remembered Bud urinating on himself. They knew better than to mess with his boy after that.
“Let’s have some fun,” Timmy said.
Rocko heard the telltale hiss of a fuse lighting just before the whiz of the rocket-propelled firecracker shot overhead. His ears rang from the sharp explosion. Another one came streaking through the knot hole a second later. Rocko snaked around his tree as the teens laughed maniacally on the other side of the fence.
“Go with something bigger,” Lenny cheered.
“The big bad wolf is scared of a little pop-pop,” Timmy goaded.
You know what, kid? You’re right. We should have a little fun. Rocko stretched out behind the wide trunk of the tree and steeled his nerves. I’ve had it up to here with you stupid, sniveling, hairless fuck knuckles and your thumb-wrecking firecrackers. Enough is enough.
The Rising Phoenix Freedom Rocket with red, white, and blue effects screamed through the hole with the ferocity its name im

Ep.35 – The Message - You Never Know Who is Watching...

24 juni 2020 | 23 min

Episode Notes
A truly despicable college co-ed may have finally met her match because you just never know who is watching you, and what they are capable of...
The Message by Rob Fields
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Imagine this . . . You’re a twenty-three-year-old girl who’s got everything going for you: a very rich family, luxury and privilege, never wanting for anything, and a beautiful body. You can have any man you want. You’re on top of the world.
Interested? Okay, let’s begin . . .
You’ve passed every class while you were in school – without studying. Why should you have to study when you can just cruise along with your million-dollar body? You can just keep your pretty eyes on certain men . . . show generous amounts of cleavage . . . offer a handjob to the right teacher . . . All for those As you’ve never had to study for.
You still here? Come on, stay with me . . .
You graduate with a great GPA. But in order for you to take over the family business someday, you must continue your education. You agree to go to college. Like high school, you rely on your porn star body to get through each semester of college. Like you’re actually going to crack open a book and read the assignments, right? You’re even allowed to bring a laptop to take notes, but why?! Why should you have to write . . . anything?! You’re rich! You’re privileged! You’re entitled! Besides, your glorious nails cost a pretty penny. Hell, you can charm some geek into writing your papers, right?
You still with me? Nice . . .
You finish your first three-and-a-half years at Strickfield University, with plenty of good grades. And . . . all of your professors were guys. Coincidence? Or maybe because you know your sex appeal won’t work on women, aside from lesbians or bisexuals? Also, you’ll be damned if you lip-lock with another female. Anyway, all your professors are male. Because even college professors can let the little head think for the big head.
We’re moving along. Hang in there . . .
The second semester of your pivotal senior year comes. Things are a little more challenging. You’re finding your looks are just not enough now. To get those all-important As, you have to show your big titties . . . give more handjobs . . . maybe give a really good blowjob. And for some professors who want even more . . . you’ll actually have to spend the night with them. You haven’t been a virgin since junior high, so what difference does fucking university professors old enough to be your dad make?
Don’t worry, it gets better. Stay with me . . .
Now you’ve finally got that one professor . . . Yeah, that one! The one who doesn’t care about your looks, your big tits, or your sexy body. He’s a happily married man who loves his wife of twenty-five years, so the sight of you doesn’t arouse his little head in the least. No matter what you do, you just can’t win this professor over. You still refuse to take notes, do homework, or lift your pen to take exams. Your grades in his class are the worst. But you’re privileged . . . You’re entitled . . . You’re rich . . . The world owes you. Hell, what this professor makes in a year is pocket change to you, right?
You still want to keep going? Of course you do . . .
You’re desperate now. Sitting in the back, you’ve shown him your tits during class. You’ve even shown him you weren’t wearing panties. In fact, you’ve even offered to suck your professor’s cock – more than once. Even more, you’ve offered to let him fuck you, and in some compromising places. You’ve even surprised him by waiting for him in his office . . . completely naked! Yet, the fucking professor just will not surrender to you. He never once pops a chubby. What the fuck?! Does he really love his wife that much? Nobody loves his wife for that many years! Your own parents are out fucking around on each other, for Christ’s sake.
Ah, you’re still with me, still loving all this juiciness. Mm, mmmm . . .
The professor’s going to turn you in to the dean for your erratic behavior. He’ll tell him that you haven’t done . . . anything really! He certainly has your grades to show for it, including your blank exams. Because you’re simply too entitled to put forth the effort. In fact, you’re entitled to everything life has to offer.
It’s getting dark now. Turn on those smartphone flashes . . .
Now you’ve got a real problem. You can’t let your parents see that you’ve actually failed a class. Didn’t your parents tell you that if didn’t bring home the grades, they weren’t going to keep you in school? If you’re not ready to be a part of the family business, they’ll cut you off. They’ll send you out into the real world to make your own way. You’ll no longer live in luxury. You’ll no longer be entitled. You’ll no longer be pampered and have the world at your feet. You’ll be banished to the Mortal Realm with all the other bottom-feeders who have to bust their asses just to make end’s meet. There’s only one thing left to do . . .
Darker still! Hope your smartphone batteries have a good charge . . .
You talk to your scumbag boyfriend, knowing he’s a scumbag. But he’s always been there for you when you needed him. He listens intently as you tell him about the professor who’s fucking up your whole world. Then he comes up with the perfect plan to help you get the grade you’re entitled to. All it’ll cost you is a little of your green and some quality time with your pink. Anything to keep you entitled!
Really dark now!! Hope your smartphone batteries aren’t ready to die . . .
Your boyfriend knows the professor works in his office late on Fridays. He knows your professor always gets a Mountain Dew out of the soda machine beforehand. Not coffee . . . not bottled water . . . a Mountain Dew! Probably the only unconventional thing about him. Having his office phone number, you make a desperate phone call. You tell him you need help and give him a false location. When he leaves, your boyfriend slithers into his office and roofies his Mountain Dew. Later, you and your boyfriend watch as the professor returns to his office, no doubt upset at your phone call. Oh, but he has no idea of what awaits him in that green bottle. It’s only time . . .
We’re at NC-17 content now. Put the kids to bed . . .
You and your boyfriend take the sleeping professor to an empty classroom. It’s Friday night and nobody’s around. You undo the professor’s trousers and pull them down with his boxers. Up comes your dress – no panties. You finally get him nice and hard. And . . . Congratulations! You – a girl – just committed rape! You’ve got him by the balls – literally! You both get him dressed and take him back to his office. Next, you both go back to your place. With the incriminating juices still inside you, your boyfriend beats the living shit out of you. It has to look like an actual rape, right? When he’s finished, you call the police and tell them everything.
Feeling pissed off yet? Good . . .
The professor is arrested. The police take samples from you both. They get a match. But they won’t find the Mountain Dew with the roofie in it. Your boyfriend saw to that. His plan worked perfectly. Yes, his plan! Psst! He’s actually smarter than you. So now . . . The professor’s in jail. He’s fired from Strickfield University. His wife leaves him after twenty-five happily married years. She wouldn’t even listen to him when he pled his case to her. He gets a trial by jury, is found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison. That night . . . he hangs himself, knowing he won’t survive prison. Your boyfriend already got into the professor’s computer to change your grade. But if it was that simple, then why ruin the man’s life? Because you’re entitled! And nobody fucks that up for you.
Hey, you’ve made it all the way to this point. Ready for the twist? Sure you are . . .
Now, two things are established: you think you’re entitled . . . and you’re not too bright. Your boyfriend made the plan that led to the death of an innocent professor who wouldn’t give you the grade you wanted. But neither of you had any idea that a certain girl was in that same class with you. Actually, I was in a couple.
Boy, did you two ever stand out to me . . .
Not only did I see you showing your titties and your cooch to Professor Rodney Simmons, I even saw you arguing with him in his office after that class. I suppose those things alone wouldn’t trigger a red flag. It was after the newspapers revealed that Professor Simmons had committed suicide. I watched you both closely. Neither of you showed remorse.
I did my usual research and found the gradebook in Professor Simmons’ office before anyone came to clean it out. I took pics on my smartphone, wearing gloves of course. I also lifted fingerprints off the professor’s laptop. Some belonged to the professor. The others belonged to Jacob Lavigne. Thanks to a fingerprint scanner I rigged up, I matched them with a special program I picked up on the Dark Net that gave me immediate access to fingerprints databases.
Now, I just needed one more thing . . .
“What the fuck . . . ?” Genevieve Van Sant demanded. “Where am I?”
“Right where I want you,” I replied, stepping out of the darkness.
Genevieve spoke with her entitled voice. “I know you. You’re that Criminal Justice bitch people talk about all over campus.”
“Wow, you actually know something,” I replied. “I’m surprised you know anything, considering how stupid you are.”
She struggled to get free. “You can’t scare me!” Then she glared at me. “You really fucked up. Once I talk to select people, you’re fucked. You don’t ever put your hands on me. Professor Simmons found that out.”
“Oh, you mean

Ep.34 – Father's Day - He's Got a Hatchet and YOU SUMMONED HIM

17 juni 2020 | 31 min

Episode Notes
On Father's Day a group of teens hold a seance for laughs to summon the spirit of a father who never got revenge for the murder of his daughter... What could go wrong?
Father's Day 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
Transcription:
This section of the path scared Matt shitless, not that he’d admit it to anyone.... especially to Greg and Jenny; his two best friends, walking a little ways in front of him.
Last year there had been a stabbing. A few years before that a man’s body had been discovered face down in Pearce Creek, not that far from here.
Matt didn’t believe in curses or bad luck, but there was a feeling he got in his gut whenever he passed through the area.
He’d rather be at home playing video games today.
His parents were visiting Matt’s grandfather for Father’s day and he’d have the whole house to himself. Instead, here he was.
Matt blamed Jenny… specifically her tight blue jeans and nice smile.
The three of them had been friends for years. Matt was fairly certain that Jenny had a thing for Greg, but Greg was oblivious to it… but it was only a matter of time before he noticed.
Matt could feel his chance with Jenny slipping away if he didn’t speak up soon.
He winced as the two laughed about some joke.
“So, where the hell are we going?” Matt blurted out.
Greg looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t have a cow dude, we’re almost there.”
Jenny laughed, making Matt feel a bit annoyed. He kicked a stone off the path, watching it shoot off into the grass. The three walked in silence for a few minutes, until Greg stopped them.
“And here we are.” He pointed towards the left side of the trail.
Matt’s gaze followed his friend’s gesture. There through the trees, the roof of a house could be seen. It’s tiled roof weathered from age and the elements.
“There?” Jenny asked.
“Yup!” Greg said proudly.
They followed him off the path, Pushing through some brush to get to the house. As they emerged into the house’s overgrown backyard, it’s ramshackle condition became more apparent.
“What a dump.” Jenny observed. “We’re not-”
Greg cut her off. “Sure as shit we are.”
“Why?” Asked Matt, wishing he’d stayed home.
“Because.” Greg answered as he walked up the steps to the back door. “Don’t you want to have some fun? Instead of jacking off to Saved By The Bell all day?”
“Har, Har.” Matt responded. He felt a bit of anger boil through from his friend’s consent prodding. He surprised himself when he flipped Greg off.
“I didn’t think you had it in you.” Somebody said, clapping. “Besides, I see you stroking it more to Power Rangers.”
They turned to see Dave Stover standing by the side of the house. A girl dressed in black stepped out from behind him. Her short brown hair was slicked straight back, and a black choker encircled her neck.
“What are you doing here Stover?” Matt asked. There was something about that smug, shiteating grin that made Matt want to punch Stover’s teeth in.
Greg and Stover went way back. Why his friend would hang out with that ass was beyond Matt.
“He’s the reason we’re here.” Greg answered.
Matt sighed. “Great.”
Stover introduced the girl. “This is Ember. She's going to help us play a little game.”
They followed Stover into the house.
The back door opened easily. The smell of stale cat urine greeted them as they stepped into a bare kitchen.
Jenny whispered in Matt’s ear. “Ember? That’s bullshit. Her name’s Traci Hollis. She’s in my English Lit class.”
The two softly chuckled.
Stover took them down a musty hallway.
The plaster walls were chipped and marked with graffiti. Chunks of broken plaster crunched underfoot. Matt wondered who’d lived here. There was nothing left to mark their time here.
The hallway opened up in a large room. At the room’s center was a large circle of candles. Strange symbols were written on the floor within the circle.
Matt felt strangely uneasy as he entered the room.
He didn’t believe in magic, but it didn’t mean you went messing around with the shit.
“What the hell?” Matt said. “I don’t think we should fuck around with this stuiped shit.”
“Relax man.” Greg reassured his friend. “Wait till you hear the story.”
“Let’s find out first.” Jenny added. “I want to find out what’s up.”
Damn it. Matt didn’t want to walk out with Jenny staying behind… partly because he’d look like a wimp and partly because he worried about her.
“Then, let’s get on with it.” Matt grumbled. “What have we got to do?”
Ember sat them around the circle all holding hands, with him and Stover on either side of Ember. Matt felt a little nervous and shy taking the girl’s pale hand. She smelled like sage, and her lips were black as midnight.
Staring into her eyes for a second, he forgot about Jenny.
Stover cleared his throat before starting. “Man got home from the war and bought this house for him and his pregnant wife. They wanted to start a future here.”
Greg interrupted. “Which war?”
“What?” Stover stammered.
“Which war?”
Stover’s brow furrowed. “That one, a long time ago… in the ‘70’s.”
“Korea?” Jenny asked.
“No, that one from Rambo... ‘Nam.”
“Wasn’t that in the 80’s?” Greg said, unsure.
Frustrated, Stover grumbled. “Does it fucking matter?”
“Well, context.” Greg said. “Helps set the scene better man.”
“It was the fucking ‘70’s… okay? Can I get on with the story?”
Nobody said anything.
“So the dude and his wife bought this house. A couple years later they have a daughter. The three have a happy life for a bunch of years. Then the mom gets sick and dies.”
“Awww, that blows.” Jenny said.
Stover ignored her, continuing on with the story.
“The father was left to raise the girl by himself, and he did the best he could… got a second job and shit.” Stover leaned forward.
“Then one day, the father came home, worn out from a tough day. The daughter, fifteen at the time, told him to take a nap in his favorite chair.” Stover smiled. “Right over there.” Indicating a corner of the room.
“She wanted to surprise him, make him some dinner. So she decided to walk to the convenience store just down the path.”
“What?” Greg asked. “I don’t remember any store around here.”
Stover sighed. “The vacant lot on Rathburn… used to be a store there. They closed it because it was getting robbed too much.”
“Oh.” Greg nodded, mulling it over.
“Anyway, the father wakes up.” Stover continued. “He finds the house all dark. He calls for his daughter and there’s no answer.”
Jenny shifted nervously on the floor.
“Before he can go out to find her there’s a knock at the door. It’s the police. The cops ask if she’s there. The clerk at the shop called the cops after the girl was getting harassed by some boys. Well, days passed and there was no trace of the girl. The father grew desperate.”
Matt glanced at Ember, who had her eyes closed. Was she meditating?
“Finally one day, they found one of the girl’s shoes near the hangout of a bunch of boys… the ones that had been giving the girl a hard time that night. Trouble is, there’s no other evidence. The cops couldn’t do shit.”
Matt looked over at Jenny, who was enjoying the story. His mind wandered as he briefly thought of Jenny, Ember and him all alone together. The thought was a little too much for his hormones. He could feel things stirring that shouldn’t be right now.
He quickly turned his attention back to the story, trying to focus on Stover’s words.
“This wasn’t good enough for the father. So, one by one he captured and tortured the boys… killing every one of them with a hatchet he’d had in the war... save for one boy he let live. Why the one boy? Nobody knows. After the deed he came home and hung himself in this very room!”
Stover laughed like a maniac.
“Did he find her?” Jenny blurted out.
Stover shrugged. “Nobody knows. The father killed himself before anybody found out. The boy he let live was a nutcase… they have him locked away up in Wolten. He’s never uttered a word since.”
“That was quite a story.” Matt said.
“A real bummer.” Jenny added.
“What’s it got to do with us?” Matt asked.
“Since it’s Father’s Day.” Stover smiled. “I thought we’d try to contact the daughter’s spirit with the help of Ember here. Maybe we can find out what happened to her.”
“Really?” Matt asked sarcastically.
“For sure.” Stover replied.
Suddenly Ember tightened her grip on their hands.
Without thinking, Matt tightened his grip in response.
The girl opened her eyes, making brief contact with him.
Suddenly Matt felt his face become warm… his chest tightened and he found it hard to breathe. And then it passed.
“I’m ready.” The girl said. Her gaze passed over each and every one of them in turn. “It’s important to remain in a circle, holding hands. We’re safe. You don’t want to be pulled away into the spirit world.”
Ember took a deep breath. “I call upon the four elements. Earth, Water, Fire and Air. Give me strength.” The girl started to rock back and forth. “Guide us over the bridge between this world and the next.”
The candles seemed to flicker briefly as a gust of wind passed through the room.
“I call upon the spirit of Samantha Swane.”
A low warbling moan started up from somewhere in the house. Matt felt the hairs on his arms stand up. The air felt charged.
“There’s a presence here.” Ember said.
There was an unearthly moan. From above the group a loud bang sounded, making them jump all jump.
Ember warned them. “Don’t break contact.”
The otherworldly moan grew louder. The house itself creaked and groaned as if in pain.
“Spirit, speak.” Ember commanded. “Tell us your name.”
There was another unearthly wail of pain. “My name is…” A voice spoke. “My name Is… Harry Reems.”
Stover burst into laughter.
“The fuck?

Ep.33 – The Faithful - Terrors on Another Planet!

10 juni 2020 | 22 min

Episode Notes
A crew has landed on a new planet hoping to find sanctuary, but what they find is a monstrosity beyond all earthly imagination.
The Faithful by David O'Hanlon
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
“How long has it been since the gods answered a prayer?” Rayburn Halsey checked his watch.
It was still on Mars time and had been for thirty-seven years since the flight began. “More than six hours, that’s for sure. For thousands of years, every culture on Earth reported interactions with gods. And then one day, they just stopped talking to us. Go to your room, Creation. You’re grounded. Maybe we had it coming.”
Halsey sipped the juice packet and stared at the planet on his monitor. Swirling clouds obstructed any view of the surface, just as they had since their arrival. He tapped his fingers nervously on the console.
“Pilot Amber Mitchell deployed to the surface of Baron-117 exactly five-hours ago. According to our most recent calculations, we have less than twenty-six weeks of supplies. There are nineteen planets and thirty-seven moons in the quarantine zone. That’s not counting four outlying planetoids. Historical records are shady, to say the least. Five-hundred years will do that. We must take the chance that whatever our forebears were afraid of didn’t cover the entire system. It’s illogical to even think it could.”
The door dilated behind him and Mike Delaine leaned in. “Any word from Mitchell?”
Halsey flicked off the flight recorder. “Preliminary numbers look good. It’s cold, but above freezing. The atmosphere is breathable for the most part. Helium levels are a little higher, oxygen a little lower, so I want helmets on. I’m adjusting the ship’s gravity slowly to match surface numbers. I don’t want anyone face planting as soon as we hit the ground.”
“Does that mean we’re going?” Delaine’s question was stained with uncertainty.
“Got any other ideas? We’re still thirteen months from our destination. We have a hold full of colonists that need to properly defrost. If we wait any longer, we’re not going to have the supplies to do that. I’m not murdering two-thousand people because something went wrong out here during the Dark Age of Space. Records show three planets and two moons were affected by the incident, but that’s about all we’ve got to go on. It literally says ‘the incident’ with no further information.”
“A lot of records were lost during the War. People rushed to save our history and our art and forgot about things like NASA communication records.” Delaine shook his head and sighed. “Kind of wish that were the other way around right about now. I mean, whatever it was made them quarantine an entire solar system and we’re smackdab in the middle of it all. But hey,” Delaine clapped his hands together, “at least I saw that Warhol painting of some soup cans.”
“Yeah.” Halsey stretched in his seat. “I’m going to start waking the rest of the crew. Prep the dropship, we’re going down to help Amber establish a landing zone.”
“We’re not even waiting for them to wake up?”
“You want to sit here for another thirty-six hours babysitting popsicles? We need to get down there and make sure we have a place to set down. The Eden module flies a little better than a dog in a jetpack, so I want to make sure we have a very wide margin for error.”
“Sure thing.” Delaine walked outside into the corridor and turned back. “Hey, Rayburn.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think anyone will ever find us?”
The automated door closed before Halsey could tell him no. Maybe gods did still answer prayers.

The dropship rocked on its landing struts.
Halsey and Delaine watched through the viewscreen as the orange-brown dust settled and gave them their first clear view of the planet. There were tall, wide, coniferous trees spaced hundreds of yards apart. Yellow, egg-shaped cones sprouted from branches high above in nests of feathery, chartreuse leaves. Great, tentacle-like roots tore up the ground around them and joined together like a massive web. Each of the thick roots stood out of the dirt, two feet wide at their narrowest point and ten closest to the trunks.
“Well, looks like we have plenty of room to put the Eden down. No way we’re using rovers with those roots though.” Delaine looked over his shoulder at the six-wheeler. “I was really looking forward to something going smoothly.”
Halsey unclipped his harness and laughed softly. “Del, has it occurred to you that being stranded on a deserted planet is things going smoothly?”
“That’s depressing.” Delaine removed his restraints and crawled into the cargo hold with the rover.
Halsey squeezed through after him. “That was a reentry vehicle that struck us. I played back the recording thirty times. Just some antique space junk that drifted into our lane. That kind of thing shouldn’t happen, especially out here. The odds of surviving it are even slimmer.”
“I know, Rayburn. We’re alive and we shouldn’t be. Maybe I should count us lucky, but I’m having a real hard time with that right about now. You know what I’m saying?”
“I do. Helmet on, we’re burning daylight.”
Both men fastened their helmets into place on the aluminum rings of their atmospheric suits and proceeded through the smaller side door of the ship. Halsey stepped out first and let his legs adjust fully to the gravity before taking a few tentative steps forward. Delaine joined him and stretched, shaking his head as he did. The roots of the trees provided a constant obstacle as they advanced forward.
“That cloud coverage is really something.” Halsey watched the citrine sky swirl and then checked his wrist-mounted tablet. “We’re almost a quarter-mile south of Amber’s lander. Strange.”
“Not really. Those clouds could really obscure a signal,” Delaine reassured him.
“Not that. Amber’s moving to the east for some reason.” He swiped a finger across the screen and sent the image over to his partner. A red blip moved across the screen with an ever-growing number above it. “She’s moving at a pretty good clip.”
The navigational officer looked at the screen carefully and then up at the wild expanse of towering trees and rising, sweeping roots. “How’s she moving that fast across this terrain?”
“That’s a damn good question, Del. Want to hear a better one?”
Delaine nodded slowly, hesitantly. “Shoot.”
“Why is she moving that fast across this terrain?” Halsey unhooked the rifle from his air pack and pulled back the charging handle.
“I really just wanted something to go smooth.” Delaine ready his weapon as well.
The two men started to jog, mindful of the difference in gravity. They weaved their way through the roots, looking for the low spots to hurdle whenever they could and boosting each other over the taller places.
They arrived at Mitchell’s lander almost twenty minutes later and were already exhausted.
Their first impression wasn’t a good one.
The lander was a good size smaller than the dropship—they were designed to carry one member of the team to the planet and keep them alive for three days. It looked like an upside-down gemstone, pointed on the top and wide on the bottom. There was a chair that folded into something resembling a bed and around that was boxes fixed to the floor with food, water, basic medical supplies, and a carbine for defense. A big red box served as the base of the chair and contained all the necessary tools for demolishing anything that might hinder the landing of the larger dropship.
A bloody handprint on the polished shell of the lander was their first clue that something was wrong.
Halsey signaled for Delaine to move behind a root and cover him while he crept closer.
The door squeaked on a light breeze, rocking softly on its hinge and through the gap Halsey could see brown hair splayed out across the floor. His stomach twisted in knots as he eased the door open with the barrel of his weapon.
The thing on the floor was not Amber Mitchell.
In fact, despite the similar hair it was not even potentially the same species. It had two arms and two legs, but it was hard to tell where the furs it wore ended and its body hair began. A shock of brunette covered its face, or what was left of it. A few teeth and a dislodged eye were the only recognizable features anymore. A bloodied wrench was tossed into the corner. Everything else seemed to be in order.
“Del!”
Delaine popped out from his cover and sprinted to the lander.
He looked inside and made an inarticulate squealing-cough as a word failed to make it past his throat.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Halsey checked the tracking application again and saw the pilot had stopped moving a little over three miles to the east. “We’re not alone on this planet. That thing,” he jerked a thumb towards the corpse, “has friends. She left the water, carbine, and explosives. Amber’s being chased, I’d stake my life on it.”
“I had my choice of assignments and this is what I picked?” Delaine waved for Halsey to follow him and walked gingerly up a root until its tallest point. “There’s no way to run over all of this. How was she moving that fast?”
“Maybe she ditched her environmental gear.”
“Rayburn, we need to turn back.”
“Amber’s in trouble.”
“No.” Delaine shook his head violently. “We’re in trouble. There’s no way to move through this mess and when we do, we’re going to be too far behind. Comms aren’t working and we’re up against an indigenous force of unknown size and technology. We need to go back to the drop and rejoin the crew on the Wayfarer.”
“And Amber?”
“We come back for her later, in greater numbers.” He put a hand on Halsey’s shoulder. “I know what she means to you, but we don’t have another option.”
Halsey walked eastward, shaking

Ep.32 – Moonstruck - Lunatics That Can Smell Your Blood!

3 juni 2020 | 35 min

Episode Notes
Something horribly is happening to people who look at the night sky... Some are frozen in awe, others aren't so lucky... Lunatics that can hear you bleed!
Moonstruck by Mark “Ferret” Mohlenhoff
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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Transcription:
3:01
I groggily get up and reach for my phone on the charger. Having been asleep for about 45 minutes, I was slightly peeved. Thankfully, my boyfriend is still asleep, since he will be up in a couple of hours for work anyway. Looking at my phone, I see an emergency message stating: “ATTENTION: Do Not Look at the Moon for Any Reason!”
My first thought is, Why the HELL is this being sent out as an emergency message? I look down the notification listing on my lock screen. Facebook has blown the fuck up with notifications just in the last 30 minutes. Hundreds of notifications and shares. Even Twitter has been going nuts. I see notifications from FB Messenger, and even text messages, both from numbers known and unknown. Thirty seconds later, my boyfriend’s phone goes off. I move quickly to silence his phone. Free from the burdens of social media, he is missing out on notifications, but he also has numerous text messages from people we collectively know and from unknown senders.
As I am looking back at my phone, Rusty starts to awaken, having heard the piercing screech of the emergency message. He looks over and sees me with a puzzled look on my face, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “My phone woke me up, and there’s this message saying to not look at the moon. I also have notifications from Twitter and Facebook, as well as text messages from over 50 people, prodding me to look outside—'What a beautiful night out!’”
Waking up a little more, Rusty starts to sit up, picking up his phone. He sees that he has a missed call from his brother, Michael, and starts to dial his number. Just as he is about to hit the call button, my phone starts ringing. My sister, Virginia, is calling me. I know she is usually still up, as she is one of the worst night owls I have ever met. I answer, knowing something bad is happening. I say with a hint of worry in my voice, “Virginia, what’s wrong?!”
Anxiety already settled into her voice, Virginia blurts out, “Oh my God, Dean! You picked up… Thank you! Have you heard about what’s going ON? I was playing my game when the power went out. I looked down at my phone and saw a whole bunch of Facebook notifications about the moon, and then got the Emergency Alert demanding we stay inside. I don’t know what’s happening!” She rushes. I can tell she is barely able to contain her panic.
“Okay, sis. Calm down! I just woke up so let me get my bearings. For now, stay away from the windows. Go ahead and wake Mom up, let her know what’s going on, and I’ll call you back as soon as I know anything.” I try to be reassuring, but it’s kind of hard over the phone. Hopefully Mom will be able to calm her down. “Hey, I love you,” I tell her hoping it helps to calm her. “I love you, too,” she nervously mumbles back and hangs up the phone.
Looking over, Rusty is still on the phone, and from the sounds of things, he is talking about the same thing. I start to scroll through social media and news sites trying to figure out what is going on. I am afraid to look outside, not knowing what it is I will see. In that moment, an eerie feeling dawns on me. Where there has always been an underlining calm but consistent buzzing in the air--it was now absent. There are absolutely no noises coming from outside. Not even the sounds of bugs or wildlife are present. I notice that our fan is not on. The low hum of the television and the refrigerator are gone. It is never this quiet in our house at night. We had to have lost power, I think to myself. Looking at my phone screen, I am thankful that my phone reads full battery and that I have charged up my backup battery recently.
I open Google to see if there are any news postings on the home feed. As I am looking, Rusty gets off the phone. “Michael says that something weird is happening outside his neighborhood. There are a whole bunch of people standing there, looking up at the sky.” He reaches for the TV remote, but nothing happens when he hits the power button. “Don’t bother,” I say, “the power’s out.”
I continue looking through the news feeds. Just then, Rusty starts to go for the door. As he unlocks it, I look up and say, “Don’t! Let’s see what we can find out first before we expose ourselves to whatever is out there.” I click on a local news posting. The Post and Courier headline reads, "Killer Skies"...
"Locals are currently baffled by a strange phenomenon in the skies tonight. Current reports state that citizens who have braved the outside are finding people either laying in the streets, seemingly dead or just standing there, gazing into the unknown. Around 2:35 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, people reportedly started sending and receiving messages via text and social media about the “beauty of the moon.” Considering the moon set around 2:08 AM, something else has drawn the attention of the populace. If you find anyone standing outside, it is advised by officials at this time to leave them alone, as they are reportedly becoming agitated and aggressive when moved. They also advise to stay indoors and away from windows. Covering any access to the outside is also advised at this time, blocking any view of the skyline.
This is a developing story and will be updated when information becomes available."
As I finish reading, I look at Rusty and see concern cross his face. "Call your brother and warn him to stay away from the windows. I'll call Virginia and tell her the same." As I punch the next to the last digit, we hear a loud explosion, which sounds like it came from down the road. Thankfully, the windows didn't blow in. "Shit!", yells Rusty. He starts to reach for the door again and I forcefully blurt out, "No! There is nothing we can do right now. If we go outside, even to look, we may become affected. I'll call 911, you call Michael, then call your parents."
I proceed to call 911, and the line is busy. Considering everything that is happening tonight, it's no surprise. Still not a great thought. I can only hope that no one was injured in that explosion.
I call Virginia, and my heart drops. "Mom was asleep, but Dad was not, and he's nowhere in the house. I can't find him!", she tells me frantically. "Don't look outside. Stay away from the windows and doors and try to call him. Make sure Mom stays inside.", I tell her. "I tried that already, but it just goes straight to voicemail." I can tell she is starting to lose it. "VIRGINIA!", I say sharply, "I need you to calm down! Take Mom into the bedroom and stay there. Rusty and I will be there when we can. We'll find Dad, but right now, you and Mom need to stay safe. We will be there shortly!"
Thank the Gods my brain kicks in when something happens. I slip into emergency mode like a professional. After the call, I start to have a little breakdown as plans start to settle into place. I never thought I would be as grateful as I am now.
Rusty finishes his phone call and hugs me as I finish my cry. No words—just love and support. After I clean myself up a bit, he moves to the clothes pile and starts to get dressed. "How are we going to get there without looking at the skyline?", he asks. The thought had crossed my mind when I was having my mini break down. "You have 2 broad brimmed hats. We'll keep the brim low so all we see is the street ahead of us so we can avoid anyone or anything in the road. We'll also take it very slow since we won't be able to see that far ahead. We only need to worry about the one bridge, so if we are lucky, nothing will be on it to get in our way.", I explain. Thinking it over, he nods his head and says, "It's as good a plan as any." After we finish dressing, we look around to make sure we don't need anything else. My eyes wander over to the washer in the corner, where we keep the firearms, Frau and Igor, and the ammo boxes. "Just to be on the safe side, I want to bring them along. With everything going on tonight, I would feel a lot safer having something with a little bite to keep things at bay if things get hairy.", I say to Rusty. He looks at me and replies, "That was happening anyway, but at least we are on the same page."
We load a couple of clips for the rifles and grab our knives from between the mattress and futon. I look over to where Thor and Loki, our ferrets, are in their cage, looking longingly at us. With all the commotion of the last half hour, I'm not surprised we have their attention. Gods, has it only been 30 minutes? Feels like we have been going for hours already, I think to myself. Time moves so much different in moments of stress, turmoil, and chaos. "We'll be back boys.", I say as we walk to the door. I hope…
We grab the hats off the pegs on the wall. They are the type that have the snaps on the sides to give the Aussie look on either side. We make sure they are not snapped, pull the brims as low as we can, allowing ourselves some sort of visual, and leave the apartment. I look around as Rusty locks the door, and the surrealness starts to set in. Across the marsh, there is a fire raging from one of the houses over there. I can only imagine what happened to cause the explosion. I whisper a little prayer to whomever is listening that no one was hurt.
As we start to walk toward the jeep, the motion sensor light from apartment D comes on and we see someone standing in the front yard. It's our neig

Ep.31 – The High Beam Initiation - Murder on Wheels!

27 maj 2020 | 24 min

Episode Notes
If you flash your high beams at a car you may find yourself on the wrong end of death in this initiation based on a real urban legend!
The High Beam Initiation by Rob Fields
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcription:
It’s Friday night, and I’m sitting in the back seat of a Ford Mustang as we’re driving down a nearly deserted county road.
As it turns out, I’m a pledge for the Sigma Kappa Beta fraternity. But wait! I’m a girl!
You might be asking . . . Shouldn’t I be pledging a sorority? As it turns out, Strickfield University has all-male fraternities, all-female sororities, and a few coed fraternities. I’ve been told that the Sigmas is one of the top fraternities to be a member of.
I’ve been pledging this fraternity for a while now. While we do have fun, even as pledges, we’ve had to do a select few choice things. Things we’re not supposed to talk about. This car ride tonight is one of them.
I’m sitting in between Blain Nelson and Constance Vanderbilt, the two co-heads of this fraternity.
Looking at us, you’d swear we were part of some rich-people club. We’re expected to wear our polo shirts, skirts for girls and trousers for guys, and loafers with socks. We even have ascots around our necks. Since we’re supposed to be prominent members of both the university and of society, we’re expected to conduct ourselves as such.
I glance over my shoulder and see the other car following behind us, a Dodge Charger. Then I look ahead again.
Constance takes hold of my hand. “Don’t worry, love. It won’t be that bad once it’s your initiation.”
“Tonight, you’re going to see what William Hartley will be doing . . . what the few others before him did . . . and you next Friday,” Blain adds.
We drive down the road for a little while longer. Then I notice it gets darker behind me.
I look over my shoulder and see that the Charger now has its headlights off. I turn back around and am about to ask about that, but I notice that the lights are now off in this car, too.
“It’s all part of the initiation,” Blain tells me. “Nothing to worry about.”
Constance still holds my hand. “Don’t be scared.”
I try to relax and just enjoy the ride. We’re coming to a long stretch of straight road after a series of curves. Just ahead, a car comes towards us.
“We have a possibility . . .” Blain kind of sings quietly.
I’m about to ask him what he means, but then the car ahead of us flashes their brights. Normally, that’s what people do when they want you to know you don’t have your headlights on after dark.
Constance squeezes my hand a little. “Get ready!”
After we pass the car, we suddenly screech into a hard turn – like in the movies. As we straighten and pursue the car that flashed us, the Charger also turns around and again follows behind us.
Carson Van Horn, our driver, looks in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, it’s her, all right. We got her!”
He hits the gas.
Now we move into the opposite lane and are soon next to the flashing car. I look to see who’s driving. It’s still too dark to see who’s inside, but it does look like a girl, based on her long hair.
Carson honks the horn, one blare after another. Then it’s one continuous blare.
The flashing car tries to speed away, but it’s no match for this Mustang. We speed up and soon drive past it.
Suddenly, Carson hits the brakes and swerves in front of the other car.
The other car brakes suddenly and swerves off the road. The Charger moves and stops right next to the passenger’s side door. I wonder why. I guess I’ll soon find out.
Constance pats my hand. “Showtime, Caprice. Time to see how your initiation will be next Friday night.”
We get out of our cars. The girl gets out of her car. She turns to run, but then something just tears the night air! Was that a gun?!
The girl cries out! Then she slams hard against her open door and tumbles over it.
We all move over to the girl. All I can do is feel my heart pounding rapidly. Did somebody really shoot her?!
“Good job, William!” I hear Donna Blossom chime. “Now finish the bitch!”
The girl whimpers in pain as we close in on her. I still can’t see her face fully, because there isn’t much light. Also, the moon’s not full.
She tries to stand up, but William raises his pistol and shoots her again. The girl screams loudly. William steps up to her and shoots her once more – in the stomach. She groans and forces herself to sit up.
Then she screams at us in defiance, “You’ll be fucking sorry – all of you!”
Constance lets go of my hand. Then she and Blain lower themselves.
“No, bitch,” Constance murmurs. “You were the one who fucked up. You never challenge the Sigmas.”
Blain chuckles. “Yeah, calling the police on us for last Friday night’s initiation? Seriously?!”
Constance spits in the girl’s face. “You got our pledge expelled, you stupid cunt! We simply can’t let that stand, can we?”
“Go ahead, William,” Blain tells him. “It’s your show.”
William lashes out with his foot and kicks the girl in the face to send her full on her back. Then he aims his pistol and empties the rest of it into her face. I want to gasp and faint, but I’m too paralyzed right now.
The full Sigmas gather around William and congratulate him. I don’t really hear what they’re saying.
Did this really happen?! A girl is killed in a cold-blooded initiation. It’s almost as if we did a gang ritual or some shit. I mean, I know our coed fraternity has issues with certain people on our campus. But did it have to come to . . . this?!

Christ, my heart won’t stop pounding!
Donna grabs William and sucks face with him. Then I look up again and hear the others cheering Donna and William on. Then they get on the ground and start fucking – right next to the girl’s body!!
“You’re one of us, honey,” Donna cheers to William. “You’re a full Sigma now.”
“Yes,” Blain assures him. “Now you’ll truly reap the benefits of being a Sigma.”
I lower myself and use my smartphone camera light on the body. Then I see the tattoo on the girl’s inner right wrist. It looks like a figure-eight ribbon – but blue! I quickly stand up and move to the girl’s car.
“Where are you going?” Constance calls to me.
“We have to get rid of the evidence, right?” I call back. “I’m getting the girl’s purse.”
“Good call!”
I get in the girl’s car. Her purse is sitting in the passenger’s side. I yank it over to me and pull out her wallet. Using my smartphone camera light, I learn whom William just killed.
My eyes grow wide when I see it was Melodie Carlisle. I fucking know this girl! She was a co-chair of an organization that operates on our campus. I can’t say which one. Once the other co-chair, her fraternal twin sister Katie, learns of Melodie’s death, there’s going to be some serious fucking hell to pay!
I guarantee it!
It’s Friday again, and my initiation into the Sigmas is tonight. I’ve managed to do everything in my power to keep both my composure and a straight face. Even when I find myself walking past Melodie’s friends, I have to really give it my all to keep from going batshit crazy. Oh, those girls give me dirty looks. You know what I’m talking about!
In fact, I’m in the restroom over at Kendall Hall when I finally realize that I’ve made a critical mistake. I’m alone – without a Sigma brother or sister. Suddenly, I hear the door being pulled shut. I turn to see Katie Carlisle and two other girls beside her. No doubt, there are one or two more standing outside – keeping people out.

There’s nowhere to run! Katie Carlisle is on me just like that! She backs me up against a wall and presses a hand on my shoulder to hold me there. Then she glares into my eyes and gives me a deadly smile.
Her always-purring, whispering voice cuts me to the bone. “You were there last Friday night, Caprice. You didn’t kill Melodie, but you were there.”
“I . . . I . . . had no idea . . .” I stammer.
“You’re only a pledge, so why would you?” Katie shakes her head slowly. “And killing you isn’t an option. I would never allow that. You need make this right.”
“But . . . but . . .” I sputter.

Katie leans in and gently brushes her lips to mine and pecks them. “If you don’t . . . you’ll have so much to lose. All you’ve worked for, you’ll have just pissed away . . . It doesn’t have to be this way. You’re not initiated to Sigma yet. You still have time to do the right thing.”
“I’ll . . . go to the . . . the police,” I stammer.
“You can, but you’ll still lose everything.” Katie’s face is still dangerously close to mine. “And the police can’t protect you – not from us. If you really want to make things right . . . with yourself . . . with me . . .”
The other two girls gather in . . . There’s no way out of this!
It’s Friday night now. It’s my turn to become a full Sigma initiate. As with last Friday night, I’m sitting in between Blain and Constance in the back of Carson’s Mustang.
“Don’t worry, love,” Constance assures me. As before, she’s holding and caressing my hand. “I’ve been conditioning you all week. You’ve got this.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assure her.
Blain hands me the semi-automatic pistol. “Not the same one William used. Here you go. It’s fully locked and loaded.”
I take my hand back from Constance and cradle the pistol, which feels very heavy. I caress it and know that this piece of hot metal is the key to unlocking my whole future. Once I complete my initiation, the world is my oyster.
The Sigmas got intel that Katie Carlisle herself is going to be my target. She’s supposed to be heading down this county road that we’re turning onto right now. Supposedly, she takes this road when she wants to go home and visit her family. Remember, Katie and Melodie are both high-profile girls on our campu

Ep.30 – Savior of the Sea - Aquatic Horror from the Deep!

20 maj 2020 | 29 min

Episode Notes
A young woman is thrown into a world of horrors from the depths of the ocean as a creature has evil plans for her body AND her soul!
Savior of the Sea by "Splatter" 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
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Hannah dove behind the stainless steel cart in the hotel kitchen. The hissing sound continued in the hallway. She could see the shadow of the thing under the door where the hall light invaded the room. Revulsion rose inside her and she placed her hand over her mouth fearing an imminent vomit. How did this day turn into this? She asked herself. How does something like this happen?
                Two days ago she arrived in Portland for a dental convention. The hotel staff had been all friendly with her, the doorman, the desk clerk, even the maids wore a smile on their faces that first day. She went to the convention and sat through boring seminars all day and only wanted to return to her room for a long soak in the tub, but something had gone seriously wrong.
                The lobby was dark when she arrived. She used her cellphone to light her way towards the stairs. About halfway across the green carpet she almost fell when she stepped in something wet. The carpet sloshed under her feet.
                She heard a groan behind the desk and made her way there by LED torchlight. There she found the clerk laying behind the mahogany counter, clutching his stomach. She could see the red stains spreading on his white shirt.
                “I’ll call for help,” she whispered, but the clerk tugged on her leg with a bloody hand.
                “Run,” he said, and the look in his eyes sent shivers down Hannah’s spine. She turned back towards the door and that was when she first caught a glimpse of it.
                The body was slick with moisture, translucent and almost amorphous in design, but her eyes didn’t fixate on its body. It had long appendages, two on each side where arms should be, but these looked more like tentacles. They had to be at least ten feet long, and flopped across the wet carpet like an unmanned firehose.
                Its face reminded her of a squid. With a beak located centrally, it had no eyes on its slick face. She caught glimpses of sharp yellowish teeth when it opened its maw. Two thick squat legs held the atrocity upright, ending in clawed feet with three toes. It screeched at her sounding like a movie version of a pterodactyl. It was blocking the door, there was nowhere to escape.
                She ran towards the back, behind the counter, passing the dying clerk on the way. He still clutched his stomach. She passed through the doorway into a hall leading to some banquet rooms the hotel used from time to time. She saw the sign for the kitchen at the end of the hall and ran towards it.

                Now that creature had followed her. She whispered a prayer that it wouldn’t come in the kitchen where she was hiding, but she saw its tentacles slide across the floor and push against the double swinging door.
                With a push the door swung open and the creature probed the dark room with its tentacles. A nauseating smell reached Hannah as she tried not to freak out. She glances behind her looking for a way out. She carefully backed around the counter looking over her shoulder as the tentacles grew closer and closer to her, probing for its prey.
                Her feet struck something solid and she turned to find a counter behind her. Hanging on the edge was a magnetic strip with knives. She grabbed the biggest one she could find. Her eyes darted along the wall and she saw the exit sign above a side door. She started to make her way along the tiled floor.
                She nearly jumped out of her skin when the tentacles of the monster struck the cart she had his behind earlier, sending it into the wall. She had to consciously keep herself from screaming. As she approached the door she saw through the center island the creature in the isle next to hers. Its beak snapping at air as its ten foot tentacles grasped anything it could. It knew she was in here somewhere.
                It turned its eyeless face in her direction and screeched, sending a shower of black sickly liquid onto her. A feeling of dread overcame her and she tried to move but it was like she was glued to the floor. She fought the feeling, the lethargy settling in her bones like sand filling an hour glass. The longer she was there the harder it was getting.
                A tentacle came over the countertop, sending pots skittering on the floor near her feet and this time a small yelp escaped her lips. The creature turned in her direction and stepped onto the counter with surprising agility. All four tentacles were now probing this side of the center island.
                With a surge of self-preservation Hannah managed to get her muscles into motion. She darted for the side door with the exit sign. She heard the wet slap as the monster landed on the floor where she had been only seconds ago.
                She yanked hard on the doorknob of the wooden side door. It pulled open and she sighed in relief as she jumped through the opening, but she couldn’t get all the way through. Something had her leg. She looked down in horror as the tentacle wrapped around her slim ankle. She pulled as hard as she could, getting leverage from the door jamb with her other foot.
                The tentacle’s suckers undulated, almost snake like and started to work their way up her calf muscle. She saw another tentacle in the doorway seeking her flesh. A small barb rose from the translucent skin of the tentacle slowly, dripping with a green viscous fluid.
                Hannah kicked wildly in panic and broke free from the suckers that left small bruises on her leg. She turned and scrambled into the small service hall and ran right into a man. They both tumbled to the floor.
                “We got to go,” she yelled as she heard the screech from the kitchen.
                “Come now, relax. You’re ok,” the man said helping her to her feet. He was strong. He wore a black suit with an aquamarine button down shirt. His black hair was slicked back to just about shoulder length. His bright green eyes entrapped her for a second. IN that second the monster went away, all pain went away the world only consisted of this man.
                “Now tell me, what is all the fuss about,” he asked stroking her hair. She practically melted from his touch. This man was her world now.
                “The monster!” she said, suddenly remembering and turning in his arms. The creature stood ten feet from them, its tentacles flailing, but not approaching any closer.
                “The spawn of Cetus will not harm you,” the man said and Hannah felt her worried fade. No harm will come to you, if you play along.”
                “Play along?” she said.
                “I have come here to find a bride. I am sorry if The Spawn of Cetus frightened you. He can be a little…overzealous in his wishes to please me,” the man said.
                “That…thing works for you?” she said.
                “In a sense, yes,” he relied.
                Revulsion took ahold of Hannah and she tried to push away from the man, but his strong arms held her tight. She remembered the knife in her hand and thought about plunging it into the man’s ribs. Would that do the trick? She wondered.
                “What say you? Would you like to go home with me and be my queen?” the man asked and held her out at arm’s length, looking into her eyes.
                “I have a choice?” she asked.
                “Oh course you do,” he said with a laugh. “Free will is very important.”
                “Look, I just met you, don’t you think we should have a date first maybe, see if we have any common interests,” Hannah said looking for an escape route.
                “You would deny me?” he asked raising an eyebrow.
                “Well you would have to at least meet my parents first,” she quipped and gave him half a smile. She saw the rage start to consume his face
                “You jest at Pontus?” the man said. “This is a onetime offer. Take it seriously,” he said angrily. The Creature took a step towards her, screeching.
                “Let me go,” she said.
                “You refuse your better? This is why your world is doomed, mortal,” he said shaking his head, but he still didn’t let go. “Maybe you think yourself above the queen of the sea? Maybe I should teach you a lesson in humility,” he said and nodded towards the creature who began to move forward, its tentacles grasping Hannah’s ankles. With a quick tug it pulled her from her feet and she hit her head on the floor of the hallway, passing out.
                When she awoke she was in a dark place, like a basement or cave, the stone wall didn’t look like brick but carved. She was laying on a slab of stone, held down by two of the Spawn of Cetus’s tentacles, the other two were still wrapped around her ankles. Shadows danced on the low stone ceiling as she realized the light was reflected from moving water nearby. The smell of salt assaulted her nostrils.
                “Good, you are awake. Much like the land animal the horse I hear about, maybe your spirit needs to be broken,” Pontus said and raised his arm to the creature and nodded. He stepped back into the shadow behind her until she couldn’t see him anymore.
                The tentacles of the creature wrapped around her calf muscles and worked their way around, rising up her legs. She screamed and struggled against the bonds that held her, but they were solid.

Ep.29 – The Dinner Guests - Ruthless Killers for Supper!

13 maj 2020 | 32 min

Episode Notes
Two cold blooded killers are about to crash a dinner party, but the main course may be far more upsetting than anything they've cooked up.
The Dinner Guests 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
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Orville Trench admired his reflection in the car window. He missed his long black ponytail and beard. His hair was cut short now.
He ran a hand over his smooth chin. He’d had that beard so long, it was like cutting off a limb… but it had to go. It was time to get a new car too. The old one would be drawing too much attention soon.
Cherry Kowalski, the love of his life, appeared in the reflection. Her eyes were large, piecing and dark… dark to match her long, wild black hair, streaked with purple and green, that hung to her shoulders.
She twirled one of long strands of hair around her index finger. Hanging around her neck was a simple silver necklace, a small plastic baby arm dangled from it.
“You look good.” She said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Fuck you.” She laughed loudly, giving her lover double middle fingers.
Orville spun around, grabbing her by the shoulders. His eyes narrowed. “Oh yes. Yes indeed.”
He scanned the parking lot of the convenience store. There where only three cars here: an old pickup truck, a rusting black Camaro and an fairly new SUV. Not much to pick from.
Shouldn’t be that many people inside. He looked up at the sign over the door. It read: QUICK SAVE MART. It would be quick all right. He couldn’t wait to get out of East Fuck wit New York.

Orville touched the cold steel under his leather jacket. A Colt Trooper Mk III, like the sheriff carried in Walking Tall… the 70’s one. He loved that film, not that shit remake with the Nancy boy wrestler. It hung from a shoulder holster under his jacket. A flaming devil face was emblazoned across the jacket’s back.
Just as he expected, the door had a little bell that chimed when it opened.
He sized up the store. Orville liked to think of himself as a hunter, though what he hunted you didn’t buy a license for.
The store was typical; five aisles of various overpriced crap, cold drinks in the back and some not so fresh looking coffee. The kid behind the counter, who couldn’t be older then twenty, didn’t even look up from his cell phone when they entered. He was dressed to the nines in Eminem castoffs. Another white boy wannabe… he’d be easy enough.
Picking through the beer was a bear of a man. Dirty coveralls, baseball cap and a long graying beard… had to be the pickup driver. This one could be trouble. He’d be the first.
The last customer was a young woman; mid-twenties. Two in the afternoon and she’s wearing fucking pajamas. Orville shakes his head. Two bad for her, she wasn’t his type.
“Anything look good to you hon?” He asks Cherry.
“Slim pickings.”
The big man came up to the counter, carrying two six packs. He sets them on the counter. It took a couple seconds before the kid looked up from his phone.
“That all Mr. Scott?” The kid asked.
“For now. You know that damned phone gonna turn you into a zombie Jimmy. All you kids just stare at ‘em all the time. Sucking your minds out.”
“Not just kids doing it. Seen plenty of adults too.”
Scott opens his wallet. “Goddamn right about that. The wife is always doing that Facebook shit. Why you think I got these for tonight?”
The two laugh.
Cherry makes a mock vomiting face to Orville. Orville mouths “Which one?”
Cherry nods towards large Mr. Scott.
“Gonna start off Friday night right.” Scott says.
Cherry slides up next to him. She leans against the counter, showing Jimmy her cleavage. His eyes go right to it.
“How’s about speeding up all the talky talky?” She says.
“Excuse me young lady.” Scott says. “No need to be fucking rude.”
Orville stood next to the coffee pot watching Cherry do her thing. He poured himself a cup, dropping in a ton of creamer and sugar. He gulping down the cup in one go.
“I just want to make a purchase and go, not listen to your fucking life story.” She says noticing she’s not even holding anything. Cherry quickly grabs a handful of Slim Jims. “These delicious treats. Yum Yum.”
Scott shakes his head and turns back to Jimmy. “What do I owe you?”
Orville lets his eye flicker over to the female shopper. She’d selected some chips and now stood in front of the soda cooler... oblivious to the fun up front.
Scott payed Jimmy and turned to leave, picking up his beer. Cherry blocked his way.
“Excuse me miss.”
“No. No. You don’t get to leave until you apologize.” Cherry stomped her booted foot hard on the floor.
“Just get out of my way crazy bitch.” He tried to push past her.
Angry, Cherry clawed him in the face, opening red trenches on the left side of his face.
“Bitch!” Scott dropped both of his six packs to the floor with a crash. Some of the cans exploded in a foamy blast.
He made an unsuccessful grab at Cherry.
“Too slow!” She laughed.
Scott lunged at Cherry only to come face to face with Orville’s Colt Trooper. Orville smiled a wicked smile as he pulled the hammer back.
“Hands off my girl.”
He pulled the trigger sending Scott’s brains all over the newspaper rack. Scott fell to the ground, twitching. Lying on his back Orville fired a couple more shots into the dying man’s chest.
He saw Jimmy behind the counter, his face slack with dull horror.
Orville pointed the Colt at him. “Stay planted right there zit boy. You move. You die.”
The boy nodded.
“Shit Ory, he was mine!” Cherry pouts.
“And you took too long.”
The female shopper screamed at the top of her lungs and bolted.
Orville sighs. “Get her.”
Cherry let out a bloodcurdling scream and pursued her prey.
Cherry grabbed cans from one of the shelves and hurled them at the woman.
“Where you going baby?”
A can hit one of the glass coolers, cracking it. Another one hit the woman’s leg. She fell against a display of dog biscuits, knocking it over in a loud crash.
Cherry picked up a loaf of bread and beat the woman with it.
“Give up?” She laughed, pulling the woman up by the hair.
Orville watches the sad spectacle laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy inched towards his phone on the back counter.

“Don’t even think about it white chocolate.”
Cherry marched the pajama clad shopper up to the counter. Upon seeing Scott lying on the ground in a pool of blood, the captive started to sob.
“Oh god…don’t hurt me.”
Orville looked at the woman. “Don’t worry, nobody’s getting hurt as long as you give us a little ride.”
A glint of metal caught his eye. Too late he saw Jimmy aiming a cheap pistol at him. The nervous boys squeezed the trigger, trying to fire one handed. The pistol fired wild; the bullet whizzed past Orville and hit the female shopper in the throat.
Orville took aim with the Colt and blasted Jimmy between the eyes. The boy slumped dead against a display of Lotto tickets.
“Damn.” Orville says. “That was something.”
Orville looked over the side of the counter at Jimmy; what brains he had leaking out of the wound above his eyes. Orville shot him again.

“You get to have all the fun.” Cherry pouts.
He holstered the Colt. “Get some supplies for the road.”
Orville walked over to the body of the woman, he crouched down and turned her on her back. She stared up at him with lifeless eyes. He rummaged through her pajama pockets, and pulled out a pair of keys.
He was about to stand when a bell dinged as a car pulled up to one of the pumps. He looked back at Cherry filling up a plastic bag with some groceries.

“Get down.” He hissed. “We’ve got company.”
Orville peeked around an endcap of beef-jerky. It was hard to make out the car or the driver since they were on the other side of the gas pumps, but he thought he got a glimpse of long blonde hair.
All the while Orville kept his eyes on the new arrival. They stepped from behind the pump… he was right! It was a girl, about eighteen… long blonde hair, longer legs. Instantly Orville felt his crotch come alive. Goddamn he wanted to fuck her on the spot!
This called for a change of plans. He’d planned on taking the woman in pajamas hostage… having her drive them somewhere secluded and lie low… but White Chocolate got trigger happy and fucked that up. So, he’d settled for just taking her car and some supplies and hightailing it.
But now Blondie had dropped into their laps, and if he was lucky, she’d be riding it later tonight. After he was done Cherry could have a go, she’d like that. Orville licked his lips at the thought.
From behind the counter another urgent beep as the blonde pressed a button on the pump. Finally giving up, she walked frustrated towards the store.

“Here we go.” Orville whispered.
The blonde pulled the door open, making the bell chime as she unknowingly stepped into hell.
“Jimmy, you awake in here?” She asked, a second before seeing the blood. “Jimmy?”
“Nope.” Orville stood, the Colt pointed at her. “Jimmy’s on break.”
“Blood.” The girls said, biting her lip. “Did you…”
“Sure did!” Cherry said, as she walked towards them carrying an overstuffed bag of groceries. “How sweet! Fresh meat!”
“She’s also going to be our ride out of here, ain’t you baby?”
The girl looked down at the bodies then up at Orville and Cherry, dumbstruck.
“Right?” Orville said, a bit annoyed. He took the blonde’s chin with his hand and forced the girl to nod in agreement. “Right.”
He took his hand away, leaving bloody finger prints.
“Who are you?” The girl asked, her voice quivering.
“I’m a demon.” Orville answered. “Straight from hell. I eat up little girls like you.”
“You’re gonna kill me.”
“Depends. What’s your name sweetness?”
“Lauren. Lauren Dohler.”
Orville looked Lauren over. “Well Lauren, where were

Ep.28 – AIDS Mary - Urban Legend of Vengeance!

6 maj 2020 | 26 min

Episode Notes
After a heinous crime is committed against two young women they begin exercising bloody vengeance in horrific ways. Based on the urban legend of the same name!
AIDs Mary by Rob Fields
Read more about the legend at: https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/aids-mary/
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:
Raymond Burr reached his girlfriend’s off-campus apartment. He looked at the tenant listings and pressed the buzzer button next to M. Wright. Moments later, he was buzzed in.
He went down the hall to the corresponding apartment and knocked on the door. It opened shortly after.
Raymond’s girlfriend stood there, dressed in an oversized T-shirt.
“Anne, hi,” Raymond said.
“Hey.” She stepped aside to let him in.
Raymond kissed Anne on the lips. Then it turned into a more passionate kiss. Anne began to moan a little. When Raymond felt her hands in his hair, he moved a hand to grope one of her breasts.
Suddenly, Anne gasped.
“Raymond, stop!” she commanded.
When he wouldn’t relent, she grabbed his hair. “Get off me, goddamn it!”
When he realized that she was serious, he obeyed.
She glared at him. “Is this all you want from me when we’re together? Is that all we are to you and your fucking fraternity brothers – sex toys?”
He groaned in frustration. “Jesus, Anne, what the fuck? You join a convent or something? It used to be you wanting to fuck all the time. Now you’re all holier-than-thou.” He groaned again. “You’ve been like this for weeks. I’m trying to be patient, but I’m at my end. You wanna break up?”
Anne started crying. “I’m sorry, Raymond. I just don’t think I can be sexual with you anymore.” She looked at him sharply. “Do you love me? Tell me the truth.”
He took a deep breath. “You know I love you. I do. But you gotta tell me what’s wrong.”
A long silence. “I’m late.”
“Late? What do you mean?”
Her glare was stronger. “I’m late! As in . . . I missed my period. As in I got pregnant.”
His eyes grew wide. “You’re . . . pregnant?”
She went to the bathroom and returned with three sticks in her hand: 2 white and 1 pink. “I got pregnant – three different tests.”
He took the sticks from her, all showing plus signs. Then he looked back at her. “You’re sure?”
She glared at him again. “You want me to take another test? You want to fuck me again, just to make sure they’re right?”
He threw the sticks down and grabbed her shoulders. “That’s enough!” When he saw her fear, he quickly released her. “Let’s talk.”
“What’s there to say?” she whispered.
A long pause. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Raymond asked.
She groaned. “I didn’t want a baby!” She wiped away tears, then pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out!”
Without another word, she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. The lock clicked soon after . . .
Raymond returned to his dorm. He wanted to comfort Anne, but he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t bear to hear Anne sobbing behind her bathroom door.
Suddenly, his smartphone rang. He answered it. “What?!”
“Turn on the news, man! Do it now!”
“Marcus, I don’t have time for this.”
“Mary’s here! She’s on our campus! Jeff’s dead!”
Raymond quickly reached for the TV remote. He turned the news on and recognized the building where the news cameras were. It was the Delta Omega Kappa fraternity house on the other side of Strickfield University.
As the reporter talked about the incident, the camera switched to a bedroom inside the house.
“Did you see it – on the mirror? It was in Carl’s room, too!”
The camera stopped on the mirror and zoomed in.
Raymond remembered hearing about this same message two days ago. The message was written in red lipstick. The words in the message were identical:
WELCOME TO
MY WORLD
OF AIDS!
“You still there, dude?”
Raymond found his voice. “I’ll be right over.”
Raymond met up with Marcus in front of the DOK house. Just seeing his look of horror sent a shiver down his spine.
Marcus grabbed his arm. “The rest of us are over at Masterson Hall.”
The two fraternity brothers walked to the other side of campus. When they entered the building, Raymond saw that there were only two others there. When they stopped, Raymond turned to Marcus.
“You said the rest of us were here.”
“This is the rest of us, Raymond. Carl was on the news two days ago. The cops found his body at the Lemley Hotel off the main highway. The gun was in his hand and rest of his head all over the fucking walls.
Carl saw Mary’s message on the mirror and he blew his head off – AIDS Mary.”
Raymond wanted to laugh. “AIDS Mary?!” Then he regarded all of them. “How do you people know her fucking name? There something you wanna tell me?”
“You should be afraid, too,” James Clarke stammered. “She’ll come for you, too.”
“She’ll come for all of us,” Marv Vernon added. “Ain’t no coincidence she got Carl, then Jeff.”
He stood up. “That fucking bitch has AIDS, and now she wants to give it to us. We know what she looks like, but she still got Carl and Jeff to fuck her anyway.”
Raymond raised his hand. “How do you know she screwed them? Were you there?”
“Their bodies were found – naked,” Marcus said. “Didn’t you watch the report on Carl? Why would she put that fucking message on the mirrors? She definitely fucked them both.”
Raymond was frustrated. “Assholes, you need to talk to me! Why is this AIDS Mary after everybody in our fraternity?”
A brief silence . . . Then one of them said, “We raped her!”
Raymond’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?!”
“I said, we raped her!”
“That’s what I thought you said.” Raymond took a deep breath. “Okay . . . Tell me more.”
Marcus sat down with the others. “Earlier this semester, while you were taking a make-up exam, we went out looking for girls. We found this high school chick in a bar – drunk as shit. We brought her back to the house. We felt playful and started touching her. When she backed off, we grabbed her and took her down to the floor. She wasn’t as drunk as we thought since she tried fighting us off.”
Raymond groaned. “Un_fucking_believable!”
“Except it wasn’t just her. It was them – as in it wasn’t just Mary.”
Raymond’s jaw dropped. “Jesus Christ, how many girls did you rape that night?! Three?! Five?! A hundred?!”
“Two,” Marv replied. “Just two.”
Raymond faked a smile. “Okay, you raped two girls. Where’d you get the other one?”
“A girl saw us through a window. She ran, but we caught her and –”
“I can’t believe this shit!” Raymond roared in anger. “So . . . another girl saw you . . . was gonna blow the whistle and – ! What happened after you finished with them?!”
“We took Mary back to her high school and left here there. The other girl ran off. We were all still drunk, so we don’t really remember what she looked like.”
Raymond waved his hand frantically. “Okay, how do you know it’s this AIDS Mary? How do you know it’s not the other girl?”
Marcus handed Raymond he had been holding. “Open it.”
Raymond opened the envelope and removed the paper. It was the results of a hospital AIDS test, which was positive. The recipient was Mary Richter.
Raymond gave the items back. “Okay . . . But what I really wanna know . . . ? Which one of you motherfuckers gave it to her?”
The guys looked at each other in bewilderment.
Raymond laughed scornfully. “Are you fucking serious?!”
He calmed down. “You shitheels raped two girls. You have a hospital report saying one of them’s got full-blown AIDS. It never occurred to you that one of you has it?”
No replies.
Raymond sighed. “Okay, I’ll add something. You dumbasses probably all have it now. You all took turns with Mary, right?” When the others looked at each other in horror, he knew he had them. “You gotta get your sorry asses to a hospital – stat! If you all have AIDS, you know why.”
Raymond raised his finger. “Then . . . ! Turn yourselves in to the police and confess to everything. AIDS Mary’s still out there, right? She knows you shitheads – what you did to her. You’ll all be lipstick on mirrors eventually. Me? I’m leaving. I got problems of my own. And I’m done with this fucking fraternity. AIDS Mary ain’t coming for me since I wasn’t in on the rape. Have a nice life, gentlemen.”
Without another word, Raymond left Masterson Hall and walked back to his dorm.
A week later, Raymond was in his room, still trying to talk to Anne. This time it was on video chat. Clearly, she was still down about her pregnancy. Not wanting to talk any further, she disconnected on him.
He decided to turn on the news.
He nearly dropped the remote when he saw the top story. Like the other DOK brothers, James had been found in his room – wrists slit. A familiar message was written on the full-length mirror in lipstick:
WELCOME TO
MY WORLD
OF AIDS!
Raymond turned off the TV and raced to see if the other frat brothers were still alive.
When he reached the fraternity house, he ran inside and shouted for them.
No reply!
He raced upstairs. When he reached Marv’s room, he looked in. The room was empty.
He moved to Marcus’s room. Empty! Now he was worried. From past experiences, he knew there was always a frat brother at the house.
Raymond moved throughout the rest of the house. As he was about to leave, he remembered the basement and headed to that door.
Upon reaching it, he opened the door and flipped the light switch. Nothing!
He turned and headed to the kitchen. He flipped the switches there. Nothing! He went to a drawer and pulled out a knife.
He returned to the basement and descended slowly.
Once off the bottom step, he looked around uneasily. He saw the back room and walked quietly towards it.
He peeked in and saw that Marcus was tied to the bed – in just his boxers. When Marcus saw him, his eyes widened and he made

Ep.27 – The Cat's Out of the Bag - Death and Revenge!

29 april 2020 | 22 min

Episode Notes
After running over her brother's cat with her car young Michelle becomes tormented by feelings of guilt but is that the only thing haunting her?
The Cat's Out of the Bag by Morgan Moore
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
The sound of tires screeching tore through the air as a Mitsubishi Lancer came to a sudden and jerky stop.
Bursting out of the drivers side of the car came a girl of about 15. She made her way to the back of the car, as her passenger… a girl as well, joined her.
The two girls looked down at the ground and saw a black cat in rough shape.. its midsection had been crushed in, and it’s brains oozed out.
“Oh shit!” The former driver croaked out, panic flooding over her face.
“What’s the matter?” Her friend asked. “It’s only a cat.”
“No it’s not just a cat. It’s my brother’s cat!” She explained as her face grew red and her voice jumped between panic and frustration.
“Oh. Well shit is right then. You’re screwed Michelle.”
“Like I didn’t figure that one out Arianna!” Michelle nearly shouted at her friend.
It didn’t take her long to figure it out at all. The cat had been living with Michelle and her family for a couple of months now. They had noticed it coming around the neighborhood and specifically that it was hanging around their house.
Michelle’s mom figured it was maybe because some old cat food from their last cat might still be in the yard since it lived outside, or that it was trying to just find scraps from the garbage. Cats in general always seemed to roam around their neighborhood, and so they paid no attention to it.
That is until the darn thing somehow got itself stuck in their attic.
Her dad managed to get it down and once it saw her brother Mark it became attached to him and vice-versa.
Mark loved the cat and never let it outside out of fear it, which he later named ‘Munk’, would leave and never come back. To the credit of Mark and her parents, the cat was never let out and they did everything they could to make sure it couldn’t escape.
Unfortunately it seemed they didn’t do the best of jobs today.
Michelle didn’t know how Munk got out, she could only guess that maybe she and Arianna didn’t shut a door as well as they normally would in their rush to go meet up with some friends.
No matter how the cat got out, it did, and in their focus on friends and fun, didn’t pay attention as Munk began to cross the road in front of them… they only knew they had run over the poor cat as they did the deed.
“Dammit, what am I going to do?!” Michelle questioned.
The two teenagers looked again at the cat, their stomachs churning at the grotesque image.
Arianna was the first to break the sudden silence.
“Just get rid of it. It’s just a dead cat… nobody saw us hit the stupid thing, so just throw it away somewhere and problem solved.”
Michelle looked at her friend in astonishment.
“You want me to just dump it? You want me to just dump my brother’s cat?” Her voice grew in anger.
“Well… yeah. It’s not like he’ll know you did it. He’ll figure it jus… ran away or something.”
“You do realize how protective he is of the stupid thing right? He goes apeshit if it even looks like it might escape or get hurt.”
“Look,” Arianna started in a soothing tone. “Mistakes happen. Maybe we didn’t close the door all the way… maybe the wind blew it open enough for it to escape… heck, you said the cat once got in your attic… maybe it did a similar thing this time. Point being… shit happens, and cats are tricky little shits. He will never know and never has to know.”
The two girls looked down at the cat again, the image of its corpse becoming a bit easier to handle.
Michelle had to admit that Arianna had a point.
To the best of their knowledge, no one had seen them hit the cat, and even if they did they wouldn’t know whose it was.
Michelle sighed and took a deep breath.
“You’re right. Shit happens. Besides, cats tend to just… leave anyway.” Michelle opined.
“See? Now you’re thinking. Plus it’s a black cat, they’re unlucky. Maybe it rubbed some of that bad luck on him.” Arianna suggested as a smile grew on her face. “Hell it crossed your path, maybe you’ve been marked for bad luck now.” She added with a small snicker.
“Oh shut up and help me get rid of this stupid thing.” Michelle returned.
The two girls leaned down and picked up the cat, their faces twisted in disgust as the unfortunate animal’s blood ran through their fingers and down their arms… a final warmth before the coldness of death.
They moved quickly over to Michelle’s car and put the cat in the back seat.
Each girl gave a quick look around the area before getting in the car and speeding off.
Later the girls arrived on a secluded bike path and, once deep into it, threw Munk’s body into a group of trees before running back to the car.
Once inside Michelle and Arianna looked at each other. After a moment they nodded their heads and drove away, off to spend time with their friends.
It didn’t take long for Mark to notice.
That night, when Michelle came home, she found her parents and Mark trying to hunt down the cat… Mark was in an outright frenzy.
Her parents explained that Munk had somehow ran out from the house and they couldn’t find her.
They had driven and walked around the neighborhood and even had asked some of the neighbors, but neither they, nor anybody, knew where the cat may have gone.
This brought some relief to Michelle… enough so that she was able to fall into a deep, guilt-free slumber that night.
As the days went on the search for Munk grew. Her folks put up posters throughout town and made posts on social media asking friends to keep an eye out… and Michelle did so as well, never letting on that the cat’s blood was on her hands.
Mark however went from searching in a frenzy, to searching in flat out hysteria.
He would stay up all night looking around the neighborhood, putting out her favorite treats to try and lure her back to him.
This led to him skipping school to continue the search, something which both the school and their parents became more than upset about.
This resulted in Michelle’s parents trying to reign in the grief… to regain the control… to make restrictions on the time allotted to searching for the feline.
All this did was make Mark angrier at the situation… and while he would go to school, the random unprovoked fights he instigated proved he had nothing but hostility regarding the situation of losing his beloved cat.
Days became weeks and then weeks became a month and no sign of Munk had yet to surface… not that one ever would.
It was at this point that Michelle and Mark’s parents simply stopped looking and caring. They kept reminding people on social media about the reward, but the intensity they first had vanished and they simply came to the conclusion Munk was gone forever.
Michelle went through the motions of her normal life, but the guilt was bubbling more and more as she watched her brother become more obsessed and depressed over Munk being gone.
Whenever she and Arianna hung out they would never bring it up, only acknowledging it every so often with a knowing look… even in private they never discussed it save for Arianna asking how Mark was doing and leaving it at that.
And so their days became ever more hellish;Mark was falling into a deep depression, and Michelle was overwhelmed with guilt and shame that continually churned inside of her. Any cat she saw made her think of Munk.
When she would be alone in the dark she could swear she saw the cat moving in the darkness,waiting for an opportunity to strike and exact revenge on her.
Soon it was becoming clear to her that she was falling into a pit of paranoia.
In the back of her mind she thought that it was due to the folly of her and Arianna, their rush to go meet with friends, that gave Munk the chance to sneak out. At first she would blame Mark for not teaching the dumb thing to not even approach a door, let alone to fear going back outside now that it had a home.
But in the end there was no clear sign as to how the door was able to open enough and why Munk decided to go out for a stroll. The only thing crystal clear was that it was Michelle who ran over the poor thing. It was Michelle who went along with the idea to simply just dispose of the body. It was Michelle who made the decision to not tell her parents what had happened, and it was she that made the decision to not tell her brother. No matter how she spun it in her head, no matter what Arianna told her, no matter what it was purely and simply Michelle at fault, and she was tired of the guilt she felt.
After about two months of searching Michelle decided it was time to come clean about the whole situation.
She came home from school one day and saw a note from her parents saying that they’d be gone for the weekend to visit some relatives. The siblings were on their own.
Michelle went upstairs to tell her brother about it and saw him sitting on his bed, his face distraught and filled with sadness. Now was the time to tell him. Michelle knocked on his door and her brother turned his head some to see what the cause of the noise was.
“Mind if I come in?”
“No… ” Mark replied solemnly as he returned his gaze downward.
Michelle walked over to his bed and sat down. She never really enjoyed being in her brother’s room. It always smelled putrid even with both him and mom going through cans of air freshener and wax melts.
Her parents theorized it was due to Mark’s room having a little crawlspace that tended to catch a lot of water whenever it rained, and so the smell probably came from rotting wood. Arianna had once said her brother’s room smelled too

Ep.26 – Echoes - Ghosts Among Us!

22 april 2020 | 29 min

Episode Notes
An unwitting waitress falls in love with a man who seems to be out of time, but perhaps her time is up as an apparition begins stalking her.
Echoes by Shane Migliavacca
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcript:
I first met him last week. I'd heard about the new guy in town before that. Castle, New York was the smallest of small towns. Word travels fast when somebody new moves to town. People speculate on the stranger in town. Travis looked like he stepped out of one of those '50's biker films. Last Thursday he walked into the diner I work at. I couldn't take my eyes off him. And he knew it. He caught me looking at him and smiled that sly smile of his. My eyes darted away. I tried to make it look like I was just looking around the diner. But it was too late. He strode over to me.
"Hello there." He said.
"Hey."
I tried to sound confident. Like I didn't give a fuck, but my voice cracked. He smiled at me.
"Can I get a chocolate milkshake to go?"
"Su-Sure.
"Heard they're like wow here."
I started making the shake as he leaned on the counter. He looked at his reflection in the glass case of donuts. Adjusting his hair.
"Yeah, they're really good." I said. I was trying to think of something cool to say. But I was managing to think of one damn thing.
"lived here all your life?" He asked.
"Unfortunately."
"Ain't so bad. I've been to worse."
I finished the shake and brought it over to him. He gave me a wink and took a sip. Before I could say anything he slid a ten dollar bill across the counter. A large silver ring gleamed on his hand. He turned and started to leave.
"Let me get your change."
"The rest is for you dolly."
I watched him go. Dolly? I felt a bit offended. But at the same time I was feeling something else. Love? Lust?
Whatever it was it made me somewhat forgiving of the dolly remark.
"So, that's the new guy? Not bad."
I turned it was my coworker and friend Bren. She adjusted her raven hair.
"What'd he say to you Ronny?"
"Nothing much. Just wanted a milkshake."
"Yeah yours."
We both laughed. Bren has this obnoxious laugh that usually ends up making me laugh harder.
The next day he didn't show up. But the day after he was there again. This time wanting a milkshake and a burger. No matter who waited on him he always ended up talking to me. Usually asking me about some town thing or whatnot. Always coming in at the same time, every other day.
It continued like this for a month. We'd small talk a little and then he'd leave. I never saw him outside of the diner. Then one day he changed the routine.
I got of work one sunny Monday afternoon and Travis was waiting for me. He was leaning ever so slightly against the side of the diner. He smiled at me.
"Hey." I said.
"Hey." He answered. He flicked out a metal lighter and lit a really slim cigarette. "So what do you do for a kick around here?"
"There's the movie theater or the bowling alley."
"No. No. You." He took a puff.
"Me? Uh, not much."
"Naw? Dang shame. Pretty girl like you."
"Uh, thanks."
The flattery made me blush. Was he hitting on me? I sucked at this kind of thing. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to say anything.
"I haven't found much in town to get excited about." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "So I was wondering if you want to hang?"
I thought for a second. He's asking me out. I suck at dating. He's good looking and seems nice, but there's no way a date between us won't end in embarrassment for me and perhaps him too. How to talk him out of it?
"It's kind of been a rough day, you know? Mondays. I just want to go back home and chill."
"It don't have to be today."
"Oh, cool."
"So, wanna see a flick?" He said. "Show the new guy the sights?"
"Sure." I guess. Am I really going to really do this?
Yeah. I guess I was. Why not? I deserved some fun, right? Right. You do. Bren was always trying to get me to go out. This would really shock her.
"Tomorrow night good?"
I thought about it. Did he know I didn't have work the day after?
"Sure."
"Aces. It's a date then. I'll let you pick the flick. Cool?"
"Yeah."
He looked a me. "You should always have you hair like that."
I touched my hair. I forgot I tie it back at work. This was probably the first time he saw it lose.
"It's so beautiful and red. Like a Rose."
"Thanks."
My face lit up as I blushed. Great.
"Gotta run babe. Be seeing you." He did a little point at me and winked before leaving.
What had I got myself into?

Our first date went well. As did the next three. Before I realized it we were a "thing" in town. I think Bren was jealous. For our fifth date Travis wanted to take me on a picnic to Harmony Lake. It would be our first date in a less public place. I wasn't to worried. On every date Travis had been quite the gentlemen.
I was getting ready in the apartment I share with Bren. I stood doing my hair. Bren was watching me.
"You look good. Let it go." She said.
I turned from the mirror and presented myself. "You think?" Twirling around in my dress. It's maybe only the third time I've ever worn the thing.
"Your hideous."
"Hilarious."
"Seriously hon, you look amazballs."
She hugged me. "Have fun at the lake, try not to get too lucky."
"Hey. It's been awhile. But not that long."

Travis picked me up in his in his 1957 Plymouth Fury. It was a convertible. The thing looked like a shark that decided to crawl out of the ocean and start looking for meals on land. He tooted the horn as he pulled up.
"You look stunning babe." He said.
Ever the gentleman he wouldn't let me into the car until he got out and opened the door for me. Some real old song was playing on the car radio. I don't think he listened to anything after the '50's.
We headed out of town as The King sang on the radio.
"I can't get over your car Travis." I said. "It looks so good for it's age."
"I take care of this baby. Means a lot to me, sentimental value. I keep her cherry. I try to get maximum performance."
He steps on the gas and we're moving a little too fast through town. I look at him nervous as he speeds up.
"Don't sweat it Rose. I got this."
Travis had started calling me Rose. Honestly I didn't mind. He took my hand.
"I think today is gonna be special."

The lake looked beautiful in the summer sun as we walked to a nice secluded spot under a large tree. Travis left the car radio on. An old song started.
"Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet"
He set down a large blanket. "My dear." He said. Ushering me to the blanket.
We'd brought quite the selection of food. Travis popped open a bottle of wine. Was that weird for a picnic? He caught me making a face.
"Don't tell me you don't drink wine?"
"No. Just seems a bit much for an afternoon picnic."
"Well it's a celebration too babe."
"It is? What are we celebrating?"
"Five dates."
I laugh. "Okay. I'll drink to that."
"My love she did not know"
The odd song played on as he pours us each a glass of wine. We eat and I take a couple sips of wine. I haven't had much in the way of wine, but this is really good. Wonder where he dug it up around here? As we ate we talk, mostly about me. He's always has so many questions. Every time I ask him something about him, he seems sad. Almost on the verge of tears. I don't want to bring up any bad memories. As we talk my head starts to feel light. The sun seems to get brighter. I get a whole hell of a lot of dizzy.
"Which was a dreadful sign"
"What's up Ronny?"
"Wow, getting a head rush."
I try to stand up but my legs feel like rubber. Travis catches me as I come crashing back down.
On the radio, the song keeps repeating.
"A dreadful sign"
He brushes the hair out of my face and gives me a sad smile.
"I'm so sorry doll."
"Wha-What? Sorry about..." I stammer. My mouth doesn't want to move.
"I'm sorry. You have to die. All beauty must die. It's my curse."
I summon up all my strength and push away from Travis. He tries to grab me, pull me back and I scratch his face with my nails. Trying to stand again I fall to my knees. The world shaking apart at the seams. My eyelids feel heavy. Every time I blink it's feels like it'll be my last. Maybe if I just sleep it'll be better. I'll wake up from this nightmare.
No! Fight it!
I start crawling on all fours. Dragging myself. Digging my nails into the ground. My nails....I scratched him. Have to get away. Have to fight. Get to the car.
"A dreadful sign"
I see someone standing by Travis' car. Can't make them out. Why won't they...
"Help! Please!"
"Rose. No one can help. I'm sorry."
He grabs me by the leg pulling me back. Travis turns me over. Glaring at me. The scratches on his face aren't bleeding.
"I like playing with you Rose." He said. "But my dear your breaking my heart."
"Fu-Fuck you."
I try to hit him, but I have no strength left. Why won't that person do something?
He stands up, pulling a large knife from his leather jacket.
"I could gut you. But that's no fun. Not any more."
He looks at his reflection on the knife blade. He adjusts his hair. I used to find his vanity cute. Bastard.
"The poison isn't killing you. Just making it hard for you to do anything."
"Why?"
"Why not."
I tried to move my head to see if that person was still standing there.
"A dreadful sign"
Why is that song repeating? Is that an effect from the drugs?
Travis notices me trying to look at the car. He walks towards the car. I can hear him talking to somebody I think.
"Go away." He says. "You're not welcome here."
He turns the radio off. The song ending with a loud hiss of static. I hear the car door slam shut.
Who was that? Who was he talking to?
After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes Travis comes back holding a large cinder block and rope.
"Comfortable doll?"
"Go to h

Ep.25 – The God Tongue - Monsters of the Woods Are Coming

15 april 2020 | 20 min

Episode Notes
Ezra was born without a tongue, but now something devious will allow him to speak for them... Urban legends meet body horror in this frightening tale!
The God Tongue by Dan Wilder
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Born without a tongue to grant him the power of speech, Ezra had long been the target of derision by his peers, so much so that when his beloved mother had breathed her last he abandoned the home in which he was raised and took to the hills and forests that bordered the microcosm of the World’s backwards notions that was the town of Jayden’s Cross. Once there, Ezra built himself a modest cabin, financed with his meager inheritance, where he could find solace away from the chorus of mocking voices.
Living off the land, Ezra killed only that which he could consume, and his growling stomach, coupled with his barren icebox, had told him it was high time to venture out into the crisp Autumnal evening. After long, fruitless hours Ezra had seen nary a hint of prey, and though the moon hung swollen in the sky, a mist had begun to encroach upon the landscape of stoic pines that pointed like accusing fingers at the heavens. Ezra exhaled wearily and sat down at the base of the nearest pine. The miasma played seductively at his neck and chin, causing his skin to turn to gooseflesh as the fog was a great deal cooler than the air that surrounded it.
Ezra closed his eyes for a moment and let the symphony of the forest fill his ears, and for minutes it did just that until his placid repose was shattered by the sound of a twig breaking that echoed through the cool air like the report of a shotgun being discharged. Ezra’s eyes snapped open and, as his gaze furtively darted to and fro, he spied majestic antlers rising from the fog. In a fluid motion, he rose to his feet and brought the sight of his Remington rifle to bear on the dark shape that stood just below the mist. Ezra squeezed the trigger sending fire and thunder forth into the night, and as soon as they appeared the antlers fell.
He bolted forward through the swirling grey, which seemed to recoil from his advancing form as if it fearful of his presence, to his quarry. As he approached, the fog had now parted and refused to trespass where the beast lay. And while Ezra was unable to give voice to his shock, his slack jaw and bulging eyes more than conveyed his emotions, for while he expected to find a stag he instead found a caricature of a man, albeit a man with antlers.
Ezra kneeled and rolled the creature on its back; its lifeless eyes were large, dark and set wide upon a face covered in course black fur. It wore little in the way of clothing, just a simple robe from which extended limbs that resembled a dog’s leg that ended in long tapered fingers tipped in crimson nails. It was in one such appendage that the creature clutched what at first appeared to Ezra to be a smooth ebony stone. He reached for the object and found it malleable and warm; more flesh than mineral. As he turned the artifact over and over in his palm the mist began to slowly creep back…and with it came the inhuman wailing.
Ezra panicked as the mist around him produced it’s litany of grief, which resulted in a mad flight through the dense pines. As he ran, Ezra could feel the miasma strike his legs as it began to solidify into long, lashing tendrils. As if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, the wailing had now transformed into protracted screams of pure rage.
Onward he flew, tripping and struggling as the fog continued its battery. Finally he saw the familiar outline of his cabin in the clearing just beyond the forest. He threw his weight against the unlocked front door and exploded into his domain. In an instant he slammed shut the door, threw the bolt into place, and collapsed to the floor in a crumpled mass of pure exhaustion.
He sat for long minutes as hot tears ran down his cheeks and his heart beat so fast and hard that at any other time he would have been sure he was having a heart attack. Indeed, his hammering pulse was all he could hear, and it was that fact that made him realize that whatever outré abominations he had left behind in the woods, they had decided not to stray from that realm.
Finally he gained control of his faculties. Moving his hands to his face to rub the last vestiges of tears from his eyes, Ezra realized he still clutched that preternatural stone, and where once it was merely matte black, now it glowed a brilliant gold from a thousand hairline cracks that crossed it’s surface like arteries no wider than a human hair.
Ezra was entranced by the artifact, so entranced he failed to notice the mist that crept ever closer along the floorboards as it issued forth from the small wood burning stove behind him. Ever onward it came, crawling up his back until finally it plunged deep into his brain via his left ear canal. Ezra’s brain exploded with a thousand images of a history not his own.
He saw an endless array of beings; more beast than man; hideous and beautiful in equal measure. He floated onward, through a great city beneath the forest floor. Finally he saw a diaphanous stag; over twenty feet high, its head adorned with seven sets of antlers. The image swirled and rippled as the sight of that ebony edifice he held filled his field of vision.
Ezra felt his arm move of its own accord, and while he struggled to make it remain at rest, he was powerless to stop its ascent or the action which followed; his hand simply placed the glowing midnight hued object into his mouth which had mechanically opened to accept it. For the briefest of seconds he could taste infinity, and with that he could feel a new organ grow inside him; a tongue which pulsed and throbbed within his mouth. His first words were a scream, then came blackness.
“You murdered the historian…you must take his place!” The voice echoed so loud in his mind that it snapped him awake. Ezra found himself lying on the cold floor of his cabin. “Historian?” He said involuntarily. His eyes grew wide as the memory of that dark tongue which had replaced his own missing organ.
With a start he lifted himself from the floor, and sped to the bathroom. Examining himself in the mirror he opened his mouth to view that demon tissue, which he seemed to know by some arcane intuition was connected to that ancient stag.
There sat the obsidian stone-like mass of the previous night, but now it pulsed and throbbed with an unearthly power which flowed through those golden veins which now had spread throughout the interior of his mouth. Ezra began clawing at the offending member, but to no avail…the flesh though supple was completely unyielding. His thoughts locked upon its removal, Ezra ran to the kitchen to procure a large steak knife. As he steeled his nerves Ezra stuck out his tongue and brought the blade into place for the amputation. The air split with static before he could begin that dreaded surgery.
The small shortwave radio, his one mechanical distraction which provided for him a chance to voyeuristically listen to the voices of others without being pressed to respond in kind, had come to life from its home atop his rough-hewn dining room table.
As he dashed into the room, his eyes beheld yet another incomprehensible sight; the mist now solidified into the contours of a vaguely humanoid shape, save for the long horns protruding from its incorporeal forehead, hunched over the device and exhaled streams of vapor directly into the microphone. From somewhere that sounded both close and at the opposite end of the galaxy came a sound that at first was not unlike the purring of a large cat, but quickly turned into a low, guttural growl before finally becoming words that simply could not have been formed by human lips. “Pass on old friend. We are coming.”
Ezra reached for the figure which dissipated into the ether at his touch accompanied by a chorus of melodic laughter. He grabbed the microphone in one hand, and with the other tried furiously to find the proper channel to connect him with the one agency he felt would be able to help him fend off whatever malevolence was creeping his way, the town militia of Jayden’s Cross. Finally he arrived at the proper frequency, and parted his dry lips to do that which had eluded him lo these many years.
Pressing the button which would allow his voice to travel the waves, Ezra began to speak. What followed was not one voice, but legion…some were mere growls, others came like gently chirping birds, and a few were close to human yet still possessing a preternatural timber, but above all rang the impossibly deep tones of their God, for the stag did speak; the great animal whose voice was known when the universe was a mere speck of dust hanging like a mote in the eye of infinity. With that the radio exploded in a shower of acrid smoke and sparks that knocked Ezra to the floor.
Ezra began to weep, yet the sound of crying that issued from his mouth was again the product of that unholy throng. Unable to retain his tenuous grasp on sanity, he was determined to rip the organ from his mouth with his bare hands; hands that he noticed were covered in runes and glyphs carved deep upon the surface of his skin. Furiously he flew again to the bathroom where he exhaled in shock at the face that met his gaze within the mirror.
Like his hands, and every other scrap of visible flesh, he was covered in those strange markings. Ezra clawed at the skin which gave way in thin sheets to reveal layers of fresh dermis below marked the same as the skin above. He attempted to scream, but what came instead was the shouting of every supernatural being that had ever or wil

Ep.24 – The Rest Area - A Maniac With an Axe!

8 april 2020 | 19 min

Episode Notes
Two pals are on their way back from a fun road trip when they make a pit stop, but now an axe wielding maniac wants to make them into a road snack!
The Rest Area by Rob Fields
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Brad and Robbie were traveling north along U.S. 23 while coming back from the Ohio State Fair one Saturday evening late in the summer. The two friends were talking about all the fun they had had while at the fair, when eventually they came to a very dark part of the freeway nearly devoid of traffic.
As Robbie was driving, Brad came up with a mischievous idea. He grinned slightly and turned to face Robbie. “Hey, Robbie, have you heard the stories about Aaron Rutter? He’s supposed to be an ax murderer who just escaped from the state mental hospital, you know.”
Robbie sighed, but kept his eyes on the road.
“It’s been said that he’s hacked up about ten people around this area in the last two days,” Brad continued, talking in a more quiet, eerie voice.
Robbie muttered a sigh. “You are so weird, man.”
Brad continued. “Rumor also has it that he eats his victims, too.”
Robbie tried to ignore him, but Brad kept on going. “Sometimes he even fillets them.”
Robbie groaned. “Would you please shut up?”
Brad just laughed. “Oh, Robbie, you scare way too easy.”
Robbie didn’t pay any attention. They continued on down the freeway. Eventually, they passed a sign that said that a rest area was one mile ahead.
“Hey, Robbie, could you pull off at the rest area when we get to it?” Brad asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Robbie sighed. “I guess . . .”
When they got to the rest area’s off-ramp, Robbie pulled off the freeway and parked the car. They both got out.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Brad said.
“Take your time,” Robbie replied.
Brad walked to the men’s restroom and went in. After taking a piss, he washed his hands and came back outside. He looked to the car to see Robbie wasn’t in it.
Suddenly, he heard something snap not too far off in the distance. He waited there for a moment. When he didn’t hear anything, he started walking back toward the car.
Suddenly, he heard another snap, only it was closer this time.
“Robbie?” Brad uttered. “Is that you?”
There was no answer.
“Robbie?” Brad repeated, now sounding tense.
There was still no answer.
He heard another snap.
As before, it was closer.
Brad was feeling really uneasy. Then, as if on impulse, he turned and headed toward the area where the vending machines were.
As he was about to open the door and head in, he heard yet another snap. And again . . . it was closer. He turned around to look behind him.
Suddenly, a figure leapt out from nearby!
Brad felt a straight edge strike him at the back of his right shoulder blade. He was struck again almost immediately. Brad screamed with each chop.
And again!
And again!
And again . . .
“Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!” the ax murderer shouted with glee.
Brad then realized something wasn’t right. For one thing, he didn’t feel anything actually cutting into his skin. Second, he recognized who it was that was ‘attacking’ him.
Brad quickly turned around to see him.
“Robbie!” Brad shouted. “It was you!”
Robbie burst out into wild laughter.
“It was you all the time!” Brad cried.
Robbie managed to collect himself. He pointed to Brad. “You should’ve seen your face.”
Brad’s face twisted in anger. “I could just kill you!”
Robbie stopped laughing and became serious. “Oh, but it was okay for you to keep carrying on about Aaron Rutter in the car, huh?”
When Brad heard this, he calmed down knowing Robbie was right. He sighed. “All right, we’re even.”
“All right,” Robbie agreed. “Let’s get out of here and get home.”
“Sure.”
As they were walking back to their car, Brad said, “You know, that was clever how you broke those sticks on the way to the vending machines.”
Robbie looked at Brad oddly. “I didn’t break any sticks, man.”
Brad looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t?”
“No,” Robbie answered. “I was hiding behind the car. When I saw you going to the vending area, I came out from behind the car and got you. I know I didn’t break any sticks.”
Now Brad was really confused. “Then if it wasn’t you –”
“I did,” a deep, rumbling voice not belonging to either of them answered from behind them.
They quickly turned around to see a big man with an ax in his hands. And he was smiling at them in a very demented way.
“So nice of you guys to show up for a late-night dinner,” the man said to them in a crazed tone.
Robbie and Brad knew at once who this man was, and they screamed in terror.
They quickly turned and ran for their car. Aaron Rutter was right behind them.
As Robbie tried to get into the car, he heard the slam and immediately saw the ax blade embedded in the car roof.
Brad was already a long ways away from the car.
Robbie lashed out and kicked Rutter in the stomach to stun him, then he turned away from the car and ran himself.
“Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!” Robbie gasped as he ran for all he was worth, so much so that he was feeling his own heart pounding.
Robbie and Brad were both running into the woods behind the rest area in separate directions. They both knew Rutter would likely catch up to them.
Robbie pressed himself up against a tree to try and catch his breath. “I’ve got to find Brad!” he thought as he continued to catch his breath, trying to make as little noise as possible as he quickly tried to process the hell he currently found himself in.
Suddenly, Robbie screeched as he just barely avoided the ax blade that damn near embedded itself in his throat.
He pushed himself away from the tree and resumed running.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron Rutter trying to pull the ax out of the tree. Robbie knew he didn’t have much time before this insane psycho would be after him again.
And he still had to find Brad!
Robbie bolted into the darkness barely avoiding oncoming trees.

He knew he had to try and get back to the car somehow. He needed to get to his cell phone which he remembered leaving in one of the cupholders… or better yet, maybe he could get the hell out of that place. Rationality set in quickly, and he knew he couldn’t just leave Brad behind.
What the fuck am I gonna do? he demanded of himself.
Robbie backed himself up against another large tree. Again, he tried to take breaths without being too loud and alerting Rutter to his location – if he didn’t know already!
“Okay! Okay! You . . . you gotta . . . gotta think straight now!” he mouthed to himself. “Okay . . . where are you? You gotta think straight now! Where is the car? Where is it?”
He took one more long, deep breath and decided to try to get back to the rest area and get to the car.
Robbie looked both ways to make sure that Aaron Rutter wasn’t ready to chop off his head again, and slowly pushed himself away from the tree and turned around. Cautiously, he started to make his way back to the car.
After taking several careful steps, he muttered a curse as he heard the stick that broke under his foot. “Fuck!” he mouthed to himself. “Shit!”
Robbie forced himself to keep moving pissed at Brad for not shutting the fuck up about that insane psycho… and just why the batshit crazy fucking hell did Aaron Rutter really have to even be at that rest area? Robbie didn’t used to believe in things like fate, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“Maybe Brad is on his way back to the car,” he mouthed to himself.
Robbie moved from one tree . . . to another . . . to another . . . cautiously . . . carefully . . . quietly . . . !
SNAP!!
“God damn it!” Robbie whispered loudly when he felt another stick break under his shoe.
Robbie forced himself to remain focused and saw the lights in the distance. This had to be the rest area. What else was lit-up brightly at that part of outer Marion, Ohio at that hour of the night?
He kept looking left . . . right . . . having eyes in the back of his head . . . face front . . . ! The lights were so close . . . and so far away.
Robbie also considered that Aaron Rutter might even be waiting at the car for either one of them. Okay, maybe Rutter wasn’t hanging out at the car, but it was possible that he was keeping an eye on it.
Okay, I just have to get my cell phone, Robbie thought. Or if Brad is there, we can get the hell out of here.
Robbie felt his pockets. He felt some relief in knowing that he still had the keys on him. But then, he never just left his keys in the car – for any reason. He still had his wallet, not that he could buy Rutter off, right?
But I just had to leave my fucking cell phone in my car! Of all the fucking things I could leave in my car, I just had to leave my fucking cell phone! How fucking dumb can I get?
Robbie decided there was no point in crying over spilled milk. He continued to creep further towards the rest area, felt as if the rest area was moving further away from him. He shook his head quickly and kept moving.
After agonizing minutes, Robbie had finally returned to the rest area.
He moved to the back wall and made his way around to get back to the front. He was in such a big hurry to get to the main entrance that he didn’t see the person who had suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.
Robbie shrieked and started to run.
“Robbie!”
He quickly stopped when he saw it was Brad. The two of them both backed themselves up against the wall and looked each other over. Robbie looked at Brad as if saying, “You’re alive!”
Brad nodded in acknowledgement.
They turned and started to creep along the wall, until they were both looking out at the parking lot.
A lone car suddenly sped by the rest area.
Both of them looked around to see if Aaron Rutter was nearby.

Ep.23 – The Devil Reaps the Harvest - Scientific Monstrosity!

1 april 2020 | 20 min

Episode Notes
Who would ever imagine that buying stole organs could get so complicated? And messy...
The Devil Reaps the Harvest by John Oak Dalton
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
The laboratory at the end of the dead-end road had been closed for so long now that people had
forgotten about it, or tried to forget about it, and now everybody said it was an abandoned factory.
It was there that Peter O’Day was supposed to meet a guy who had a couple of kidneys in a beer cooler.
So Peter parked in a weed-choked employee lot and walked about a quarter mile into the woods, where
the old laboratory sat. There he was meeting Octavius.
Octavius sounded like a mad scientist’s name, and as it happens Octavius kind of was a mad scientist.
He had worked at the lab long ago doing things that are frowned upon in the mainstream medical world,
but that gig dried up. He ended up harvesting organs, which wasn’t much of a step down. He still liked
meeting people there for the handoff, because his greatest triumphs had been at that lab.
Also his greatest failures, but those were buried here and there around the property.
Peter had a bag of money and Octavius had a cooler with organs in it and a New England Patriots sticker
on it, so that went down about like you’d expect.
Peter was a dot com guy the bubble never burst on so he had plenty of money, and could jump the
transplant list and buy a new kidney for their little girl, Alondra. People with money can pretty much do
what they want.
Just look at celebrities. They do drugs and get married eight or ten times but can adopt all the kids they
want and go on TV talking about various causes. If they did all the same things but lived in that trailer
park on the other edge of town--the one called Morningside but everybody actually called Homicide--
nobody would give them kids, or want them on TV talking for their causes.
When Peter took the Patriots cooler from Octavius, that had a kidney and a spare for Alondra, his hands
were shaking pretty badly, and some blood sloshed out from under the lid and onto his shoes and into
the dirt, and it wasn’t until that very moment that Peter sort of realized what the hell he was doing.
Octavius stepped back easily and missed the sloshing, but he was used to blood spraying out all over the
place.
Peter nodded and walked away, but Octavius stayed where he was, to his misfortune. He had parked
behind the old lab, on an access road everybody had forgotten about too, because he did not want
Peter or anybody else to see the car he drove.
Peter was hardly out of sight when something just under Octavius’s feet, where the blood was soaking
in, sniffed and swallowed and opened its eyes.
If this lab had been that good at black science, they would still be in business. But they weren’t, so they
made the mistake of burying their problems instead of burning them in a big bonfire so that there was
no trace.
Or, in this case, so something could not bite and claw its way with long fingernails and sharp teeth out of
the dirt and grab Octavius by the ankles. Then pull him to the ground and bite him right on his face.
But his face was kind of bony so it started working on some soft parts.
Peter had stopped not far away to call his wife, but never heard a damn thing. It was ironic, because as
soon as that creature’s hand popped out of the dirt Octavius’s heart popped like a balloon. All those
times, Octavius had arranged for guys to meet Russian women off the internet for a night of passion,
only for those guys to wake up in the hotel tub packed in ice…or dumped in a landfill and never waking
up at all. All those times, Octavius never knew he needed an organ for himself. He ignored the
shortness of breath and the tingling in his fingers and all the rest.
Like I said, if they were better at science, they would still have been in business. And if they weren’t also
lazy, they would have buried these things deeper.
Peter’s wife was named Stacy, and was waiting in a big McMansion out in the suburbs for news of
Alondra’s kidney. Do I even need to say this was his second wife, and very young?
“We’re halfway there,” Peter told her.
“It’s not like a pig kidney or anything?” she asked.
“How would I know?”
“I don’t know,” she fretted.
“Look, this guy came highly recommended. And when it comes to Alondra, we don’t have another
choice.”
“I know,” said Stacy, and there was a lot in those words. In those two words were all the feelings Stacy
had growing for little Alondra and all the feelings Peter lacked. But Peter did what he had to do.
What Peter had to do next was walk out to the edge of the overgrown parking lot and wait for a guy
from the transplant organization he had paid off too. Actually this guy, whose name was Rollo, knew
Ocatvius quite well, but neither man wanted anyone to know they were connected. Rollo had worked
at the lab too, back in the day. Not so much in the sciences, as in the more…nebulous parts of the
organization.
Octavius could have just given the organ to Rollo, but Octavius and Rollo always wanted a middleman. It
wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than nothing.
“Look, just go to the hospital and wait,” Peter said. “The guy is on his way here, and then he is going to
be bringing the kidneys within the hour.”
“Okay,” said Stacy, but there was so much she could not face she knew she was staying right where she
was.
“Okay.” And Peter hung up.
Peter had only taken a few steps before he saw something moving in the trees, just out of the corner of
his eye.
Of course, Peter was thinking it was a cop, or the FBI, or maybe an investigative reporter trying to entrap
him and put him on TV with all the pedophiles.
So Peter stepped off the road and hid behind a tree, which was stupid because unlike cops and FBI
agents and reporters, what was shambling towards him could smell the blood on his shoes.
Peter peeked around the tree and realized he was wrong about the cops and the reporters because how
this person was dressed—how this shape was dressed—was in things Goodwill would not take. They
looked like clothes somebody took out of a compost pile.
Peter started moving quickly through the trees, trying not to slosh the beer cooler too much, and cut
cross-country towards the parking lot.
All the bones and muscles and ligaments in the thing sniffing along behind Peter, which seemed barely
connected to each other, still let the thing move faster than you would think.
But it would not have mattered if Peter had watched where he was going, which he did not, so he
overshot the parking lot and thrashed deeper into the woods.
And the thing that could smell his bloody footprints, who saw the shoe prints glowing like fire, kept on
coming.
Peter saw the bland gray concrete block of the lab building looming in front of him and he realized he
had been a dumbass, and circled back on himself. He was ultimately a tech guy. He had never been
much out in nature and did not really know how to navigate even a small forest of trees, much less tell
one from another.
And he had never seen a dead body, but he recognized that Octavius was dead when he saw what was
left of him in the small clearing where they had met minutes ago. The chewed parts and the parts that
should have been tucked inside but were glistening in the sun.
The thing behind Peter was getting closer, so close now Peter could hear a slurping noise, and Peter
turned and looked.
And what he saw sent his heart plummeting, and his balls scurrying up inside himself to meet it, and his
butthole slammed shut with the finality of a coffin lid.
Peter dropped the beer cooler, and this time a lot more blood sloshed out than was good, and the thing
moved faster somehow.
Peter grabbed the cooler back up and started running.
Peter was running, and the only place he knew he was running was “Away,” wherever that was. And he
was bouncing off of trunks and getting whipped in the face by branches and all that, because instead of
joining Boy Scouts he had taught himself computer programming. He was richer, but very close to being
dead, so some of his life choices seemed poorer today.
He kept splashing blood out of that cooler and that wasn’t great for Alondra but more importantly for
Peter, it wasn’t great for him at all.
So Peter stopped, and opened the cooler. He plunged his hand in and grabbed out a kidney that was in a
leaky sandwich bag, and he flung that kidney in a long red arc that hit the thing’s chest with a wet sound
and plopped into the grass.
And the creature looked down at it with yellow eyes, and it gave Peter a chance to catch his breath.
Then the creature showed broken teeth, and reached down with those long nails and grabbed the
kidney up, and it went down in one gulp, and Peter threw up in his mouth a little.
When Peter ran this time he didn’t even pick up the cooler.
The thing tipped the cooler back and gulped the other kidney down, and that bought Peter a little more
time.
Peter ran and looked back, ran and looked back, and sure enough in a minute or two he saw that
raggedy shape moving between the trees again.
Peter was looking back when his foot touched asphalt and he was out on a county road.
The woman driving the minivan was leaning over pushing the Hocus Pocus DVD into the dash, for her
kids in the backseat to watch for the millionth time. So she did not even tap the brake before she hit
Peter head on.
Rather than explain what that looked like, it’s simpler to say the kids never asked to watch Hocus Pocus
ever again.
As it happens, Rollo was not too far behind the woman in a truck that looked like a medical vehicle but
really wasn’t.
Rollo was very quick on his feet and looked l

Ep.22 – Just a Dream - Horrifying Nightmares

25 mars 2020 | 24 min

Episode Notes
A young boy is tormented by a terrifying nightmare, but a dream can hurt you... or can it?
Just a Dream by Joe Solmo
PennedinBlood.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
David sat up in the cold darkness of his room unable to breathe. His Superman Underoos were soaked with a cold sweat. He listened in the darkness, wide-eyed, but heard nothing. He tried to scream but nothing came out. It must have only been a dream he thought as rational thought returned to his eight year old mind.
He laid back down on the bottom bunk, finally able to breathe. His older brother William started to snore above him, at least his sleep was undisturbed. This was the fourth night this week that David woke in this manner. He looked down on the floor over the edge of his bed adorned in Thundercats bed sheets.

On the floor he saw his stuffed owl he named Woodsy. Woodsy had a small radio embedded inside its stomach and when he got scared in the darkness he could turn the radio on low and hear another human voice. It helped sometimes. The radio kept him company until light started to shine through the window.
He was already awake when William’s alarm went off. It was summertime, but William took a summer job working with the neighbor, helping on his farm. David watched as his brother climbed down the wooden ladder built into the foot of their beds.
“William?” he asked.
“What are you doing up, it’s five a.m.” William said running his hands through his hair. “Bad dream again?”
“Yeah, this time it was worse. They made it inside,” David said.
“Don’t worry. Even if they get inside they can’t hurt you. I won’t let them,” William said smiling at his younger brother.
“Your snoring sounded like KITT from Knight Rider,” David said in response.
“And I am sure that would scare them off, see. No problem,” William joked and headed for the small bathroom attached to their room to get ready for work on the farm.
“So reassuring,” David said pulling his blanket off the bed and walking out to the living room. He climbed on the couch and closed his eyes. Tonight maybe I will sleep out here, maybe the dreams can’t find me, David thought as sleep overtook him.
When David’s eyes opened the first thing he noticed was how bright it was. The T.V was on and the godawful show Guiding Light was on. HE could smell French toast being cooked in the kitchen and knew his mom was making breakfast.
He twisted his head around to look through the open arch into the kitchen. He heard clanking as he watched his mother set the table for breakfast, her eyes glued to their television. The cinnamon she added to the egg made his mouth water, and David got up and headed for the kitchen.
“Good morning honey,” his mother said with a smile. “Rough night?”
“Yeah. I had a bad dream,” David replied.
“Oh I am sorry baby. Did coming out to the couch help?” she asked.
“A little yeah. Can I sleep there tonight?” David asked.
“Not tonight, your father is having some friends over and they will be watching the game,” his mother said.
“It’s ok I can watch the game with them,” David said hopefully.
“Not tonight. I am sorry. Did your brother get off to work this morning?” she asked.
“Yeah he said he would be home for lunch today,” David said. “He wants bologna.”
“Did he really?” his mother asked with a smile. “Your brother asked for your favorite sandwich for lunch? I thought he hated bologna,” his mother said.
“Well he didn’t come out and exactly say it. It was kind of implied,” David said.
“Uh huh,” his mother said placing two pieces of french toast on his plate. “Eat up. I got to go to the store and you have to come with me,” she said.
“Do I have too?” David whined.
“Yes, you’re too young to stay by yourself,” She said.
After dinner David went to his room to play with his Castle Greyskull play set. His brother came in shortly after and turned on his radio that sat on a shelf opposite their beds. Soon Pat Benetar’s unique voice came from the speakers mounted on the wall.
“Do you have to listen to that so loud?” David asked.
“Sure do. Sorry,” William said climbing up onto his bunk. David sighed. He put his action figures into his toy box and closed up the castle. Sometimes his brother could be a real jerk. He wished they didn’t have to share rooms, but their house just wasn’t big enough.
He left their shared room to hang out in the living room. When he got there, it was full of people he had never seen before, all of them smoking, with drinks in their hands. The game was on the T.V. “What are you doing out here,” his father asked smiling.
“William is listening to music so loud I can’t hear my action figures talk to each other,” David said with a pout.
“Well I will have a talk with him. You shouldn’t be out here with all of us adults,” his father said putting out his nonfilter Lucky Strike cigarette. David let his father lead him back to his room. He knew he would get it from his brother once his father left the room.
“William, turn that shit down!” David’s father yelled.
“Come on, it’s not even that loud,” William retorted.
“You have to share your room with your brother, try to find a happy medium will ya? I got guests over and it’s a cloud of smoke. No place for a kid,” their father said.
“Alright fine, can I go over to Brians?” William asked. “He asked me to spend the night.”
“No!” David said.
“Yeah, it’s fine with me, just check with your mother. Why do you care, Davey?” their father asked.
“I would be all alone tonight…” he said. He didn’t want to show his dad he was afraid of the dark.
“Exactly, you can play as late as you want, I promise,” his father said and winked, like he was doing David a favor.
“Cool let me call Brian,” William said and left the room. David watched his brother leave the room, carrying his chances of a good night’s sleep. His father left to return to his friends and suddenly the shadows in the corners of the room seemed more sinister.
Three hours later David sat in his bed with a flashlight and a Spider-Man comic. His mom had tucked him in but he got back up. She had noticed the light spilling under the door into the hall so he had to pilfer the flashlight from under the bathroom sink.
He secretly wished Spider-Man was real and could save him from the bad dreams. He yawned as he turned the pages. It didn’t take long for his week of little sleep to catch up to him and less than twenty minutes later he was asleep.
David’s eyes suddenly flipped open. The room was completely dark. He turned his head and looked at the clock on radio across the room. 2:15. Oh no, he thought. It was the same time every night. He listened and heard the sound of the tires on the gravel driveway. He jumped up and ran to the window. He saw the black car with no headlights coming up the driveway. The car looked like an old hearse, with black tinted windows. There wasn’t a single color on the car besides, black. The bumper, lights, hubcaps, everything covered in black.
The car stopped about twenty feet from the house. He watched as the doors opened and four beings stepped out. They were tall and skinny, wearing what looked like tuxedos, but without a shirt underneath. Their pale skin almost shone in the moonlight. He couldn’t make out their faces. It wasn’t that they didn’t have one, it was just…fuzzy, like when the reception goes out on their T.V. and his father swears and has to adjust the rabbit ears fuzzy, except for their mouths. They didn’t have lips, the mouths were almost a complete circle, lined with sharp, glistening teeth, rows of them, like a sharks mouth, only round.
They didn’t make a sound as they lined up next to each other in the driveway. They more glided then walked towards the house in complete unison Swirls of fog flickered with red, yellow and orange lights, parted for them as they closed the gap between car and house. He watched as they came straight towards his room, not the front door. He ducked under the covers.
David started to shake. It had to be a dream, it’s only a dream, he thought. WAKE UP he yelled inside his head. There was no sound from outside the blankets. He wanted to peak so badly, but couldn’t muster up the courage to do so.
A minute passed, then two, still no sound from outside the blankets. He looked at the Thundercats on his sheets and wished he had their courage. He tried to calm his breathing, fearing that the blankets moving up and down would alert them to his hiding place. He imagined them in his room looking in the toy box for him and checking the small bathroom.
He moved his arm slowly, as slowly as he could, hoping they wouldn’t notice the movement if it was slow enough. He held his breath for a second, still no sounds came from the room. Was it possible they couldn’t get inside his room? The dream never went that far. They would peer into his windows, like he was on display for them, like some kind of zoo.
Suddenly the blankets were yanked off of him. He looked up at the top bunk of the bed, no longer against the wall. Mist filled his room, flickering red, orange and yellow light reflecting on the white wisps. On each side were two of the beings, people, aliens, demons? whatever. They bent their pale heads under the top bunk. David was paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t move. He felt his pajama top rise up and tuck it’s self under his chin.
His eyes opened as wide as they could as the one closest to him on the right side reached into a pocket on the black suit it wore. David’s imagination ran wild with what it had in there. Some torture device? He followed the movement of the things pale hand, the only muscle he could move, as it pulled something out of the pocket.
He s

Ep.21 – Basket Hound - Horrors of the Old West!

18 mars 2020 | 31 min

Episode Notes
Midnight strikes a sleepy Old West town, and a stranger has come with a sinister need to fill...
Basket Hound by Scott S. Phillips
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BMN3IQ
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Orel Hamlin stared up at the night sky, wondering if the flying monkey would ever come back.
This was his favorite part of the day, round about 2 AM, when it came time to empty the spittoons. They reeked, of course, from the rotten-toothed spit of a hundred cowboys and cheap chewing tobacco. On occasion, a drunk would piss in one rather than stagger out back to the outhouse, and the stink got a hell of a lot worse when someone had puked in one of them, but even that Orel could live with, because being the designated dumper-of-spittoons meant he got to go outside by himself. Mr. Teevins didn’t much let Orel go outside on his own otherwise, day or night.
Orel carried a lantern in one hand and a spittoon in the other. It was black as hell out there and he didn’t want to fall in the trench again. Some nights — when the moon was real bright — he didn’t need the lantern, but bringing it meant he had to make four trips to empty the spittoons and he was happy for every one of them. Early on, right after Orel was given the task as a responsibility Mr. Teevins felt he could handle, the saloon's bartender — a one-eyed crotchety sonofabitch named Branlyn — insisted he dump all the spittoons into a big bucket and carry that out, one trip, easy and done. Orel consistently made a point of spilling the contents of the spittoons while dumping them into the bucket and Branlyn eventually gave up on the idea. Orel suspected Mr. Teevins had caught on to his scheme, but the older man never mentioned it. When it came time to dump the chamber pots from upstairs, though, Orel didn't bring the lantern. He didn't much enjoy taking the chamber pots out, and with one in each of the upstairs rooms (except for Mr. Teevins's office), Orel wanted it over with as quickly as possible.
Orel was seventeen years old and had been with Mr. Teevins since he was eight, when Orel's daddy beat him senseless and he pretty much stuck that way. It was just after the war and Mr. Teevins had come west minus a leg but full of big dreams, looking to make his fortune in the liquor and whore trade. He was literally stepping off the train when he saw Orel trip and fall in the mud, doing great disservice to his best clothes but nothing to incur the sort of whipping his Daddy unleashed as a result. Mr. Teevins hop-stepped on his wooden leg into the middle of the dust-up and threw a beating on Orel's daddy that left the man with a limp of his own, not to mention a busted-up face that would insure he'd remember what he'd done every time he looked in a mirror till the day he died. The beating also did wonders for Mr. Teevins's standing in the town, since no one much liked Orel's daddy and felt it was a long time coming.
Teevins had purchased the Stone House (which Orel thought was funny since the place was made out of wood), the larger of the town's two saloons, and the only one that came equipped with prostitutes and Branlyn. Teevins moved into one of the upstairs rooms, and when Orel
wandered into the joint a few days later, his daddy having run off in the night, Teevins took him in. Orel's room was basically a closet at the end of the hall with a cot in it, but he'd lived there happily ever since.
"What you gazin' at, kid?"
Orel jumped, slopping some of the spittoon's contents out onto the ground. Standing a dozen or so yards away was a man, watching him. Orel raised the lantern, trying to get a better look, but the light refused to cooperate, as if it were sliding off the figure.
"Who's that there?" Orel asked, voice unsteady.
"Ain't scared, are ya?"
"No," Orel lied.
After a moment, the man walked towards Orel. When he was a few feet away, the light from
the lantern finally took hold, illuminating his features. Whip-thin, about five and a half feet tall — Orel was relieved to see the man was shorter than him — clad in dusty gray trousers, stained shirt with frilled cuffs, and a black leather vest. His bowler hat was tilted far back on his head, like he was walking away from it and it was struggling to keep up. Unlike the rest of his clothing, his boots were new but covered in dust. His eyes were close together, deep-set, and focused on Orel in a way that made him uncomfortable, like he was in trouble for something.
The man's lips pulled back in a smile that bunched up the weathered skin on the sides of his face like a washrag being wrung out. "Name's Malcolm, George Malcolm."
Malcolm George Malcolm, Orel thought, first name same as last. No, that ain't right. He just said it funny, is all. George Malcolm. "Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Malcolm." Orel went to stick out a hand, realized they were both full, then settled on a nod towards the man. “My name’s Hamlin, Orel Hamlin.”
"Why you out here in the night with a cuspidor full of Christ-knows-what, son?"
"Just spit n' chew is all," Orel said, taking a quick look to be sure. "It's my job — one of 'em." Malcolm cocked an eye at Orel. "You some kinda simpleton?"
"No sir, I took an injury as a boy, somewhat scrambled my brains."
"You sound like a simpleton."
Orel frowned. "No sir." Setting the lantern down on the ground, he upended the spittoon over
the trench he'd dug a few days prior. The foul-smelling stew of saliva and tobacco (and, as Malcolm pointed out, Christ-knows-what) spattered into the thicker sludge in the bottom of the trench. "I have a job and I do okay for myself, I reckon." He straightened, fixing Malcolm with a stern gaze.
"Didn't mean no offense, son. This job a' yours, I'm guessing it's in a saloon or some other joint serves liquor?"
"Yes sir, the Stone House, not a hunnerd paces from where we stand now." "Mind if I walk with you?"
Orel puzzled on it for a moment.
"Again, I meant no offense," Malcolm said, bowing slightly. "And I could sure stand to pour some whiskey into myself."
"No, it ain't that," Orel said. "Just that Branlyn's closin' up the bar about now. I don't think he'd turn away your business, though."
Malcolm made a sweeping gesture towards the nearby buildings. "Then if you're finished pourin' out your slop, by all means lead the way, son."
Orel started back to the Stone House, Malcolm falling into step next to him. After a few paces, Orel glanced at the man, catching the tail end of an odd expression that sent something wriggling up Orel's spine to settle coldly at the base of his skull. The only time he'd felt anything similar was when his daddy was about to go on a tear.
"Ain't my place to pry, what with us just havin' met an' all, Mr. Malcolm, but I was wonderin' why you'd be out walking in the desert late at night like this."
Malcolm took so long to answer, Orel thought he hadn't heard the question and was about to ask again when the man finally spoke. "Guess I got lost just a little bit. Was on my way from Bell's Creek."
Orel wanted to press him further but they'd reached the back door of the Stone House and Malcolm took the opportunity to steer things in a different direction. "How many in here, son — yourself included?"
Orel hung the lantern on a hook near the back door. "Just a few, plus the whores, and some or all a' them might be with customers." He made to open the door but Malcolm's hand darted out, grabbing the handle.
"You know that ain't no real answer, don't you, boy?" Malcolm said, making another of his fancy gestures as he opened the door to allow Orel in.
Orel gave Malcolm a confused look as he stepped past him, entering a narrow, dark hallway. Lamplight from the saloon's main room spilled in at the other end. "There's the three of us plus four whores and whatever men they's with," Orel said. "We got two girls wait tables, but they gone home awhile ago."
Malcolm stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. “Fine. Let’s have that drink.”
Orel led the way down the hall and into the main room of the saloon, its dozen or so tables empty at this late hour. To their right was a staircase to the upper floor. On the left was the bar, an L-shaped counter with wooden stools running the length of it. Liquor bottles topped the shelves behind the bar, and a carefully lettered sign read Tabs for liquor only! NOT whores. Branlyn, looking six hundred years old but meaner than hell, a puckered scar where his left eye had been, wiped the bar with a towel that looked as unpleasant as he did. His gray hair hung stringy past his shoulders, and his cheeks, trenched with age, were covered in salt-and-pepper stubble. His single eye settled on Orel and Malcolm and he stopped wiping to stare at them.
“What’s this you brung in?” Branlyn said.
“Found him out back,” Orel said. “He was hopin’ he could get a drink.”
“Or two,” Malcolm said, stepping up to the bar and proffering a hand. “Malcolm, George Malcolm.”
He done it again, Orel thought.
Branlyn’s eye looked at the hand, then at Malcolm’s face. He wiped his right hand with the bar towel and shook with him. “Well, Mr. Malcolm, technically we’s closed for business, but I think we can accommodate you. If you got money, a’ course.”
“A pocketful,” Malcolm said, stepping up and resting his elbows on the bar. “Whiskey, please. Don’t care how cheap or how shitty.”
“We don’t serve shitty whiskey in this joint.”
Malcolm turned his head to find Mr. Teevins coming down the stairs, stepping with his good leg, then swinging the wooden one after. With the saloon closed, he’d taken off the jacket but still wore the rest of his favorite white suit, the vest unbuttoned. Teevins was about 35, probably

Ep.20 – Warehouse of Blood - Flesh Hungry Monster Wants To Play!

11 mars 2020 | 27 min

Episode Notes
On Friday the 13th an investigative journalist discovers a very disturbing family secret, and blood splattered mayhem is its game of choice.
Warehouse of Blood by Shane Migliavacca
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
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Contact Us/Submit a Story
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Transcript:
April 13th 1979
It’s 1:00 A.M. on Friday the 13th and I’ve been awake for two days. Will the 13th hold good luck for me? We’ll see.
My long brown hair needs a good combing, haven’t been back to the apartment in three days, and I think my bra is starting to stink of BO. I’m sitting here on a wood crate and my butt has fallen asleep.
I’ve been following Teddy Stoneberry all night. Teddy’s been the talk of the town lately. Only surviving son of Peter and Dorthy Stoneberry, Peter owns a huge shipping empire. Teddy’s twin brother Chuck died in fire when the boys were ten, which left Teddy to inherit everything.
His younger sister Ann ran off with her female tennis instructor last year. Word was the folks disowned her after that. Lately Teddy had been seen galavanting about town with a model by the name of Suzy S. No last name, just “S”. Guess that makes her interesting.
Suzy became a lot more interesting a week ago when she went missing.
At first it was looked at as just another Suzy lost weekend coke binge. Then her purse showed up in a gutter on 43rd street. Everything intact… not even a penny missing, so robbery wasn’t the motive.
If it was a kidnapping, why hasn’t anybody come forward?
Pretty soon all signs were pointing at good old Teddy. He was know to have quite a little temper. The popular theory was: They got in a fight over her drug habit and hit her a little too hard. Poor Suzy is most likely stuffed in a crate on one of Daddy’s cargo ships halfway to Singapore.
The other theory: Suzy’s old flame, Jay Jay Brown, he of a fifth rate punk band called Motherfuckers from Mars, killed her in a jealous rage.
I don’t buy that theory myself. Teddy is involved somehow. I can feel it in my gut.
I watch as he enters a warehouse owned by the family, not far from the pier. I can hear the water crashing against the side of a nearby cargo ship. There’s a chill in the night air, forcing me to pull my denim jacket tighter. It’s furry collar prickly against my neck. I pull my wool wide brimmed hat down.
“Time to snoop Sam.” I say to myself, watching my breath twirl in the cold night air.
I slip off the box, worming my way past the stack of crates I was hiding behind. My butt and legs are asleep from sitting there, causing me to limp along for a few seconds before the blood gets flowing again.
This is my favorite time of any story I’m investigating… digging up dirt, sneaking around, butting in where I’m not wanted. Might not be respectable, but sure as hell is fun though.
If I can catch him red handed, I’ll have the scoop of the year. I’ll be done with these shitty little news stories I’ve been covering for a year and a half. Just because I’m a woman the chief gives me the most boring stories imaginable. Flower festivals and craft fairs. Fucking really?
Catch him red handed doing god knows what. I figure he wouldn’t have the body stashed here, right? Maybe he’s got something of her’s here. It’s slim, but it’s better then nothing.
Teddy entered using a door marked “office”. Too risky trying to enter through there. Maybe I can find another way in… an open window or something. Preferably nothing that involves climbing… me and heights don’t get along too well since that case with that embezzling councilman and the high-rise balconies.
I’m in luck, I find a dumpster around the side of the warehouse. Above it is a large window. There’s a horrible smell coming from the dumpster. The image of Suzy’s decomposing body pops into my head.
Shit. No two ways about it. Now I gotta look.
Fishing the small flashlight from my jacket, never leave home without it, I lift the lid of the dumpster. Thank god I’ve got my riding gloves on. I shine the flashlight over the contents of the dumpster. There’s a few black trash bags, some empty beer cans, some flattened cardboard boxes and something else. I can only see a little bit of it. Red. Bright red. Could it be… Suzy?
I try to push some of the garbage out of the way, but it’s too far down. I really, really do not want to climb down there. I ease the lid back down and go hunting for something to extend my reach.
After a little looking I find a broken board from a wood pallet. I head back to the dumpster and use it to push aside some of the trash, while holding the flashlight in my other hand.
Laying there under everything is what remains of a fair sized dog. The greasy cheeseburger I had for lunch almost makes a return appearance. I throw the board in and lower the lid. God, the dog looks like it was skinned. Not only skinned, but there’s chunks missing, like somebody carved Fido up for lunch-meat.
Who the hell would do that? Teddy got a dog meat fetish? That would be far out. Make a hell of a headline.

I decide to get back to why I’m here. Checking out this warehouse and where Teddy got off to.
I climb up onto the dumpster lid. The cold metal creaks under my weight. One too many cheese burgers. I try the window, but there’s a wire mesh protecting it. That’s what a high crime rate get’s you. Worse yet the glass is frosted, so peeking in isn’t possible. Damn their security and secrecy.
I stand there, frustrated. Trying to come up with another plan. That’s when I hear a loud scream from inside.
Shit!
I jump down off the dumpster, trying not to break a leg in the process. I run around the side of the warehouse to where I saw the door marked office. Before I can pull it open, the door flies open of it’s own accord, knocking me on my ass and pushing the air from my lungs.
In the commotion I see a vague man-sized figure standing in the doorway back-lit by the light from within. I hear a groaning noise as it rushes past me. I try to get a good look as it runs away, but I’m too slow. I’m fairly sure it wasn’t Teddy… but that’s about all I’m sure off.
I look off in the direction it went. I can try and follow or go in the warehouse. I decide to go into the warehouse.
Whoever knocked me down left bloody footprints. What’s going on in there? Just to be safe I pull a small double barreled Derringer pistol from my jacket. I keep it for “close encounters.” Better safe then sorry.
The mayor might be cleaning up the city. Making it safer for the good people. But it can still get pretty dirty.
I pull open the door. There’s a modest office inside with desks, carpet and filing cabinets. The bloody footprints mar an otherwise decent carpet. Shame.
Making my way through the office, following the bloody prints back to their source leads me to a hallway. The blood leads down the hallway to the main warehouse area… aisle upon aisle of metal shelves, about ten feet high; each one crammed with boxes and crates of various sizes and shapes as far as the eye can see.
The blood trail ends in a large pool in the center of one of the aisles. There’s no body, just a hat. Looks like the kind a security guard might wear.
A pained moan comes from somewhere in the back. The guard maybe? I try to follow the sound but get lost among the aisles.
After a little fruitless searching, I give up.
“Hello?” I call out. “Where are you?” Then I add. “I’m here to help.” I was actually here snooping. They don’t need to know that.
There’s no answer. I try a couple more times, holding my breath and waiting for an answer… when finally…
“Here!” The voice says weakly, a man’s voice. “I’m here.”
“Keep talking to me buddy.” I holler back. “I’ll find you.”
After a few minutes I find a very beat up Teddy Stoneberry in the rear of the warehouse. He’s slumped against a wood crate, a large gash on his forehead… another on his chest. His hair is matted with blood.
“What happened?” I ask, kneeling down by him.
“Who?” He mutters. “Who are you?”
I need a good lie. “Jenny Smith. I was passing by. Heard a scream.” Not good, but it’ll do. He’s barely with it anyway.
His wounds look pretty bad. He needs help. But the reporter in me overrides my natural instinct to help.
“Who did this too you?” I ask.
His only answer is a groan, his eyes closing as he slumps forward. I check him, still alive. Trying to wake him, I shake him a little.
“C’mon Teddy. Stay with me.”
He groans again, his eyes opening and promptly closing once more.
“Fuck.”
Wanting to stop his bleeding somehow, I scan the area for a rag or something. That’s when I see the room behind a stack of crates… almost hidden away.
I rush over. The room is dark. I pull out my flashlight. Looks like someone was being kept here. There’s a stained mattress on the floor and some blankets. There’s also a bowl with hunks of bloody meat. The smell of rotting meat and urine is overpowering.
I back away, trying not to vomit.
That damn cheese burger won’t stay down.
God, were they keeping Suzy here? What the fuck did they do to her?
I go back over to Teddy, suddenly not caring about helping him anymore. Angry, I shake him hard till he moans. His eyes fluttering open.
“Who did you have here?”
“Who?” He mumbles, his head drooping forward.
“Hey! Hey!” I slap his face, leaving a red mark. “Stay awake Teddy! C’mon! Who was in that room? Suzy?”
He laughs, coughing on his blood. “Suzy who? Suzy Q?”
“In that room.” I point. “Were you keeping her there?”
Teddy coughs, spitting out some blood. Right onto my cheek. Thanks.
He grabs my left arm tight. “Brother. Brother’s here.” He says, before finally going out again. His grip goes slack. His hand falling to his lap.
“Brother? Your brother’s dead?” I say, even though he can’t hea

Ep.19 – Rude Awakening - Zombies After Revenge!

4 mars 2020 | 24 min

Episode Notes
Shawni can't afford to be late for work one more time so she gets an alarm clock so loud she isn't the only one it wakes...
Rude Awakening by Rob Fields
A Fan Submitted Story
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcript:
Shawni Jerral never had a problem getting to bed on time. In fact, she was usually in bed by eleven when she had to work the next morning. When she didn’t have to work, she would stay up late, which meant sleeping in late.
But today wasn’t one of those days . . .
Shawni smiled softly, no doubt having an exciting dream. But her smile faded when she finally heard her smartphone ringing.
She opened her eyes slowly, sat up, grabbed her phone, and muttered, “Whoever is calling me better have a good reason for it.”
“Hello!” she snapped.
“Shawni, get in here!” a female voice said quickly on the other end.
“Bev?” Shawni asked.
“Get in here!” Bev repeated. “You’re an hour late for work!”
Shawni gasped. “An hour late?”
“Yes!” Bev confirmed. “Hurry! Get in here! Brent’s pissed!”
“Just a second, Bev,” Shawni muttered.
Shawni looked down at her clock. It was almost noon. She pressed the Alarm Check button. The display read ten a.m., just the way it should have.
This was the second day in a row her alarm clock had refused to cooperate.
“Tell Brent I’ll be right in” Shawni muttered.
Shawni walked into the mall’s bookstore where she worked. When Bev saw her, she quickly motioned for her to come to the checkout counter.
“Brent wants to see you – stat!” Bev said. “He’s really pissed.”
“Shawni Jerral!” a masculine voice called out.
The two girls turned to see a man in his mid-twenties standing near the back room entrance. His eyes seemingly burned right through Shawni.
“Hi, Brent,” Shawni weakly murmured.
He held up a hand to silence her. “In my office! Now!”
Bev gave Shawni a look that wished her luck.
After work, Shawni pulled her car up to the closest plaza from her house.
She quickly parked the car, got out, Bev in tow, and pulled on the doors of the department store, but found them locked!
“Fuck!” Shawni turned and leaned against one of the doors. “This sucks! I should’ve been watching the time. Fuck!”
“Aren’t there other places nearby that sell clocks?” Bev asked.
“Yeah, but they’re closed by now,” Shawni muttered. “And I don’t want some cheap piece of shit. I need a good clock. And loud!”
“You say you’re looking for a loud alarm clock?” a voice called out nearby.
The girls turned to see a man in his late forties standing in the doorway of a store next door. The man had graying hair and looked pleasant enough. But there was something about him that just didn’t feel right. Shawni couldn’t say anything to Bev about it right then, but she wasn’t about to turn down the possibility for getting a working alarm clock – tonight.
“Yeah,” Shawni answered. “I need one that’ll wake me up and it’s gotta be loud.”
“Why don’t you step inside for a little bit?” the man suggested. “I think I can help you.”
As the girls walked toward the store, they looked up and saw the sign above the door: Tinker’s. The man motioned for them to enter as he held the door open.
The store was filled with what appeared to be many used electronic items.
“I’ve never seen this place before,” Bev said.
“Me neither,” Shawni agreed.
“Because people don’t think to look here for things when they need them,” the man said. “I have an alarm clock in the back that I think you might be interested in.”
“Sure,” Shawni answered.

He turned and walked into the back room. Seconds later, he returned with a small electronic clock.
“Would you like to examine it?” Tinker asked.
“Sure,” Shawni answered.
Tinker handed the alarm clock to her. It appeared to be a standard GE brand electronic alarm clock.
“If you wish to buy this one, I can make you a really good deal,” Tinker offered.
“What kind of a deal?”
“I’ll sell it to you for five dollars.”
“I’ll take it!”
“Excellent!” Tinker motioned to the register to ring up the purchase.
Tinker saw the girls to the door. Once they were out and returning to their car, he closed his shop.
At eight o’clock the next morning, the alarm on her new clock kicked on. The repeated blaring woke Shawni up immediately. She quickly turned and pushed the Alarm Stop button.
Shawni stared at the clock for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and smiled. She got out of bed, grabbed her work clothes, and headed to the bathroom to get ready.
Shawni walked in through the employee entrance to the bookstore with a good fifteen minutes to spare.
“Hi, Brent,” Shawni murmured.
“Well, look who’s here!” he exclaimed. “Looks like you get to keep your job.” Then he added jokingly, “For at least another day . . ..”
It seemed Eight o’clock came almost immediately after she fell asleep that night. Shawni shrieked and suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. She quickly reached over and shut the alarm off. The alarm had all but scared her half to death.
After she collected herself, she got out of bed and looked at the clock.
“You seem louder today than you were yesterday,” she said to the clock.
She picked it up and found the Volume Control knob. It was still where she had set it. She turned the volume down slightly and put the clock back down.
Thursday morning came. When Shawni’s alarm went off, it was so loud that she shot right awake . . . and fell out of bed trying to slap the Alarm Stop button.

When Shawni stepped out of the house, she heard the front door of her neighbor’s house open. Mr. Sizemore stepped outside and glared at her with the most hateful eyes.
“You the one making all that racket this early in the God damn morning?” he snapped accusingly.
“What racket?” Shawni answered, confused.
“What racket?” He pointed sharply up to her bedroom window. “That fucking racket you’ve been making at eight every morning since Tuesday.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Sizemore. The only sound that’s been going off at around that time is my clock. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late for work.”
Mr. Sizemore pointed sharply at her. “I shouldn’t have to hear all that shit every day like that… especially this early in the God damn morning.” He stormed back into his house and slammed the door shut.
Shawni rolled her eyes as she stepped off the porch. “Whatever . . .” She got into her car and headed off to work.
The next day’s alarm was so loud that Shawni screamed from fright. But this time, the alarm wasn’t sounding off in continuous blares. It was one continuing blare.
She reached over to the clock and pressed the Alarm Stop button. The alarm did not shut off.
“Shut up!” she screamed, pressing the button again. “Shut up!”
She pressed the Alarm Stop button one more time. Finally, there was silence.
As soon as she walked outside, she was greeted by an unfriendly, familiar voice.
“I warned you about that fucking racket, young lady,” Mr. Sizemore snapped.
“But I didn’t do it!” Shawni almost shouted.
Just then her other neighbor, an elderly woman, came out onto her porch and shouted at her, “Listen, you! If I have to put up with that loud racket at this time of the morning one more time, I’m going to call the police!”
“But it wasn’t me!” Shawni protested.
The old woman ignored her and stormed back into her house, slamming the door shut behind her. Shawni then realized that some of the other neighbors were looking over at her house, probably for the same reason. She also realized there was only one thing that could have possibly been making all the noise.
Her new alarm clock.
She turned and walked back into the house, walked back upstairs and into her bedroom. She went to the alarm clock and unplugged it from the wall outlet. She needed to return it to Tinker’s and get a refund.
As the girls were shelving the new books that came in, Shawni told Bev about her clock and how her neighbors had complained or stared at her. Bev just looked at her.
“I’m not making this up!” Shawni exclaimed. “That new clock is loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“Shawni, I’ve got a suggestion.” Bev held up her index finger. “Why don’t you just turn the alarm volume down?”
“I did – two days in a row.” Shawni was frustrated. “But when the alarm went off this morning, it was so loud I woke up – just like that. And both of my next door neighbors gave me hell about it.”
Bev’s face then lit up. “Let’s take it back to that store and tell Tinker about it… but first, I have to hear it!”
“Oh… I don’t know Bev… “
“C’mon… bring it over tonight, the girls are coming over, we can annoy them too!”
“O-okay… “ Shawni said reluctantly.
That night, the girls gathered at Bev’s house. Bev lived in a large house just outside of town. Her closest neighbors were in the graveyard right across the road.
In addition to Shawni, Bev had invited two other close friends to her sleepover. The first was Mary Deekins, a slender, geeky girl who was always game for anything exciting. And then there was Pam Westly, a girl who lived on the mischievous side.
“Your clock really wakes up your neighbors?” Pam asked Shawni.
“Uh-huh,” Shawni answered.
“Well… “ Bev motioned at the clock.
Shawni looked at the device, shrugged and set the alarm to go off in a minute’s time… and it did… louder than ever before.
“Shawni, your alarm clock really rules!” Pam cheered.
“Shut up!!” a voice shouted, seemingly coming from nowhere.
“Can’t a guy get any sleep around here?!” another voice, a raspy one, called out.
“Turn that blasted thing off!!” another voice shouted.
The girls started in fright. Mary rose and went to the nearest window.
“Holy shit!” Mary screamed.
Shawni saw that Mary was frantically pointing to the graveyard across the street. An

Ep.18 – I Had Mothman's Baby - Gross Out Monsters

26 februari 2020 | 24 min

Episode Notes
In a trailer park in the middle of nowhere a supernatural fling brings about a new born baby that may be the beginning of the end...
I Had Mothman's Baby by Daniel Wilder
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Earl entered the mobile home located in Lot 151 of the Comf-E trailer park at roughly 9:45 a.m., but the inside of that residence was as black as a moonless midnight… save for a few beams of light that weakly pierced the room from some random cigarette burn holes on the makeshift blackout curtains that hung from rods starting to bow from the weight.
The air was sweet with the heady elixir of dollar store wine gone sour, weed, and what could possibly be a week old filet-o-fish sandwich from the local Big M… and of course, that ol’ hoary chestnut, piss.
Not content with the redneck aroma therapy he was getting at no charge, Earl turned on the flashlight on his smart phone to discover he wasn’t in a mere trailer… oh no, this was surely the den of some dragon that had confused absolute shit for treasure. Everywhere he shined the light there were piles of pizza boxes, beer cans, and tabloids.
“H-hello?” he cried with a trembling voice.
Only silence… well silence and a cat hissing somewhere from under a nearby mountain of debris answered his call.
Suddenly from his left he saw what at first appeared to be a scarecrow with large black eyes leap from behind a Lazy-Boy festooned with porno mags and half empty jars of Vaseline. As the creature charged him and smashed him to the ground he saw it was, in truth, a scrawny woman wearing large sunglasses.
“Jesus Verlene, you scared the unholy hell out of me!”
“Shut your cocksucker and turn that damn light off!” Verlene hissed.
Earl complied and Verlene grabbed his hand with a grip like iron and lead him through the filth to the kitchen… though how she saw where they were going in the inky darkness, with those glasses on no less, he couldn’t say.
Soon Earl found himself sitting at Verlene’s table in her completely dark kitchen… which amazingly didn’t smell as bad as the previous room… mainly just some unidentified wet paper smell filled the air.
“You look well” Earl managed.
“Bullshit!” Verlene spat… literally… the flecks of phlegm she dislodged hit Earl in thick, hot globs. “I look like a plop of cat barf left to dry on a hot August sidewalk!”
“Did you call me here just to discuss your looks?”
“No, I called you here because you are the only one I’ve fucked in Stumpville Holler with any kind of media clout!”
“Statistically that seems extremely improbable” Earl said, itching his crotch by reflex.
“Look, I know your callin’ me a whore with your fancy learnin’ words… and you ain’t wrong neither… but damn it, I have the story of the century here!”
“Here… in the Comf-E?”
“No you idiot… in all of Stumpville Holler… hell, maybe in the entire world!”
“You know the Leader Gazette doesn’t pay for stories… “
“I’m not in it for any cash… I want to warn other girls so they don’t make the same mistakes I have!”
“I think over half the girls have made the mistakes you have… with the same men”
“Fair, but the mistake I made last was with no man that ever walked this Earth!”
“Christ, I’ll bite… lay it on me.”
“It was round about last Thur… “
Earl pressed record on his phone’s video option, though why he chose that, in a pitch black room, is a mystery for another day.
“Okay you can start now.”
“Dammit, I already did!”
“Well, take two then.”
“Fine, it was round about last Thur… “
“Oh turds… my battery died.”
“Feel to your left, there’s a charger cord right there.”
“For a 10?”
“I don’t know… it’s for the one with the small hole.”
“Should work… let me see.”
“For crap’s sake Earl, this story is going to rip reality to bits and here we are monkey fuckin’ around with your phone… can’t you just write shit down?”
“I could, but my wrist cramps when I write by hand too much… plus it’s completely dark in here… “
The sound of Earl’s phone connecting to a viable charging source rang out.
“See? All good… okay, go!”
“It was round about last Thursday, and I went down to Sly’s for a drink… I had a few and started to zone out watching the Million Dollar Movie… that’s when the door flew open and he walked in. He was dressed in a large, fur coat and he wore a hat and scarf that covered his head. I couldn’t see any detail about him at all, but goddamn did he get me horny.”
“Local whore wants to screw… how’s that for a headline?”
“Laugh it up Brainiac… you won’t be laughing soon.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Consider it a promise.”
“Oh, I always liked it when you played rough!”
“Well buckle up sweetheart, ‘cuz ol’ Verlene is going to take you to some tough turf pronto! Anyway, over he saunters and he sits right down at the bar next to me, and I was mesmerized… only at that time I didn’t realize it was that wing powder of his that was making me swoon so hard.”
“Wing… powder?”
“Yeah, you see this fellow was more moth than man… “
“Moth? Man? Like that Mothman from over in Point Pleasant?”
They both spat after the mention of their ages old rival town.
“The very same!”
“Well, what was he doing in Stumpville Holler?”
“From my experience… looking to get laid.”
“He certainly picked the right gal.”
“I should take offence… but when you’re right, you’re right. Anyway, I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. So, he parks it next to me and we begin with the small talk… he tells me he’s a vacuum cleaner salesman working for Indrid Cold LLC selling the suckers door to door, and he just picked up the Stumpville Holler territory. Funny thing though… he doesn’t so much tell me this, but rather puts the information straight into my mind.”
“Nothing much there to get in the way of his message… “
“I don’t have to take this shit from you… “
“You totally do though.”
“Yes.” she said knowingly.
“Continue.”
“Anyway, he tells me his whole life story… how he grew up as an outcast, how his first kiss was with his cousin… “
“Gross.”
“Should I remind you that we are cousins… “
“Good point.”
“Long story short, I invited him back here, and he took off that coat… but I instantly realized he was just unfurling a pair of big ol’ moth wings that he used to mimic a coat.”
“What about the hat and the scarf?”
“Those were real.”
“Amazing.”
“Right?!! But I assure you, what was underneath was anything but human.”
“But you did it with him anyways?”
“Remember that powder I mentioned earlier? That crap flew everywhere when he spread those damned wings, and I was powerless as that devil dust covered me. I had flashes of Patrick Swayze and baseball, and when I woke up in the morning my lover from beyond the stars had vanished… but my belly was swollen and I had a case of the pukes something fierce.”
“You were pregnant?”
“Yeah… and extremely allergic to sunlight… hence the curtains, still am too.”
“So this pregnancy?”
“It went quick, yeah… a day or two of craving pickles and sub sauce… a few days of crying, but it was legit… I peed on a stick or two, and it all checked out.”
“Did you consult a doctor?”
“No… hell no! What would I tell them, hey doc, I think I have some alien larva in my womb, care to take a look or spray some Raid up in that bitch?”
“ I see your point.”
“So I holed up here, and I got the urge to make a nest right quick. So I hoarded anything that brought me any sense of being at ease… junk food, porn… and there was one craving I couldn’t resist… Vaseline… I ate that shit like a high quality french onion dip… spread across crackers, chips… anything that could get it in my mouth faster and faster… not to mention the lip balm… “
“Strange… and nauseating.”
“Don’t judge a woman what is with child.”
“Never would I dream of it my fair lady.”
“You know the fact that you speak like Shakespeare and live in a festering armpit like Stumpville Holler makes you look like a bigger award losing dumbass then all of us in town combined, right?”
“You resemble that remark more than most.”
“Thank you, that’s mighty sweet of you. Now where was I?”
“Eating Chapstick, as one so often does?”
“Huh? Oh right, the Vaseline… so I ate and ate that stuff for days… at least two of ‘em… and then finally I fell asleep.”
“You were awake for forty eight hours, eating petroleum jelly the entire time?”
“Sure was.”
“It never occurred to you that was strange?”
“It occurred, I just didn’t care… it was that damn powder I tell you!”
“I’m sensing you’ve had plenty of powder lately.”
“Damn you Earl, I am not high!”
“Uh-huh. Then what happened?”
“Well, sometime during my nap I sat up in bed and puked that jelly up all over my cooch.”
“I think I’ll change that to ‘groin’ in the piece if that’s okay with you?”
“Do what you must Earl, just make sure people heed my words!”
“I’ll do my level-headed best Verlene.”
“So anyway, I woke up with my pubes itching something fierce… then they came out in clumps… but I saved them in a jar, just in case you think eggheads may need to give them the once over after they read your piece.”
“After this goes live I may need to weave them into a coat to stay warm on the streets I’ll doubtless be living on.”
“You always was a kinky one Earl… you get that from our grandmother!”
Both crossed themselves at the mere mention of the woman.
“That’s when I noticed my entire private area was swollen, and growing longer… that barf jelly had made my skin stretchy and helped keep things well lubricated!”
“What does it say that that is the second most gross thing I associate with you?”
“What’s number one… the sperm burp incident?”
Earl shivered. “Yes, may it ne’er be spoken of again.”
“May it never be spoken of again.” Verlene repeated in agreement, shivering as well. “Shall we continue?”
“Against all common sense I’m going to have

Ep.17 – Hysterhysteria - Medical Nightmare Horror

19 februari 2020 | 21 min

Episode Notes
In a mysterious dark room covered in broken glass Alicia is about to learn that terror can come in small packages...
Hysterhysteria by Joe Solmo
http://PennedinBlood.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcript:
Hysterhysteria
By Joe Solmo
Alicia lay in the dark, someplace warm and damp. She felt heavy, almost like being underwater. Her movement was slow, the resistance in the air around her making her feel tired. She looked around at her surroundings. Strange shapes were barely visible in the dark jutted at bizarre angles. What were they? Where was she?

The last thing she remembered was getting ready for bed. Brushing her teeth and changing into her comfy yellow pajamas she had since she was fifteen. Was this some kind of alien abduction? She half joked to herself.

“Hello?” she called out into the space around here, becoming aware at how total the silence was until she spoke. A few seconds passed and she felt her heart start to race. She was alone. A dread came over her as the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.
Throughout her life she hated being alone. She loved being around people and learning their stories. She loved learning how other people thought, and their points of view. It fascinated her. There was no one now for her to talk to. She was alone with her own thoughts, and that was scary enough for her.

Growing up with no self esteem wasn’t unique to Alicia, but the constant failures in her writing career took its toll on her until she gave up and just took the first job she could find to pay the bills. She worked at a pet store for a little over minimum wage. That was where she met John. He was a slacker that would always make her laugh with his “minimum wage, minimum effort” attitude. Slowly, the time she spent writing was less and less. She couldn’t remember the last time she wrote anything.

She sat up on the bed she was laying on. Her abdomen hurt. Instinctively she placed her right hand on the pain and pulled it back as an electric sharpness shot through her body. Her hand felt odd, there was something on her hand, but it was too dark to see. It felt tacky, and her thoughts instantly went to blood.

This time with more caution, she ran her fingers over her abdomen. There was definitely an injury there. Blood, drying. Was her wound fresh? The blood didn’t feel warm to her. A tear began to form in her eye.

There was a scuttling in the dark, something off to the right. How big was this room, she wondered? “Hello?” she called out again. “Is someone there?” Again, she heard the shuffling. She strained to see in the almost complete darkness.

Alicia held her breath for a moment, trying to pick out the sound, but it had stopped. It was almost like it knew she was listening for it. She clutched her stomach and headed towards one of the shapes she could make out in the dark. The tile floor was cold on her bare feet. Two steps later she felt a sharp pain in her foot and fell to the floor with a gasp of pain. Her stomach felt like fire as well from the drop. She ran her hand down to her foot and found a piece of broken glass embedded in the flesh of her heel.

Alicia tried to grip it with her hands, but they were still coated with blood. It took several tries before she pulled the glass out. She held it up to her face but there wasn’t enough light to see the culprit of her foot pain. She wondered if her stomach was injured by the same glass? Did she fall through a window?

The shuffling came again, and another noise, she couldn’t make it out. Alicia stared in the direction of the noise and tried to pull her legs under her, protectively. Pain raced up her legs as she realized the floor was covered in broken glass.

She winced, but tried to remain silent, listening for the only sound that wasn’t her. It was horrifying and comforting all in one. She wasn’t alone, but what was with her in this room? The shuffling was still faint, but she felt like it was getting closer. Who was out there in the dark?

She ran her fingers gingerly down her legs, plucking out the small pieces of glass as she heard the shuffling getting ever closer. “Who are you?” she screamed into the darkness, frustration fueling the yell.

A small noise, a gurgle maybe? What the hell is going on? She threw the handful of glass she had in the direction of the sounds as she tried to fight back the tears still forming. She wouldn’t admit it to another living being, but she was terrified.

Inside, she mocked herself. She hated being alone, but now she wasn’t and she hated it even more. The irony wasn’t lost on her. “Come on Alicia you stupid bitch, get it together,” she whispered and tried to find a clear part of the floor to put her hand down so she could get back to her feet and leave this place.

Suddenly there was a flash, and for just a second she could see. It was so quick it didn’t really register enough to make sense. The light was so bright. A loud crash followed, a thunderstorm, she thought. She shuffled towards the shape in the dark. The only other visible thing that existed at the moment. She heard the other shuffling stop for a second. Alicia’s imagination ran away with her and she pictured the thing in the dark to be listening, to hone in on her in the dark. She stopped moving. She stopped breathing. If she could stop existing at that moment, she feared she might take the option.

She looked at the shape, the island of substance in the sea of darkness. The only piece if reality in this insane situation. It was roughly the size of a table, she thought. Only a few feet away now, but so was the shuffling, and getting closer. As quietly as she could she backed her self up to the table and faced the shuffling noise waiting for another flash of lightning. Another glimpse of her situation.

10 seconds passed as she heard the rain falling outside, but no lightning. It was as if the universe was toying with her. The shuffling was so close, she tensed up. Finally, a flash appeared and she screamed. Not a scream like at a fun house, but a cold-blooded, bone chilling scream of sheer terror. She finally saw what was shuffling towards her. It was a….

It couldn’t be, she thought. I finally lost it. I went nuts and now I’m trapped in this hell. A smile began to form as she thought of the absurdity of it all.

Another flash.

That fear returned as her eyes fixed on it. Only 3 feet from her very own. There it was, not imagined. A fetus dragging its umbilical cord. The cord was frayed at the end, chewed, she thought with horror as she took in the scene. Darkness closed in and she prayed for the first time in her life. Prayed that another flash would appear and not leave her alone. Prayed for the abomination she saw was just a figment of her imagination.

Whether through divine intervention or the force of mother nature, her prayers were answered as another flash illuminated the trashed Doctors office she was currently occupying. The fetus’s face was facing her, its mouth opening and closing in silent screams. Its tiny face resembled her own, she noticed as her heart skipped a beat. Was this her child? She clutched her stomach, and on the next flash looked down at the hospital gown covered in blood she was wearing. Was this where the wound came from?

Alicia gripped the cold metal table and pulled her self up with a grunt. Fire filled her as she laid on her belly and looked over the edge of the table. The fetus was still there, moving closer and closer, a trail of blood behind it, its eyes focused on hers, they were the same green color as her own. It’s tiny arms pulling it closer and closer to her.

“Mother?” It asked, in her own voice. “Why didn’t you love me, mother?”

Alicia’s spine froze in place, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Fear had locked her down on top of that table.

Darkness.
“No words for your daughter, mother?” the fetus said as it crawled closer to the table. Alicia had to peer straight over the edge to see it. She was so glad she was on top of the table, a safe place from the monster below.

“I…don’t have a daughter,” Alicia managed to spit out between short, scared breaths. A flash of lightning illuminated the room.

“Then what am I, mother?” The fetus asked and sat up crossing its legs. “Am I not real?”

Darkness.
“You are a... you can’t be real,” Alicia yelled out.

A flash of light lit up the fetus’s face. “Oh no? Do I not bleed?” The fetus said gesturing around with its chubby arms at the floor around it. “Oh wait. This is mostly your blood. Even though when you shed it it was both of ours,” the fetus explained rubbing the blood into its skin. It sighed at her and picked up a piece of broken glass in its tiny hand. Its eyes met hers as it ran the glass across its wrist. Blood poured out of the wound. “There we go,” it said and giggled in a baby’s voice. “I do have my own.”
Darkness
“What the hell are you?” Alicia yelled out sitting up on the table to get farther away from the monstrosity below.
“I thought it was obvious,” the fetus said raising its self to its feet in the light of a strike. It started to swing the umbilical cord around. With each revolution it grew a few inches. After a couple seconds the fetus let go of the cord and the end shot out above Alicia in the darkness

Ep.16 – Deb, Debbie, Deborah - Twisted Valentine's Day Horrors

12 februari 2020 | 37 min

Episode Notes
A grieving and suicidal widow gets a very unexpected visitor on a snowly Valentine's Day, but nothing is quite what it seems...
Deb, Debbie, Deborah by Shane Migliavacca
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
Deb Debbie Deborah
The cat thinks I’m fucking nuts. She may be right. I’m wearing my nicest dress, Dean Martin is on the stereo and I have a gun to my head. I’m dancing with my dead husband on Valentine’s Day.
Angel, our cat died three days ago. Her ashes sit on the mantle in an urn next to my husband’s. I see her on her favorite spot on the couch, watching me. She really is an angel now.
I pull the hammer of the revolver back… I’m ready to join them.
Click.
“Son of a bitch!”
Empty.
“Good job Deborah.”
I forgot the fucking bullets. I drop the snub nose on the coffee table. I haven’t found where Johnny hid the bullets.
He bought the gun for me, worried about us being all alone out here in the boondocks. What good is a gun if the bullets are hidden?
Excuse me Mr. Rapist, while I find the bullets to shoot you.
_ _
Maybe Johnny never got around to buying any.
“Ain’t that a kick in the head, Dean?”
I drop to the couch defeated. My mind isn’t what it used to be. Grief and despair have pushed everything else out to the point that I have trouble dealing with day to day shit. It’s for the best I suppose.
I’m not a religious woman, but I’d like to think there was something waiting you know? After… that I could be with them in some kind way. If there is a God and suicide is a sin, I’d better not risk it. Being sent to hell, I’d never see them again. If you ask me, this is hell. This world.
Johnny. My Johnny. I miss that lopsided grin of yours. The way your stubble felt when you kissed me. How your hair fell across your eyes when you woke up. The touch of your course hands on my shoulders.
Gone. All gone.
Five and a half years ago, a drunk driver named Dave Robbins. Johnny had been on his way home from work when the bastard ran a red light and struck Johnny’s car. I still remember the trooper showing up at work. He stood there in his uniform, looking so out of place. His words were unintelligible as my heart pounded in my ears.
They gave that man ten years in prison. Ten fucking years! He took away our future and they gave him ten years. He got out in four for good behavior. Good fucking behavior. I dreamed about killing him for so long. How I’d do it, how I’d drag it out, make him suffer. I’d even toyed with the idea of killing his family in front of him.
But no. There was Angel to think of.
The cat, a house warming present from Johnny, got me through that first grim year.
She was there for me when I got home from another dreary day at work. Happy to see me, purring her feline heart out. She was such a tiny little thing when he surprised me with her.
She hid under the couch for the first couple days, until one night I sat on the couch watching the evening news, waiting for Johnny to come home from work. I felt something small and warm curl up next to me. Now she’s gone to. I’m left all alone in this house that used to represent our future together. A house that’s become a tomb.
The house was so empty and vast when I’d come home from the vet carrying little Angel’s ashes in a small container. Nobody there to greet me at the door. I dread the thought of coming home after a day at work to this empty, godforsaken place.
But I’ll have to.
I took a couple sick days, told Emily I had a bug. They don’t need to know the real reason. Most of them look at me with some sort of pity. Walking on eggshells around me. The others treat me as if this sickness in my heart can simply be sent away. That I should be able to “Get over it” and move on.
There is no moving on.
I could take some medication I guess. Something to help me. At the cost of this hornet’s nest of pain in my stomach. The pain that helps me remember them… that keeps them in my thoughts. Would I lose their memory in a haze of medication?
The record ends. I stare at the snub nose. I should really find those bullets.
There’s other ways I could do it. Pills sure or the old razor in the bathtub bit. Those are easy enough I suppose. Hanging myself is off the table. I can’t tie knots for shit. Besides some idiot might think I was trying to get off and died by accident.
Shit. Fuck it.
The phone rings. I pick it up, looking at the number. It’s Cathryn Wade from work. Probably checking up on me.
“Hello, Cat.”
“How you feeling trooper.” She answers in her unbearably cheerful voice.

I lie. “Ok, just a bit of a bug.”
“You need anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” I want to hate her for caring. Damn it, I just can’t.
The phone crackles with static. “Aren’t you forgetting something Deb?” Another voice asks.
“Cat? You there?”
I can hear something metallic on the other end. “Have you checked the basement?”
“Who is this?” I ask, my voice trembling. No answer. “Goddammit it! Who is this?”
“Are you okay Deb?” Cat ask, sounding a bit shaken.
“Yea-Yeah, just this bug. I think I need a nap.”
Before she can finish saying goodbye, I hang up.
What just happened? I’m not even sure. I take a deep breath.
I get off the couch. Maybe I should just go buy some fucking bullets.
Looking out the window, I see I’m not going out anywhere today. The snow is coming down in a heavy white blanket. Frustrated I turn the TV on.
“They’re calling it the Valentine’s Day Blizzard.” The weather man proclaimed. As if he was proud father praising his golden child. These cocksuckers really piss me off in how much they get off on bad weather. I think they get hard over delivering bad news.
“Expect record snow falls.”
“Expect me not to give a fuck.” I say. Wishing about now the gun was loaded, so I could shoot the TV.
I never hated anybody till Johnny died. Now I can’t stand anyone. Most of all myself.
The smiling weatherman is replaced by a nicely dressed Chinese woman. “The day’s other big story: All but one of the escaped convicts have been captured.”
Police gather round an overturned prison bus in a ditch as the anchorwoman goes over the details.
“Police are still searching for Charles Lee Andru. Convicted serial killer and rapist. He’s considered highly dangerous, should you spot him…”
Why do these assholes always have three names? Is it a serial killer thing?
They linger on his face. He’s handsome enough, except for the scar over his left eye. Crazy burns hot in those eyes. Even in a photograph, you can feel his stare penetrating your soul.
Bored, I walk out to the kitchen. A drink maybe. And a sandwich.Dirty dishes clog one of the two sinks. I’ve let the house go to shit. Haven’t felt like cleaning since the cat died.
I pour myself a glass of brandy and make a roast beef sandwich. I hold a stainless steel knife in my hands. Catching my reflection on blade. The house isn’t the only thing gone to shit. I look terrible. My hair’s a mess and there’s bags under my eyes.
Fuck it all. Why should care how I look? It’s all a sick joke.
The blade quivers in my hand.
So sharp. One of those ‘As Seen on TV’ jobs you can get at Save-Mart. Why, I bet if I just took the knife and sliced.
“Debbie.”
A sweet, sing song voice echoes out from the living room.
The TV?
Has to be. A coincidence.
“Deb.” The voice giggles.
“Who’s there?” I call out. Feeling a bit embarrassed because it’s most likely the TV.
I grip the knife. Stepping into the short hallway, I walk towards the living room. I can hear a soap opera on the TV. I stop and listen. Under the din of dialogue from the TV I hear the wind outside. The tic tic sound of snow and freezing rain against the windows.
And then… floorboards creaking with the unmistakable sound of someone walking over them.
“Debbie.” The voice giggles again. “Come and find me!”

I storm into the living room, ready to confront the weirdo intruder.
“You picked the wrong fucking time.”
Empty.
I switch the TV off and I listen again.
Maybe my mind has finally hitched a ride to crazy town. The house is still, silent, save for the wind and snow out side.
The furnace in the basement rumbles on, making me flinch. I laugh like a maniac. Tears sting my eyes as laughter gives way to crying.
I really have fucking flipped out.
Wiping them away, I see them there, reflected in the black of the TV screen. Watching me from the hall. Darting away before I can turn.
Scrambling to my feet, I grab the empty gun and give chase. I can hear them upstairs.
"Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!" The voice sang out from somewhere upstairs.
I know that poem. From long ago, when I was a little girl.
I creep up the stairs, no easy feat since they’re creaky as hell.
A door slams shut somewhere upstairs. How the hell did they get in? I didn’t hear anything. Everything is locked. I didn’t forget something, right?
With a knife in one hand and an empty gun in the other, maybe I can scare the living crap out of them.
Yeah, right.
Why am I scared? I was thinking about ending my life moments before. No, it’s not death that frightens me, it’s what could happen in place of that. Rape. Being maimed. Being paralyzed. A coma. Those things frighten me. A living hell I can’t escape.

I search the upstairs, trying to look as badass as possible with an empty gun. That’s when it hits me.
I am fucking nuts.
There’s not a living soul up here.
I search every room. Every nook. Every cranny. Under the beds. In the closets. Not a sign of anybody being here other then me. Nothing out of place, nothing touched.
Feeling tired, I walk into the bathroom connected to the be

Ep.15 – A Sunken Heart in Hino Bay - A Story of Drowning in Love

5 februari 2020 | 26 min

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
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:
"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

Ep.14 – The Black Cat - Madness and Murder

29 januari 2020 | 31 min

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
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
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

Ep.13 – The Devil Knows Three Chords - Country Fried Horror

22 januari 2020 | 21 min

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

Ep.12 – They Don't Drive Cars, But They Do EAT MEAT

15 januari 2020 | 31 min

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

Ep.11 – Wolf Moon - Hair Raising Werewolves

8 januari 2020 | 27 min

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

Ep.10 – Even the Devil Tells the Truth... Sometimes - New Years Eve Horror

31 december 2019 | 26 min

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
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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

Ep.9 – Home For Christmas - Bloody Holiday Horror

24 december 2019 | 32 min

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

Ep.8 – Biting Cold - A Christmas Horror Tale

18 december 2019 | 19 min

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

Ep.7 – The Blind Date - A Night from HELL

11 december 2019 | 34 min

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

Ep.6 – Homecoming - You're Never Alone!

4 december 2019 | 23 min

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

Ep.5 – Thanksgiving Dinner - Blood is Thicker Than Gravy

27 november 2019 | 30 min

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

Ep.4 – Survivors - The Apocalypse is Now

20 november 2019 | 27 min

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

Ep.3 – I Saw the Dragon - Desert Storm Terrors!

13 november 2019 | 26 min

Episode Notes
I Saw the Dragon by John Oak Dalton (A Weekly Spooky Original Story)
A soldier of fortune has to hold a hill in a war-torn African country, and spends a long night with ghosts… and something else.
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merch
Support us on http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
Twitter
Facebook
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcript:
When I left Desert Storm in ‘91 all I had done was run Saddam back in his rat hole.
We let him off just like my grandpa told me they did to the Nazis back in World War II, when he drove a tank right up to Berlin, and then had to sit there and wait for the Russians to come and trash the place. That was us, in 1991. Got up to Baghdad and pulled the parking brake and sat there.
So when my buddy Chisholm started talking about being a soldier of fortune afterwards, just like in the magazines, I was bored enough to try it.
We thought we’d be like Crockett and Tubbs, only with less Phil Collins.
We signed up with this for-hire outfit, and the first place we mustered out to was this African country that doesn’t even exist anymore. It was run by the government and then the rebels and then the government, and if they were sitting on oil, or had anything anybody else wanted, it wouldn’t have gone on like it did.
The only thing they were exporting were refugees, only most of them got shot down at the border, so there weren’t even that many of them.
So the government had this Russian Mi-46 copter, and they dropped us in a hot LZ at the top of a big hill where the country’s only television station was. Man, we came in on that thing “Ride of the Valkyries” style with just that one big red light at the top of that tower blinking at us.
That big red eye, looking right at us.
We were supposed to secure it to keep it out of rebel hands, only when the three of us got there about a half dozen rebels were hunkered down inside. We couldn’t just frag or burn the place so we shot it out with those guys.
That was because when it was all over, the president of this country wanted to come up there and make a big speech over the TV to the whole country. He was that kind of guy.
Chisholm got it right through the eye so that was the end of that adventure. It wasn’t like he had read in those magazines.
The other guy, whose name I forget, got shot in the leg, and it wouldn’t have been so bad but we didn’t even have a piece of masking tape to put over that wound. We weren’t ready for any resistance or much of anything. It was a half-assed thing we did really.
Eventually they got bold and kept poking their heads out farther and farther, and finally we got lucky and shot two of them. Then the rest of them ran out the back door and down the hill, and I stormed in the front door by myself because the other dude had already died too. Bled straight out and it shouldn’t have happened. There wasn’t anybody to lay down any covering fire so I could go chase the SOBs that killed my buddy Chisholm. No revenge for me. Again, not like in the magazines.
Inside wasn’t much. There was a lobby with a couple of folding chairs, and then a studio about the size of a hotel room, and a room where all the machinery was. VCRs and stuff, all wired together.
They still had their lunch set out in the lobby and a coffee pot on and that came in damn handy real quick.
I secured the area and waited for reinforcements.
It was funny, they had just loaded up all the VCR machines with movies and they were running nonstop on that one TV channel. All the boxes looked like somebody walked out of a Blockbuster back in the States and was racking up hellacious fines. It was illegal-looking as hell, but I guess running movies all day made the average person think the government was going to be okay. No need to panic kind of thing.
I guessed it wasn’t going to turn out that way after all. I was up there a couple days and nobody ever came up that hill.
I sure learned a lot about those movies, though. Saw them over and over. At noon played The Gods Must Be Crazy and then at 2 p.m. was Love Brewed in the African Pot, and those were kinda boring.
Then at 4 p.m. it kicked into high gear and they showed Shaft in Africa.
Then at 6 p.m. they showed Savage Sisters.
At 8 p.m. Black Mama, White Mama.
Then at 10 p.m. was Bloodfist and I love Don “The Dragon” Wilson so I always watched that.
Then at midnight was The Gods Must Be Crazy again and it started all over.
Y’all can have Bruce Lee or Chuck Norris or whoever. The Dragon had a legit fighting career of his own and made more movies, too. And I have too much respect for all those guys to try and guess who would win in a fight. It’s stupid anyway because you would need three time machines to make it all work out and that’s never going to happen.
Just watch the first Bloodfist movie.
But after a couple days of these movies playing over and over I got pretty bored, so I looked all around the studio to see what there was to see.
I’m pretty sure now what I thought was a big oil stain on the concrete floor of that studio was actually an old bloodstain. In fact I am very sure of it.
But what I was paying attention to at that time was this little hatch I saw in the floor.
I opened it, and a ladder made out of what looked like scrap wood kinda leaned against the frame and was gone into the dark. I unsnapped a flashlight from my belt and thumbed it to life, shined it around down there.
I saw that this ladder went down into a basement. Actually more like a root cellar, with dirt walls and everything, and there was a bunch of movies on shelves down there, and a TV on a card table with its own VCR.
Of course there were rats scurrying around everywhere but they’ve never bothered me that much.
Dumb I guess, I was hoping that’s where they kept the booze, or maybe the dope, or hell, even some fresh vegetables like my grandma stored in her root cellar in Indiana, back in the day.
Since none of that good stuff I was hoping for was down there I decided, maybe it’s time to change up the programming. Maybe people out there hiding in their houses waiting for it to be over were sick of watching the same five or six movies too.
Only when I started kind of ducking my head down there and looking at those shelves, these tapes all had hand-written labels so I didn’t know what was what. But like I said, bored, so I took one and I popped it in.
At first I just thought it was a straight-up torture video that maybe the government had made. Political prisoners. You heard about that kind of stuff.
It was for sure shot right out the back door of the studio. There were guys in soldier uniforms and they had…I guess they were knives. And a guy tied to something. Not a chair. Something else.
It wasn’t all made of bones but some of it was.
Only now I realize it wasn’t torture so much. It was…a ritual.
I was damn glad I never saw that bone couch or whatever it was around there anywhere. Where they kept that thing, I hope I never know.
I had seen some bad stuff by then in Iraq, but I got sick of this pretty quick and tried to shut it off.
Only I couldn’t get the VCR to quit.
So I unplugged it from the wall…and it still didn’t stop.
The pictures kept playing. That I couldn’t unsee. And the sounds.
So eventually I just backed up the ladder and pulled the ladder up behind me and shut the hatch and rolled a tripod over the hatch.
But I could hear the sounds coming up through the floor.
And the blue flickering light from those old TVs, showing around the cracks.
Even when I went out into the lobby, those sounds were right under my feet. A man dying. Evil men laughing. The scrape of bone. The whispers of knives.
And that was messed up because that root cellar wasn’t that big. It sure wasn’t under the lobby, but I heard it just as clearly as when I was pushing that tripod over that hatch.
Well that was a long-ass night and I couldn’t wait until morning.
Only morning didn’t come.
It stayed dark and I noticed my watch had stopped, so I’m not exactly sure how long that period of time was, but it was a long time.
And the threads starting coming loose and I guess at some point I just fired my M16 into that darkness until I ran out of bullets…and that was a stupid thing to do.
To run out of bullets, when there are still voices…and darkness.
Because I knew that in that…endless dark…I was going to need some weapons.
What I thought I was going to do with those weapons, except for shoot at more shadows, I don’t really know. But I was still a solider then first and foremost.
I knew Chisholm and the other guy’s guns were where they fell. Same with the two guys we killed. Plus I thought I saw those rebels throw down some Chinese knock-offs of Mister Kalishnakov’s beautiful AK-47s…when they were tear-assing away.
And of course there were knives and machetes and toenail clippers and everything else lying around everywhere.
The first step out that front door was the hardest. But those sounds and voices fell away, and that was something.
And the dark wasn’t too bad at first, and I could see a bit and didn’t have to feel around too much. Which is good because when that hot wind blew a little bit your direction, it didn’t smell good. You can figure out why.
So I was doing okay, all things considered, getting my little armory together.
But then Chisholm stepped out in front of me, right out of the darkness.
For a crazy second I thought somehow he had survived that bullet, even though he still had a hole where his left eye should have been and not much back of his forehead.
He said a lot of stuff to me I won’t repeat, mostly because he gave me a righteous ass chewing I deserved…but the one thing I will say is that he told me a lot of blood had been spilled right there and that something woke up.
Something woke up.
And that plays into what happened nex

Ep.2 – What Lurks in the Caves?

6 november 2019 | 23 min

Episode Notes
Tonight's story "Caves" by Joe Solmo
http://pennedinblood.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merch
Support us on Patreon
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:
“Becky, where the hell are we?” Janice asked trying to peer out of the rain-coated windshield. The downpour was almost too much for the wipers on the ’67 Camaro to handle, even on the fastest setting.
Janice turned the old AM/FM radio down, silencing The Cure’s Friday I’m in Love. She gripped the handle on the door as the classic muscle car traveled down the dirt road that led seemingly nowhere. “Easy! If you get a scratch on this car your dad is going to kill you. I still don’t know why we couldn’t just go to the lake like we normally do,” Janice said scooching her butt on the recently redone black leather seats.
“You don’t have to tell me, I remember when I dropped my ice cream in his ’50 Chevy. I couldn’t sit for a week,” she replied. “Last time at the lake was too close. Out here no one will see us.”
“I still don’t know why you think we should hide it. We are happy together, that is all that should matter,” Janice said placing her hand on Becky’s shoulder. “I think my parents would understand.”
“Maybe yours would, but my father sure wouldn’t. To him I am still daddy’s little girl who should wear pink and like horses and boys. It’s only for another few months, then we graduate and we can leave this tiny town and start over in a new city. Did you hear back from any of the schools you applied too yet?” Becky asked as she navigated the car down the old logging trail. Years of misuse has let some of the underbrush grow back and come close to scraping the custom paint job on her father’s prize possession.
“How much further is it?” Janice said adjusting her seatbelt that cut across her large breasts. She tucked the cross strap behind her for comfort.
“It’s been like ten years since I’ve been here. But I don’t think it’s much further. You remember Veronica? Her mom brought us hear hiking once in the girl scouts. There are traces of Native American painting and shit on the walls in the caves. It will be a cool place for us to be alone,” Becky said.
“Really alone,” Janice said planting a kiss on Becky’s neck. Beck slammed on the brakes bringing the car to a halt. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my kisses anymore?” Janice said playfully.
“It’s not that. We are here. Well it’s on foot from here, anyway,” Becky said.
“We have to walk in this shit?” Janice said looking down at the peep toe heels she was wearing. “You didn’t tell me we would have to walk in the mud to get there.”
“I got it covered. Don’t worry, Becky said and reached into the back seat. Her breasts nearly escaped her tube top, exciting Janice. A backpack materialized in her hands and she placed it between them. She drew an old pair of sneakers and socks out of the bag. They shared a shoe size, something they had learned in junior high. They began to wear each other’s clothes shortly after and soon they found they had feelings for each other. Being from such a small town, they knew no one would understand so they kept it quit, pretending to just be best friends, but they were so much more.
Janice still remembered the first time they kissed. It was just a dare. They were still hiding their feelings for each other at that point, but as soon as their lips touched, Janice’s heart skipped a beat, and it hasn’t caught up since. Becky was her whole life, her reason for getting out of bed every day and she couldn’t wait until they could tell the world. Until she could wake next to her soulmate every single day.
“What would I do without you?” Janice asked, and actually meant it.
“Probably chase after Justine. She has bigger boobs than me,” Becky joked squeezing her own breasts.
“You know it’s more than just physical, right,” Justine said. She was always afraid that was what Becky thought. She was never good at expressing herself and sometimes a quip, usually about sex, was how it came out.
“I know, babe. Now change those shoes so that we can get going,” Becky said and killed the engine. She put the keys in a small pouch on the front of the blue backpack.
“What else do you have in there?” Janice asked as she tied the sneakers.
“A surprise for us,” she said and reached into the backseat again. This time Becky pulled out two cheap plastic rain ponchos and a flashlight. The rain was coming down so hard it made the forest look like night had fallen already even though dusk wasn’t for a few more hours yet.
Janice opened the door and hopped out, nearly falling onto the muddy forest floor. A slight scream from the other side of the car let her know Becky wasn’t having an easier time of it. She ran around the front of the car in the driving rain. “Where to, my love?” Janice said over the sound of the rain pounding on the metal of the car.
Becky pointed towards a gate and headed towards it. She didn’t have a key for it, but it was the woods, you could just walk around. She hoped once they got into the woods, the trees would protect her from the rain, but the rain proved too much for the leaves above. She was glad she put the backpack on before the poncho.
Janice caught up to her and slipped a wet hand into her own. With a squeeze she led her forbidden lover into the forest based on a ten-year-old memory.
“It really isn’t that far from here, maybe twenty minutes,” Becky said. “There is a big rock that looks like a big ass. Once we see that, we are close.”

“Figured you would like a big ass!” Janice said.
“I like your ass just the way it is. Come on, the faster we get there the faster we can get dry,” Becky said.
“Odd way to phrase what we have planned,” Janice joked.
“Ha-ha, babe,” Becky replied and climbed over a fallen pine. She helped Janice over the slick bark. The cold of the rain was starting to settle in as they hiked the path, and their conversation came to a halt shortly after. The next few minutes went on in silence until they reached a stream that crossed the path. A worn plank of wood crossed it, worn with age and weather. It looked sketchy if the plank would hold for their crossing.
“Ok I really remember this. We are almost there. The ass rock should be just up there. We could probably see it from here if the goddamn rain would let up,” Becky said.
Motion. There was definitely motion. What would be out in this weather? Even the deer have holed up somewhere, it thought. It put out a furry paw farther onto the thin branch and moved closer for a better view. It looked down on the two shapes as they passed below. A bright yellow, he couldn’t place it, but the sounds they made sparked a memory. It took a few minutes for its sluggish brain to access the right path. Hibernation will do that. It did remember a time, last hunting season where it came across these monsters. It cocked its head and watched as they walked towards the natural cave system it called home. It jumped from limb to limb, racing the strange bipedal creatures back to its lair.
“Here’s ass rock, just like I said,” Becky said. I wish I brought Dad’s polaroid too. Could have gotten a picture with it,” she joked.
“Didn’t he just get that? He probably wouldn’t have let you take it anyway,” Janice said from beside her.
“Yeah, your right. If I remember there was a bunch of evergreens…Oh there they are. We are here!” Becky said excitedly and took off for the trees.
“Wait!” Janice said and chased after her. There was a moment of panic when she lost sight of Becky, but all was well when she peeked out of the branches of the young pines. Now she could see behind them was a rock wall, about twenty feet tall. Becky was peeking out from a hole in those rocks. Together they left the rain for the shelter of the cave.
Becky’s flashlight came to life, illuminating the stone walls of the cave. It seemed that a tunnel continued back into the ground. On the ground was the ancient remains of a fire pit, Janice noticed as she shed the poncho. “Now what?” She asked.
“Now we get a fire going, and get dry,” Becky said pulling some wood and paper from the backpack.
“Oh, you’re trying to appeal to the pyro in me, aren’t you?” Janice said pulling her lighter out of her pocket and doing a few test flicks to make sure it still worked.
“I know you so well,” Becky said and took Janice in her arms. She kissed her, feeling the coldness of her lips from traveling through the woods.
“Inside and out,” Janice responded in a whisper, then shivered.
“Let’s heat this place up,” Becky said and grabbed the lighter from her friend. In a moment the cave was light by the orange light of the fire she created. She looked around the wall for the paintings she remembered as a kid, but didn’t see them. She did see some asshole had spray-painted “Jack was here,” though. She sighed. People just like to ruin stuff. Nothing was going to ruin this trip though. Their time was too precious together to waste.
Becky sat down next to Janice and held her hand. She was glad the warmth was coming back to her lover. She leaned in for a kiss. A moment passed and the two started to forget about the world around them and the only thing that mattered was them, this moment, the feelings they had for each other.

Becky felt Janice’s hand slide up her leg and over her zipper, making her hold her breath in anticipation of the carnal pleasures she was expecting. It wasn’t long until Janice undid the button and zipper and slid her slender fingers between cloth and flesh.
Becky moaned as Janice kissed her neck, her lips no longer could as they were engorged with blood flow in the heat of the moment. She returned the neck kisses to Janice, kissing towards her immense cleavage. She could feel her breasts pressed up against her and she wanted nothing mo

Ep.1 – Mischief Night - Halloween Night Horrors

30 oktober 2019 | 25 min

Episode Notes
Two low-life thugs might get more than they bargained for on their hunt for treats this Halloween...
Tonight's story by
Shane Migliavacca
http://pennedinblood.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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Transcript:
Ray had a bad feeling in his gut. Bud had a sinister look in his eye tonight. It was Bud’s idea they go out. There was an unreasonably cold chill to this October night. Most likely the reason the trick or treaters were starting to thin out. Bud wanted to do some trick or treating of his own. Ray knew Bud long enough to know that meant some kind of crime would be perpetrated by them tonight.
Bud swung a beat up paper sack back and forth as they walked. When Ray had asked Bud told him only that it was a “surprise.” Ray didn’t like his friend’s surprises all that much. But without him, Ray would never have made it this far in life. His mother was an out of work nurse. His dad a foremen at the chemical plant. Stuck home with a kid and a husband that was never around, she took her frustration out on Ray. Smacking him around. His dad, too busy and too tired from long shifts, failed to notice or care. When he was fifteen Ray ran away from home. Those first few years had been harder then hell. He’d resorted to things he’d never thought he was capable of. Then he met Bud. A former runaway himself. They were kindred spirits. Bud knew his way around the streets. Ray owed him. No matter what the man did, he wouldn’t desert him. Not to mention he was more then a little afraid of him.
A kid in a skeleton costume bounded down the sidewalk towards them. Happily clutching a full bag of candy in his arms. As he passed by, Bud stuck out his leg, sending the kid crashing to the sidewalk. His bag of candy landing next to him. Some of the candy spilling onto the sidewalk and lawn. The kid started blubbering as he rubbed his knee.
Bud knelt down and looked at the kid. “Did you have a nice trip kid?”
The kid shook his head back and forth. “You tripped me.”
“Maybe your just clumsy kid.” Bud laughed. He snatched up the kid’s bag of candy.
“Hey! That’s mine!” The kid hollered. “Give it back!”
There was a flash of steel. Bud held out the switchblade he carried. “Shhh.” He whispered.
Ray felt his heart quicken. What was Bud gonna do to this kid? He’d never seen him hurt a kid, could he go that far? Kill a kid?
“Listen kid.” Bud said. “This is my candy now. Mine. You tell anybody about it, your parents, a cop, anybody…And I’ll make you watch as I kill ‘em. ‘cause I’m the Boogeyman. And I know where you live. Got it?”
The kid near tears and more then likely pissing his pants nodded.
“Good. Now run the fuck along. And don’t talk to fucking strangers.”
The kid hightailed it as Bud laughed. Sniffing the air he looked at Ray. “I think that kid shit his pants. Or was it you?”
“Fuck.” Ray manged. “Fuck man.”
This made Bud laugh louder, handing the bag of ill gotten candy to Ray. “Have some.”
Shaking his head, Ray reached into the bag. Grabbing a small bag of Sour Patch Kids.
“What are we doing out here tonight man?” He popped a red Sour Patch into his mouth. “Besides mugging little kids.”
“Well my man, I want to do something more adult then trick or treating.”
Bud motioned to the house up and down the street. “Pick one. Pick a good one and we’ll have ourselves some fun.”
Ray let his eyes wander over the houses. Nice upper middle-class homes. Some decorated to the hilt for Halloween. Others bore nothing at all. One house in particular. A large Grim Reaper stood on lawn. His eyes glowing. A witch stood next to him, cackling at a passersby. Purple, orange and green lights decorated the house’s exterior. A large glowing ghost hung on the front door. Loudly wailing at little kids as the walked up to the front door.
“That one.” Ray pointed.
Bud nodded in approval. A pretty brunette answered the door. Handing out candy to the little kids waiting there.
“Good choice.”
Amanda followed the outline on the construction paper. A detailed drawing of a skeleton grinning at her. She’d always been pretty good at drawing. Cutting things with scissors was another thing.
Next to her, Amanda’s little brother Kyle coughed as he coloured in a pumpkin she’d draw earlier. They sat at the kitchen table. Surround by snacks and colored paper.
What a drag. Stuck home on Halloween night looking after her sick kid brother. Her parents were off to have diner and then a movie. She was missing Stevie Lee’s big Halloween party at the Mill Creek farms. She’d just got her driver’s license and barely got to use it. Why couldn’t her parents cancel? Why’d it have to be her?
She looked at her brother. It sucked for him too. He’d really been looking forward to trick or treating tonight. Instead they were stuck home together. Both of them had gotten bored watching horror movies on TV. She’d decided maybe making something would lift their spirits.
“The Horrorthon will be back with Night of The Killer Lobsters after a word from our ghoulish sponsors.” The television played to an empty living room.
The ghost hanging on the front door wailed. Breaking Amanda’s thoughts. The scissors slipped, causing her to poke her thumb.
“Oh shit!” She hollered.
“You okay?” Kyle asked.
“Yeah. You didn’t hear me swear, right?”
He gave her a thumbs up.
There was a loud knock at the front door.
“Want me to get it?” Her brother asked.
Amanda stood. Holding the scissors in one hand. “I’ll get it.”
There was another loud knock.
“Coming!” Amanda shouted over the ghost’s howling. “Hold your fucking horses.” She said under her breath.
“Look!” A man warned on the television. “There’s one now!” As a lobster was superimposed over the side of a car. Menacing some kids in Lover’s Lane.
Walking past a upright piano set against one wall. Setting the scissors on the coffee table, Amanda picked up her mom’s large ceramic bowl. According to her it was some family heirloom.
A red drop hit the beige carpet.
“Shit.” Amanda growled. Looking at the trail of blood drops on the carpet behind her. She hadn’t though the scissors had broke the skin of her thumb. Now she’d have to get blood stains out of the carpet before mom and dad got home. What next?
There was another furious knock.
“Yeah. Yeah.” She said. This time not even trying to hide her annoyance. The pile up of the night’s events getting to her. So much so Amanda forgot to look through the window to see who was out there first. Something she always did.
Unlocking the door, she yanked it open. Two men in plastic clown masks stood waiting.
Amanda stood, hesitating. “Trick or-”
The rest of it was cut off as the closer of the two men drove a fist into her stomach. Knocking the air out of her lungs and doubling her over. Mom’s precious heirloom hitting the floor, shattering. Sending candy spilling over the floor.
Before she could recover, strong hands shoved her back into the living room. The two men rushing in after her. The second man closes the door, locking it and turning off the lights.
Amanda tries to stand. Earning another punch to the stomach from the first man.
“We good?” He asks.
The second peeks out through the curtains.
“Golden.” He answered. Keeping watch through the drawn curtains.
Amanda staggered hunched over. Barely able to gasp for air much less form words. She wanted to warn her brother. Scream out for help. Anything.
The first man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head up, so they were face to face.
His gloved hand touched her cheek. In his other he held a switchblade. “You alone girly?”
“Yea-Yeah.” She gasped.
“What’s a looker like you doing all alone on Halloween night?”
“I-I was grounded.” She manged. Tears burning her eyes.
“That so? Wouldn’t be lying would you? Don’t have a boyfriend stashed somewhere? Maybe a girlfriend? You know what they say. ‘When the cats away. The mice will play.’ You playing pretty mouse?”
Amanda coughed. “No.”
“Too bad.” He lamented. “Gonna behave?”
“Yes. Please. Take whatever and go.” She pleaded.
The first man picked up the family portrait sitting on the mantle. God, she hoped Kyle had heard everything and had run and hid. Or maybe he’d run out the kitchen door. Heading to one of the neighbors for help. He was a smart kid, it was possible.
“Who says we want to take anything?” He answered. “Where’s junior here?” He said tapping on the picture.
“He went with my parents. Trick or treating.” Amanda answered.
“Did he now?”
Her watery eyes wandered the room. Not too far away sat the scissors on the coffee table. So far all she’d seen was the guy’s knife. No guns. If she could reach the scissors.
The man chuckled loudly.
She met his eyes. He’d seen her looking at the scissors. Amanda lunged. Leaping towards the scissors.
“Don’t think so!” The first man said. Cutting her off with another punch.
Amanda staggered and fell to her knees. The world fading in and out of blackness as the carpet came rushing up to meet her as she fell.
Ray saw the girl go down in a flash. Turning away from the window when he heard the commotion. She hit the carpeted floor and went limp.
“She-”
Bud knelt down, checking the girl. “Out like a light.” He stood. Motioning Ray over.
“I’ll stay here with the princess. I want you to check the place out. They gotta have something valuable stashed here. Mommy might have some jewelry. Or daddy mig

Built for Death

23 oktober 2019 | 14 min

Weekly Spooky – Scary Stories for Halloween!

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