Part 3 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Will Coffin, urban shaman, and Bunny, his rarely sober roommate, discover the source of the mysterious suicide.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP302 - Coffin: Returns, Part 3 of 3
Some days glue me my hours are slumberless dear is the shadows I live with by nonetheless little white flowers will never awaken you not where the bright coach of sorrow lands taking you angels have no fire of evolution in you or they'll be angry if I so don't join in you Welcome to Flashbulb, episode 302 This evening we present Coffin Returns, part three of three This week's episodes are brought to you by Michael Oma I'm Mike Lou Oma, I write science fiction and podcast free chapters each week on my glow-in-the-dark radio. I do that because you might not know me yet but my work has been drawing comparisons to Highland, Clark and Bradbury cool huh? Actually it was Anit Cool who made the Bradbury comparison. My new book is Alibi Jones and The Sunrise of Her. Alibi is trying to find The Sunrise of Her, a lost artifact belonging to the cat-like race The Doc Kerr. You can hear chapters right now. Find out more about me and all my books at glow-in-the-darkradio.com Flashbulb 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 Will Coffin, Urban Shaman and Bunny, his rarely sober roommate, discover the source of the mysterious suicide. Coffin Returns, part three of three Written by Jaredie Skinner Art and narration by Poponex An audio produced by Jessica May Coffin and Bunny's soul scheduled destination on Wednesday morning required two bus transfers and incredible patience but the house was easy enough to find once they had stepped on to the proper street. It's Salgy lawn bristled with tasteful Christmas decorations and before entering they'd paused to take in the perilous white lights and wrapped trees. Now in the home's chrome and marble open concept kitchen area Bunny was asking the residents owner Tabitha. Looks like a lot of effort out there. You do the decorating yourself? No. Jorge, our yard guy, did it. He's so meticulous. He loves that sort of detail-y stuff. And you know, any excuse to have him over? Bunny had been chattier in this last leg of their journey and Coffin had supposed incorrectly that it was the previous night's adrenaline still rattling around in her system. He'd found her wide awake at dawn. She'd been pinballing between staring listlessly into the open freezer which contained only a half box of egos and the couch where the television was closing out something called the Six Ultra Brothers versus the Monster Army. The questioning continued. As Bunny talked her fingers tapped danced on the island. "Had you learned to make the voodoo dolls?" "That the kind of thing you find a pattern for on the back of better homes and gertens?" Tabitha put on a retail grin. Me and Nessa were sipping a sovignon blonde one day when she mentioned that her grandmother had taught her how to make them when she was young. She dropped her tone to one appropriate for backfence conspiring and added "They're from New Orleans!" Bunny raised a brow. "You say New Orleans like the place is deep in witches, red and unicorns. I've been there. Seemed like it was mostly full of perverts alcoholics and the people who wished the perverts in alcoholics would find somewhere else to vacation." Vanessa bit her lip to suppress a smirk. "It was nothing more than a way to pass an afternoon when I was a kid. For whatever reason they didn't hold any power then." Tabby convinced me to try it again. The construction technique is a family secret of course. And well, let's just say Jorge's never been happier. From his position by the button laden fridge, coffin cleared his throat. "That's when you set up shop." "Yeah, and the business has been, you know, good," replied Tabitha. Her grin having returned. "That's why we sometimes declare it wine a clock a little early." She waved a hand towards a freshly opened magnum, then returned to the pair of glasses that she'd set out before the doorbell's interruption. "At 10.30 on a Wednesday?" asked coffin. Tabitha did not move to retrieve any further stemware as she poured. "Like I said, the business has been good." Bunny's eyes were locked on the filling glasses. Her voice seemed too loud for the room as she spoke. "Well, the business is now closed. Like, Mormon whorehouse closed. But listen, let me tell you a little story about the shambling f*cking monster I met yesterday." He, uh, did? No. He. He smelled like fish. Not fresh, but, you know, pungent. There's something more though, underneath it. Something like the stink old people get when they've started rotting before they're actually dead. Adults, apparently, aren't supposed to be able to see him. But, uh, we got some secrets of our own. He's big, and dresses these days, I guess, as a crossing guard. His face is tired and puffy. You can't remember much beyond that once you've looked away. You just know there was a bit of white froth in the corners of his mouth. He still has the sh*t shower feeling that he's either got a dirty neck or a massive growth. The orange vest you wears also sticks. It has yellow X across the front and back, and it sits over a mud-splattered winter coat. There's no forget in his slobbering f*cking maw either, as it looks like a shallow graveyard after an earthquake. Sounds gross, but human, I guess. But, like your pin collectors, the bag crossing guard is only a shabby imitation. He was freed around until coffin showed up, used to stalk school yards in high traffic areas. He'd hang back between two cars, his little stop sign in hand, waiting for some first grader whose big sisters run ahead to hide that she's smoking. Then he'd help the kid cross the street. Bunny's fingers cease their staccato. Except, of course, their adults can't see him. Tabitha tugged at her sweater's chunky collar. "Great story," she said, "but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave." "Did I mention that he's the one who told us where to find you?" "So, how do you kill it?" asked Vanessa. Her hand, the Pinot Noir, frozen at her lips. "You don't," answered coffin. "He doesn't do it for laughs. He's got another space where he keeps the dead." Ending his existence would mean locking those kids into an eternity in his unpleasant little kingdom. "That's where their trouble would truly begin." "You're missing the real point," said Bunny. "Why did he know it was you?" "What?" asked Tabitha. Her glass was empty, despite her now taught jaw. "He told us what you look like. He told us your address, told us all about how you operate out of your living room." "Hell, he knew the jilted house frow you sold your death to." He also told us about Addison, Felicity, and Brock. Kids jabber, don't they? Oh, sticking their noses into their parents' illegal occult sales and such. The guard even knows their teacher's names. These days he's got nothing better to do than walk around watching and listening. He's hopeful, though. "So is some fucking dabbler who steps over the line and needs to have their nose broken, or worse, to teach them a lesson." Which brings us to the question. "You like your kids much?" "You bitch," said Tabitha. "We didn't know it would be so strong. We thought he'd do something embarrassing, that's all." "You wouldn't," said Nessa. "Oh, I'd slap your fucking grandma if I could. Twice for teaching you just enough to be a problem. But that's what I'd do. You think coffin keeps a thing like that in line with goddamn hugs?" "I swear to Gene Simmons, you make another of those things and I'll come out here and burn your fucking house to the ground, and I'll be the one playing good cop." And with that, Bunny grabbed the tall neck bottle and stormed from the house. We'll frown. Then followed. (Music) FlashPulp is presented by FlashPulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to scare@skinner.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. 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, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. (Music)