Weekly Spooky: Scary Stories and Horror Fun Every Week!

Episode Notes
Something is going on on the other side of the lake from camp, and whatever it is it seems to be hungry for children...
Summer Slaycation by David O'Hanlon
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Find out more at http://weeklyspooky.com

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🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder
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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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twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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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 h

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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
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
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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:
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 sh

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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

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🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder
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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
Watch Boggy Creek: The Series on Amazon Prime! http://BoggyCreektheSeries.com
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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:
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 poi

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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
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:
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 wa

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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
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
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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:
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

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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
Buy the new "Babysitter Massacre" book! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P4ZF9LG/
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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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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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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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Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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[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:
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 ha

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📬 Contact Us / Submit Your Horror Story!

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🎵 Music by Ray Mattis 👉 Check out Ray’s incredible work here !
👨‍💼 Executive Producers: Rob Fields, Bobbletopia.com
🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder
🌐 Explore more terrifying tales at: WeeklySpooky.com