Part 1 of 1
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Tonight, Coffin and Bunny face a powerful arcane force, and find themselves in a changing climate.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP294 - Coffin: Change, Part 1 of 1
Some days glue me my hours are slumberless dear is the shadows I live with by nonetheless little white flowers are never waking in not where the bright coach of sorrow lands taking you An angel's have no fire ever returning you or they'll be angry if I so don't join you Welcome to Flashpulp episode 294. This evening we present coffin change part one of one. This week's episodes are brought to you by Medibites. 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're rather just focused on things that are awesome? Tune in to Nutty Bytes, find out what's awesome. Nutty Bytes, nimlas.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, coffin and bunny face a powerful arcane force and find themselves in a changing climate. Coffin Change, part one of one. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and aeration by Uphoponax and audio produced by Jessica May. The winding road home had led Will Coffin, urban shaman, and bunny, his tipsy companion, to a motel six a mere five hours from capital city. Hurricane Rain's and fearsome wind had made continuing on an unpleasant prospect and Coffin had nose the rented Nissan into the lot only half-certain that the neon smudge beyond the river on his windshield actually indicated lodging. He was happy enough to cut the engine and not have to fight the storm for his life any longer. The confirmation of the vacancy sign was nearly just frosting on his fully stopped cake. "What a f*cking dump," said Bunny. "So, rather not drowned in a parking lot. Let's get on the side." After a quick exchange at the faux wood front desk and a coin toss for who had bunked on the folding cot, the pair settled for the night. Coffin had spent the trip sleeping in a variety of ragged jeans and t-shirts and tonight was no different. His lack of wardrobe changes meant that, while Bunny ducked into the bathroom to change, he was first to grab the remote. He'd found the weather channel by the time she exited in her oversized pinstripe pajamas. "The weather channel?" she asked. "Better yet. The weather channel on mute." "Crust, here comes the party. Should I call for some champagne from the concierge?" "What?" he replied. "The concierge? Concierge?" "Whatever." "The f*cking bottle boy. Not that this place has anything more than a counter-jockey with an already open fifth of water down vodka under the counter." We had a ruin, a solid goddamn joke. Without breaking away from the swirl of gray and red, Coffin said, "Yeah, the weather channel." "It's raining outside. You know how I know? Because it's been raining for the last five f*cking hours. How about you give me the remote and you can, you know, look at a f*cking window. How I will both be happy." We'll finally shift it to I, his companion. Something about the woman had changed since they'd turned eastward, but he'd been too preoccupied to put his finger on it. She was peevish, but it was not her usual hangover fury. I stopped taking suggestions from women dressed like you when I was ten, and told my senile grandmother I wasn't going to eat any more of her still frozen peas. He replied, "Why did you buy that senior home suit anyhow? Usually you just pass out and-" "Wait, are you sober?" Bunny's cheeks grew red, and she suddenly became extremely interested in the close cropped green carpet. "I don't know if f*cking quit or anything," she said. "I've never been in need of any goddamn church basins. I've only taken it easy for a bit." Bunny's gaze came up as she finished so that she could clearly see his reaction. Her fists clenched in preparation for a smirk. Instead, coffin nodded, letting the moment sink to silence. When she began to fuss with the folded blankets on her cot, he changed the topic to the weather. "See this tracking map? Anything seem weird about the storm's path?" "Looks like any two-year-olds scrub one. Some messa loops with a randomly straight line." Exactly. The scroll is saying the forecasters are blaming the sudden wind changes, but the guy they keep cutting to at the desk looks like he thinks a pack of teenage hooligans are feeding him bad meteorological data. So, so I think our night's not done. There's too much property damage, too many lost lives. "I'm gonna go help people bail out their sellers, maybe save some kittens and trees while I add it." He stood from the bed. "I'm going to deal with the problem directly." "You plan on punching a fucking hurricane?" "No." I plan on reasoning with it. He stooped to laces boots, then added, hopefully. Despite the heart of the storm lying further north, each step was a fight for footing as the duo crossed the small beaches parking lot. Will was saying, "What is it?" "Well, squirrels are a symptom common to a number of beasties, but most of them I've only ever read about. It could be the tempest walker, but I've never met it. I only know about it from Blackhole's book and the occasional rumor. It could even be one of the old thunder juckers, Thor, Pear, and her set. Though my understanding is that they're all dead. My mom always used to say storms were gone bowling." Bunny shouted into the rain. "The thunder was supposed to be the big guy getting strikes." She regretted the comment, as even the brief statement had covered her tone with blown sand and sea water. From behind the damp white hole that coffin had absconded with, he said, "I'd say this is probably one of the elementals, specifically water, or Merck, as he was introduced to me. Mostly because I know for sure he exists. Hey? Sorry. Just a leftover from the Victorian era of literature. It. Although personality-wise, well, it's an easy approximation. The problem is that Merck really shouldn't be able to do this. It hasn't had this kind of power since before." A gust of wind carrying the sound of shattering glass somewhere in the dark over his left shoulder gave Will a moment to reconsider his words. "Actually, the problem with Merck is that he's incredibly old school." "It!" said Bunny. "It's incredibly old school. If it's even it." Will raised a brow at his unusually sober companion. "Yeah, exactly. Speaking of, time to cast a line and see what we catch." The silver lengths of the chain affixed to the crook of warters dripped from Will's jacket pocket as he plucked the talisman from its place of safekeeping. With a stiff arm, coffin began to swing the ornate hook high over his head. Though the gale only grew, he kept the rhythm of his orbit for three long minutes before Merck appeared. Bunny's first thought was that a tornado funnel was setting down. She'd seen many of the coiling fingers and grainy footage from the Discovery Channel's storm chaser specials. Even as the rain abated in a narrow column around their position on the shore, the building throng halted its descent. Its details were half-cloud, half-shadow, but a face of inhuman proportions formed a hundred feet above them. Coffin ceased his rotations. "If I saw this shit on the internet," said Bunny, "I'd think it was the work of some CGI focusing keyboard in the laster." "Quite now," said Will. Things were about to get stupid enough as it is. The sound of Merck's words arrived as if carried on a combination of crashing waves and surging wind. "You've a new winch, then. I suppose you had to get rid of the last one, considering how lippy she was." As he spoke, Bunny noted that the thunderheads which formed his mouth did not move. Instead, the darkness at the edges seemed to ripple with his speech, providing semblance of motion. "Oh," answered Coffin, "she's around." "Not a great move on the part of you penis wagglers to start letting them talk in public," continued the elemental. Despite the dramatic method of its delivery, Bunny thought the entity sounded much like an opinionated uncle with no verbal filter. Will cleared his throat. "If I'd known you were going to show up, I wouldn't have spent the last while driving across the country to check my thermometer." "The ochre still lives. My miracles never cease. And by miracles, I really mean me." "Yeah, it's worrying, Lil Wake. And now I find you here, practically on my back stoop. At least the beast of the mountain is a mindless creature. You should know better than to show off like this. The more you carry on, the closer the spider god gets." "Share, if sheriff. The idea that magic brings Karak closer to our world is a myth, a boogie, cooked up by your funny-hatted predecessor." Coffin squinted at the massive visage before asking, "Black hole wore a hat." "It was the same one every time I saw him. Actually, the same tattered coach as well." "Anyhow, back to my point. The last time I saw you, you couldn't so much as cause a drizzle outside of your vermute and home. Unless I'm mistaken, and I doubt I am. You haven't been this far north in nearly 200 years." "You can doubt old man Thomas, if you like, but open your misty eyes. You can't deny that there's something odd going on. I've seen the results." "I'm seeing you right now." "Our cane power is cyclical, that's all," replied Mark. "Any threat of nearing disaster is a false conspiracy, cooked up by black hole, who simply wanted to wipe the occult from the world. You, the coffin, should move that better than any else." Bunny shrugged with her damn jacket. "You know," she said, "thought it was pretty nifty meeting the weather and shit. But you're as thick-headed as my ex-husband." Just to say, he was pretty fucking sure nothing could hurt him until a cleaver landed in a skull. Sounds like you weren't much of a fan of this dead guy, drywall, or whatever. But do you have any reason not to believe him, other than the fact that you don't like him? Merck frowned. "Your bitch is yappin," it said. "Where's it's leash?" The coffin's jaw was locked tight as he responded. "Listen, you can spout conspiracy nonsense, if you like. Hell, you can claim to have assassinated JFK for all I care. But this antiquated garbage you're speaking isn't winning you any friends. Go home and quietly, or you'll wish you had the chance to spend the next 200 years tickling kites and dispersing flatulence. You may mock me, my title, or my mentor, but you will respect my meal fight." Thunder rolled, and the rain returned, and Merck's features loomed close. Will's fingers once again entangled in the silver chain. "Come then," he replied, "and learn the hard way." At the sight of the charm, the elemental superiorly eyes seemed to reconsider, as if no more threat than a draft of pipe smoke, its own wind dispersed its form of the white-capped water. After a moment of staring down the calming ocean, Will started back to their room with heavy boots and stooped shoulders. Three steps into his exit, however, he turned to his companion. A hint of a smirk touched his lips as he said, "Good job." By the time the pair found their numbered door, even the drizzle had ceased. Flashpulp is presented by flashpulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Texts and audio commentaries can be sent to skinner@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 Freesound 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]