Part 1 of 3
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Tonight, Thomas Blackhall, master frontiersman and student of the occult, comes to the aid of a young boy caught up in a nightmare.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP319 - The Cost of Living: Part 1 of 3 - Mistaken Natures: a Blackhall Chronicle
Some days, gloomy, my hours are slumberless Dear is the shadows I live with I'm underless Little white flowers will never be taken in Not where the bright culture's all I'm taking you Angels have no fire of ever returning you Or they may angry if I sort of join in you Ooh, Sunday Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 319 This evening we present The Cost of Living, Part 1 Mistake in Natures, a black-hole chronicle This week's episodes are brought to you by Nettie Bites Wake up, go to work Work Come home, eat dinner Rot your brain out Go to bed Lather, rinse, repeat Are you tired of an old humdrum life? Tired of things that just weigh you down and depress you? And you'd rather just focus on things that are awesome? Tune into Nettie Bites, find out what's awesome namelask.org/blog Flashpulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings Tonight Thomas Blackhall, Master Frontiersman and Student of the Occult Comes to the aid of a young boy caught up in a nightmare The Cost of Living, Part 1 Mistake in Natures, a black-hole chronicle Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax and audio produced by Jessica M. He was at the cusp of civilization when the priest wrote him down Thomas Blackhall, asked the red-faced youth from his shabby saddle To Thomas's eye, the cleric seemed nearly as winded as his nag Despite being but two days' travel from his destination An appointment in the Wildwood with a creature that, should he encounter it, would have likely made the lad doubt his collar The frontiersman felt such a labored trip deserved an honest answer Yes? He replied The writer opened his jacket wide to make his already noted position all the more obvious I'm Father Stanton, the willards were kind enough to set me on your path I've come far and must confess, I would have been truly heartbroken to have lost you amongst the pines I... we need your help Blackhall's boot drifted from the hunting trail he'd nearly escaped before the interruption But he inquired, "Who is we?" Father Sterling and myself, well, no, I should really say, a lad of twelve He lies now in a small cabin, or more truly a small hell, to the east If the wind is friendly and my mare holds out, we can be there by dawn Damnation, Thomas muttered as he turned back towards the muddy rut There was plentiful time for conversation as the horse huffed along its course Sterling is a man operating under God's grace, but still in man, Stanton had finally confessed He made certain late-night claims over surplus donations of ultrawine I was taken in by tales of vigorous defenses of faith And I must admit that perhaps my gusto involved us more deeply in this affair than either of us now would have liked When we arrived, there was but the boy and his mother The soons are well known as the only Chinese family in the territory And no doubt the other five fled to a neighboring home for the duration It was such a helpful acquaintance that brought the news to our small parish And it was as the frightened-faced woman implored to me that my interest in the world beyond men's senses And my enthusiasm for Father Sterling's stories of spiritual warfare overwhelmed my humility When I agreed to help, I did not realize how sorely prepared I was for the undertaking It was also my interest in the world beyond men's senses that likely carried your name from a patient's lips to my ears The child shakes, I was told, shakes and weeps and begs to be released from Lucifer's thrashing How could I have denied such a summons? We departed that afternoon and unmounted well after the moon had risen My companion believes the stripling's oriental nature may be at fault for our failures I do not hold that any sinner should have the barbarism of their upbringing held against them, however Sterling was not receptive when three days and no sleep into our undertaking I suggested we consolidate you before you were past our reach He will not be pleased to see my success From there the conversation shifted into a recital of Sterling's apparent history of exorcisms Which did nothing to impress Thomas It was a relief to Blackhall when they tied off outside a thick, timbered cottage, at least until they entered The priest's minced words had given him no inkling of what truly lay inside A stout table had been upended at the center of the room and young soon's limbs wound with rawhide The leather bucked with his convulsions and the two warm air stank a sweat and human excrement Obviously originating with the naked child, the floor was covered in the same As were the shoes and pant legs of Father Sterling In the corner sat a woman in flowing red robes of a cut Thomas did not recognize Over one shoulder and across her chest she wore a white sling in which she surmised a newborn currently slept She appeared to pay no heed to the proceedings as she pursed her neat lips and played a lilting counterpoint to the scene's brutality on a slender flute Her hems rested just clear of the slick waist and the barren made no noise at the sound of its brothers to malt The heat to the stove did little to ease the oppressive closeness of the stink and the looming character of the poorly lit walls Blackhall's thoughts seemed to catch on the notes of the low toned tune and his mind grew heavy with the troubling tableau before him Grey-haired Sterling, after a brief outburst at their arrival, knelt to press across firmly against soon's birdcage chest and continue his ecclesiastical chanting With but ten minutes of observation, Thomas needed to see no more. He turned on a pair of clergy "This is no supernatural incursion," he told them. "This is St. Fittis' dance. A disorder known to modern science for its spasms and uncontrolled moods. I have read on the condition, for you are not the first to make such a cult presumptions and have even encountered it while touring the London infirmary with another preacher. A selfless fellow who actually understood how to do some good in the world, though in truth there is not for it but to soothe the suffering girls jerking and allow her rest. You, however, have starved and frightened a confused child for days, leaving him in the reek of his own feces and shouting Latin at him like Babylonians speaking in tongues. You assume a barbaric imperfection, yet it is you who has left the youth requiring medical treatment and circumstances more appropriate to an ancient torture chamber than a sick room. I will leave your horse with the willards and said word for the adjoining neighbors that you will require transport. Retrieve your beast when you have cleaned up your mess and put about a collection for this convalescence. Otherwise keep your victim fed and clothed if you can manage it and he will be fine. With a hard, if confused, glance to the still-performing woman, he departed. Despite his correct diagnosis, Thomas did not know to look for the signs that gave away the swaying musician's ruse, and he could not save the boy from the pain that lay in store once the remorse-filled men of the cloth retreated. It was not long after a carriage came to collect the churchmen that the song ceased, and the horror revealed its true nature to the last of the soons. Flashpulp is presented by Flashpulp.com and is released under the Creative Commons Attribution Non-commercial 3.0 Unported License. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to comments@flashpulp.com, but be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the Free Sound Project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. [Music]