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club40audio · 5 years ago

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The Olde Towen Buffet

I will be posting, Chapter by chapter, my #Lovecraftian #CosmicHorror #Horror Novel “The Olde Towen Buffet” If you enjoy what you are reading, I encourage you to get ahead of the curve and buy the complete book for $5 (Kindle, $15 in print), or read it #Free on #KindleUnlimited. Also this novel is written, edited, and corrected by me alone, I would be grateful to you #GrammarNazis if you would point out my missteps, and how to correct them in the comments. So that I can improve the #Kindle book. Respectful Criticism, is welcome. I am interested to know your thoughts Chapter by Chapter! (I will not be correcting the bad "returns" and such that seem to be happening as I copy and paste. If this is a problem for you, again, please read the book off of the Kindle book, where these problems do not exist.:) )

Prologue:

He stood there in the darkness. The sound of chanting voices filling the chamber. He could feel the power pulsing through him, the same power that held him in place and made him unable to move, like a painless, paralyzing, electricity. This was it. This was what he had longed for all his life. He wanted this. When the time came he would do anything for it. The changes had already begun to take place in him, and oh how wonderful they were. There had been no resistance. When the work was begun in him he hardly knew anything was happening at all… But soon it had been undeniable. Now he stood in the darkness as the flames danced before him casting his shadow on the wall. From somewhere off to his left, he heard the distant wailing cries of the woman he had once thought of as his wife; the woman who he once thought the most important thing in his puny existence. But now he understood so much more. Now he was part of something bigger. Something... cosmic. She was nothing. Her sobbing would soon be silenced and no longer of any account. She cried his name over and over; pleading with him to break free, to come away with her, but freedom was an illusion, and it meant nothing without power. And this was power. Her face was beaten and bloody, and seeing that might have once elicited some emotion from him, but now he was beyond such things. Let it happen. Let it come now. No more waiting. He wanted it to be over. He wanted it to begin. He wanted the power; the strength. All the might which had been conveyed upon him this night was but a taste of what was to come. When he had fully given himself over, when the darkness was embraced, then he would know this strength a thousand-fold. He would do anything, give anything; be anything that was required of him, so long as he could have this. He had always thought that if somehow this boon was bestowed upon him, that his first goal would be vengeance. He had been sure that he would hunt down all those who had wounded him every day of his life; his father first and foremost of all. He remembered the plans he had for the boss at the job he had so recently been fired from; Mr. Williams. The man for whom he had worked for nearly fifteen years and who now had ruined him. His life and career were over, not only at his law office, but for all legal work. He thought of hunting down the girls who had rejected him in High School and even the bullies of the playground. Yes! How they would have all paid for what they had done. Anyone who had ever laughed at him, or made him feel small. He would grind their bones to meal. He remembered when he was a child how nearly every day, they had circled him chanting, “Stubby Stanley! Stubby Stanley!” and “Fatty fatty, two by four, can’t fit through the kitchen door.” and the perennial favorite, “U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi!”How they had guffawed when he couldn’t reach the monkey bars from the highest of the supports, let alone hold himself up as he tried to make his way from one bar to the next. Every time he would flop down in the hard-packed dirt below like a sack of moldy potatoes. Then his memories swirled round to the girls who had rejected him because he was shorter than they, and the slow agony he would have extracted from them. Even now when he was becoming something beyond any of their understanding, their words echoed and raced through his mind, solidifying his choice: _“What girl wants a guy they have to get down on one knee to kiss? Tony, now there’s a real man! Six-foot, two and he might get even taller!” __“Maybe I’ll let you take me out when the school has a “Date a Hobbit Dance!” “Do I look like my name is Esmeralda? ‘Cause I sure ain’t walking around on the arm of no Quasimodo!” _“Hey, short stuff! Get that ball from off the wall rack!” The coach had shouted at him, knowing he would have to climb up the rack to reach the only ball that was left at the very top. And when the rack had tipped over, as he knew it would, smashing him to the floor bruising his ribs, the coach had called out as the other boys laughed, “If you can’t get hold of a ball when it's sitting on a rack, how do you ever expect to play on my team? Get off the field, and don’t come back Short Stuff!” Then there had been his father: _“Look at him Natalie, he’s sixteen and he barely comes up to my chest! He’ll never bee any good at sports! He’s too small and weak for football. He’s far too short for basketball and he’s got zero hand-eye coordination! My only son is a runt! He’s not even good at academics! And here you are, mollycoddling him! He’s never going to amount to anything!”_ All this and more swirled about in his head, but now he had no thought for revenge, it was all behind him. So small and petty. Now he had worlds to conquer, soon all would bow before the might that was flowing into him. He could feel it coiling through him like a plant; like a vine, it was wrapping around his limbs and sinking into them, imbuing them with a virility he had never known, never could have known, but for the events of this strange night. The sound of chanting in the darkness had ceased. Had it only stopped now, or was it some time ago? Trapped in a delicious trance of power and haze of remembrance he couldn’t be sure. But now the shadows on the wall were changing, were different, undulating with a light far stranger than any fire could produce. He knew, at last, the time had come. He was about to gaze upon his new master for the first time. He would joyfully submit. He would accept any contract, make any deal. This was all he had ever wanted. He felt the restraining power lift from him, and he could move once again. He lifted his eyes to see a sight that might have driven others mad. But to him it was beautiful. It was this one who had made a new life possible, and from somewhere deep inside himself, he heard his master’s voice speak his name for the first time.

1 “Doggone it!” Ally cursed, straining, stretching as high as she could, “Who built this place! Andre the Giant?” “No, it just wasn’t built for Gnomes.” Said her husband, effortlessly reaching up and taking down the suitcase, he had placed on the rack the night before, the handle of which had just evaded his wife’s grasp. He handed it over to her as she huffed a begrudging, “Thanks.” And then mumbled, _“For nothing.” _Under her breath. Mark laughed, “Hey don’t hold it against me, I didn’t write your genetic code.” He flopped on to the bed, making the suitcase wobble, as his wife was reloaded it with all of her do-dads and whatnots that seemed so necessary for the care of her appearance. The trip was only going to last a week, but she seemed to have brought enough clothes for three. Then there were the two extra, small suitcases, full of nothing but beauty care. The total of 4 suitcases had taken up all the space that was leftover in the trunk of Marks Chevy Malibu, once the small toolbox, jack, and four-way lug wrench were pushed to the side. Mark had to put his one small suitcase in the back seat. Now, three days later, they were on their way back from California to Chicago. They had spent the night in Aurora, about 35 miles south of Boulder. They were now only 17 hours from home. It would have been 15 hours, but a major road construction project had begun just after they had passed through on Route 76, on the way to California. Already at 9 am, traffic was backed up. According to the Mapping app on their phones, going back that way would have added nearly five hours to their trip. Mark had asked his wife to remind him to take route 70, in the morning so they could avoid that nightmare. It came to her mind as she fit her curling iron and hairdryer back into the already cramped suitcase. “I wish we didn’t have to go around the construction, I hate Kansas.” “What’s the matter with Kansas?” asked Mark, “I love all that farmland, especially this time of year, just before the harvest. All those fields of green. It's beautiful.” “It's boring. Flat straight and goes on for what feels like forever! Did you know there are more single-vehicle accidents in Kansas per-capita than any other state? People get hypnotized out there driving on the roads alone, and when the road turns, they don’t. They go flying off into a ditch somewhere, and drown in a creek bed.” “Where did you read that?” Mark asked laughing to himself. “Oh on the internet somewhere…. Which reminds me I better check my phone while we still have service, I just know we’re going to get out there and lose signal.” “Our service plan covers 95% of the landmass of the continental US, according to the commercials.” “Yeah, and we are going to be driving right through that remaining 5%.” She said snapping the clasps on the suitcase into place, “I guess that’s everything.” “Don’t forget your make-up kit, Shawty,” Mark said, affecting an accent. Ally looked up and groaned. There, on top of the rack was her black plastic make up kit, with all her various blushes and brushes. “I’m never going to reach that. Why did you put it up there?” “Why did you even unpack it?” Mark replied, not moving from the bed, “When we were in LA, that made sense, you were getting all gussied up for the dinner. That made sense.” He repeated. “But last night you were getting ready for bed, and you took it out of your suitcase. There’s nobody here but me, and you know you shouldn't wear makeup to bed. And then, you didn’t even use it.” “I was setting it out for the morning, I was planning to put my face on before we left, but I couldn’t find it. I figured it had gotten buried in the clothes and I didn’t want to dig it out.” Ally said, annoyed. “Put your face on? For what? The drive home? You and me and miles and miles of corn?” He got up off the bed and moved toward her. “Besides I think my wittle munchkin looks so much better without her make-up.” He said affecting a “baby-talk” voice. She punched him in the bicep, hard enough to sting but not to truly hurt. “Ouch!” he said, playing it up. “Stop picking on my height. You know I’m sensitive about it.” “But you are just so cude!” He said, still in baby-talk, wrapping her in his arms, which from fingertip to fingertip of the opposite hand, were exactly 5 feet, 11 inches, perfectly proportionate to his height, “I wuv my Widdle Baby Wifey!” He picked her up and spun her around. “Stop that!” She said half laughing, “Put me down!” she said, even though he already had. “I may be only 5 feet tall but I’ll kick your butt anyway.” He laughed and reached up for the make-up kit, handing it to her. “Here you go Smurfette.” She ignored the jibe and reopened her make up suitcase, “Why’d you put it up so high?” “Because you had it on the sink and I needed to shave. I didn’t want to ruin anything, with drops of water flying everywhere…. And I did that so you’d need me to get it down for you later… I have to remind you how much you need me every once in a while… Just in case you get complacent, or think you can do better.” Ally laughed, snapping the suitcase closed again, “I know I can do better, I’ve just grown accustomed to you.” “You know, that’s right.” Mark said with a toothy grin.

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club40audio · 9 years ago

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"APPROACHING DENISE"

It was a hot Wednesday night in the City of Pittsburgh when I first saw her. I always loved the theater and had dabbled in it for a little while in college and High School. But then college ended and I had to get a real job to pay for all the debt I’d racked up getting my education. Working a ten hour shift eight days a week just barely allowed me to break even every month, and not have to live with the folks, so there went any acting ambitions. I still enjoyed the theater when I could though, mostly community theater and even a high school show now and then. But once in a long while, I would feel the need to see a really good professionally produced show. So this night I had stayed in town, after work, to see “Damn Yankees” which was playing at the Benedum Center. It was a great show, you should see it for yourself. After the show, there was the usual press to get out of the theatre, which opened up on to the narrow side walk. I walked down 6th street, until it met up with Wood Street, and then made my way down the long flight of stairs to the landing, which concealed the tracks below, on which the trains ran. I heard a woman’s high heeled shoes clip clop down the stairs behind me, but paid little attention to it. What drew my attention at that moment was the echoing sound of Steel on steel. The clickety clack of wheels turning on rails, followed by the high pitched squeal of breaks being applied. A train was pulling into the station at that moment. If I hurried I might just be able to make it. I stepped up the pace, but as I did, I looked around me to make sure I wouldn’t collide with anyone. I saw her then, tall and elegant in a white dress, bedecked with a flower pattern that looked more like something from the eighties than the modern day. The skirt was cut a little short to my tastes, drapping down just above the knee as she walked. She had her phone in her right hand, and a white ear bud in her left ear. All this, I took in an instant, but my brain barely had time to register it, as I was rushing down the second flight of stairs to the train. When I hit the platform, I raced around the corner as I saw and heard the train come to a stop, but couldn’t catch sight of the green electric sign telling me which train it was. But if it was the right one, I knew I could make it. I turned a second corner, and there I saw the T was not the one I needed. It was a Red Line, servicing South Hills Village. My stop, West Library, was a full 5 stops after Washington Junction, where the Red turned off, so it was no good to me… But then I thought, The girl. The girl behind me, she might need a Red and if she hurried she could make it. She couldn’t see the T sign from where she was, coming down the steps to the platform. I turned and shouted back to her, “It’s a Red Line. If you hurry, you can make it.” She hadn’t been expecting anyone to speak to her, and apparently, what she was listening to had her complete attention, so it was only after I’d finished speaking that she realized, it was she I had been speaking to. She pulled out the ear bud with one hand, reaching up to her ear, “I’m sorry. What’s that?” I repeated myself and added, “I didn’t know which T you needed. And I didn’t want you to miss it.” By now she was next to me, and she gently squeezed my arm and said, “Oh thank you, but I’m waiting for the Blue line.” Releasing my arm, she walked a few steps ahead of me to the yellow line. “Oh… Okay.” I said, taken slightly aback by the unexpected physical contact, “Me too.” I walked around behind her and made my way to one of the benches, made of polished sheet steel and marble. Expecting a long wait for my train. I pulled out my own phone, which of course had no reception this far underground, and jacked in my own set of headphones. I started off listening to my podcasts, which had automatically downloaded earlier in the day, but quickly found that I couldn’t focus on what the hosts were saying. My mind kept going back to that gentle pressure on my arm. I glanced over at her now and then. There she stood with that white wire plugged back into her ear. I noticed she was very pretty. And she was by herself. Maybe I should go and talk to her. Offer her some company. But no. I looked back across the platform at the incoming side which stood empty, not a passenger to be seen. I must have repeated this process nearly a dozen times, arguing with myself. “Maybe that arm thing meant something.” “No it didn’t.” “How do you know? Maybe she finds you attractive?” “Don’t be ridiculous. A pretty girl like that wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. Not at first sight. Not in a T station.” “You never know, go talk to her.” “Yeah and get maced for my trouble. No thank you.” Finally after about twenty minutes of this, and about another 15 people walking on to the platform, the sounds of an approaching train could be heard. I stood up and waited behind the yellow line. At that time of night the drivers only open up the first two doors of the car, forcing everyone to walk to the front of the train. The girl must have known this, because she walked right up next to me, and waited for the doors to open. When they did, she waited for me to enter, but like a proper gentleman, bade her enter first with an extended arm. She sat down in one of the two seat pods that lined the driver side of the interior of the train. I thought for the quickest of moments maybe I should make a slight move. Sit down next to her. Then if she wants to talk we can, but if not we can… Just sit there in awkward silence…. Yeah. So I split the difference and ducked right into a single seat which would have been opposite to her’s if not for the door. Close enough to talk, but not to seem forceful or creepy. Then, of course some else, an older man sat down next to her without a word. Great. Now there was a person between us. Everyone loves trying to talk past someone else right? And the other guy likes it too. I faced forward in my seat. Soon we were traveling along, stop by stop, and still the old codger sat there. I glanced over occasionally, but then looked just as long on the opposite direction to give the impression I was just observing my surroundings, not really looking at any one or anything in particular. Finally the old man got off the train at South Hills Junction. Now was my chance, right? I could talk to her and try to strike up a conversation before one of us had to get off, right? Maybe enough time to exchange numbers, or at least names. Give her my card and let her make the call… Or not. I just sat there. My brain at war with itself. Finally the electronic voice, which announced the stops, sounding like a robot trapped in a tin can said, “Approaching Denise.” The girl stood to her feet and pressed the black strip, which had long ago replaced the old yellow cords of wire which signalled the driver, that a stop was wanted. The red LCD sign at the front of the T lit up and read “STOP REQUESTED”. She walked to the front of train and the conductor said “$3.75”. “Seventy-five? It was $3.50 yesterday.” “I don’t make the fairs lady.” She began to dig in her purse for another 25 cents. I was about to reach into my pocket, run up to the front and say “Miss I think you dropped this.” Plunking the needed quarter into the machine. I could get off at this station. Maybe walk her home. Or at least to her car. We’d have a chance to talk. All those wasted opportunities could be redeemed, now in this moment. But then she plucked the needed coin out of her wallet and pushed it down into the coin slot of the fair machine. The doors opened. She walked off. The train pulled out of the station, leaving her behind. Alone. In the dark. “Oh well,” I thought. “Maybe next time.”

#audio #short stories #stories #subway #trains #noir #love story #hallmark

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