Part 1 of 3
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Tonight, Will Coffin, urban shaman, and Bunny, his drunken roommate, find themselves speaking with a dead man beside a lonely Nevada highway.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP271 - Coffin: Balm, Part 1 of 3
♪ Sunday's gloomy, my hours are slumbless ♪ ♪ Dear is the shadows I live with by nonetheless ♪ ♪ Little white flowers will never be taken in ♪ ♪ Not where the bright culture's all I'm taking you ♪ ♪♪♪ ♪ Angels have no fire of evolution in you ♪ ♪ Or they may angry if I so don't join in you ♪ ♪ Ooh, Sunday ♪ Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 271. This evening we present Coffin, Balm, part 103. This week's episodes are brought to you by The Way of the Buffalo Podcast. Hi, this is Hugh, the host and editor of The Way of the Buffalo Podcast. Twice a month we present the best short fiction of all genres, thought-provoking interviews, and other diverse entertainments. You can find us online at wayofthebuffalopodcast.blogspot.com or search for us on iTunes. Some people say that short fiction is going the way of the buffalo. Come join us, will ya? ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Flashpulp is an experiment in broadcasting freshpulp stories on 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 drunken roommate, find themselves speaking with a dead man beside a lonely Nevada highway. Coffin, Balm, part 1 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration Biopoponax, an audio-produced by Jessica May. ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ "Keep an eye out for landmarks," said Coffin. "Landmarks?" replied his tipsy traveling companion, Bunny. It's a goddamn desert. Take a left at the sand and bushes, but be sure to stop when you hit in the sand and bushes. Careful though, if you see the fucking sand and bushes you've gone too far. The pair's temporary escape from Capital City had continued southward onto the morning lit highways of Nevada. Coffin, behind the wheel of the rented Ford Focus, frowned at her response. You've been more of a smart ass than usual lately. "Something you want to talk about?" he asked. "Yeah, the same two things I've been nagging you about since we got on the jet plane. Where the fuck are we going, and why the fuck are we going there?" As he'd done each previous time she'd asked, Coffin began chewing at a thumbnail. "Fine," he replied. "You're... you're going to meet my first." "What? Christ. I don't need to know that much about your sex life." "No. My first ghost." "Huh." Though she'd met many of Will's acquaintances, Bunny could hardly call any of them close friends of his. At least not in the traditional sense. Receiving calls from distant family was one of the few times he had the courtesy to leave the room when answering the phone. On those occasions he was sure to shut himself away in his room. The personal nature of his confession, and the unusually soft tone in which he delivered it, left her silent. A few miles later she waved a hand at the faded red pole that marked their turn. But Will had already seen it. The focus wasn't built for off-roading, but they hadn't gone far into the scrub when Coffin cut the engine. His rough-seemed leather jacket creaked as he turned towards Bunny, and his eyes locked on hers. "Listen. This fellow's from another time. He can get... excited." "Are you seriously fucking telling me to be a good girl while we're at Grandpa's house?" asked Bunny. Will's lips twitched. "No. This guy has been solidly of the same disposition for 200 years. He could use a dose of modern habits. Just try to be patient." With that, one of Will's hands went to the car door, and the other touched the silver-chain talisman which rested within his well-worn pocket. The man in the Stetson hat had already rited himself by the time they exited the car. Before she could complain about the unusual heat, Bunny found herself laughing. "It's a ghost! It's a cowboy! It's a friggin' ghost cowboy!" If her left hand hadn't been occupied by a bottle of fireball whiskey, she might have clapped. The phantasm wore a close-cropped beard and a gun belt under his stained shirt and ragged vest. "Hey, partner!" shouted Bunny. "Sumer down," said Coffin. "You're the rootin' tootenist?" she asked. "How's your fast draw?" The apparition wiped at his chin with a gloved hand and gave her a hard look. "Holy fuck!" "You got a lot of jingle in your jangle pilgrim." She continued as she staggered closer. The motion, however, seemed to interfere with her commentary. "Sh*t! I'm out of Roy Rogers, jibber jabba!" she confessed. Despite the admission, the dead cattleman drew his weapon. Suddenly, Bunny was no longer smiling. She raised the bottle to her lips and swallowed hard. "Hey Buffalo fucker, you keep pointing that spook gun at me and you'll wish you died a pacifist." It was then that Coffin stepped in. "Embroze, I'm surprised you've drawn a lady." "Lady?" asked the specter as he holstered his weapon. "Only a lady of pleasure at best. What do I owe the intrusion? Have you returned to once again attempt to solve my problems?" "Yes," said Will. "Though, this time, you apparently actually asked for it, or so I was told by the Northerners." "I suppose I did." The cow-puncher paused to tip his brim to Bunny, and a lush raised her drink in reply, though she didn't meet as stare. " Coffin!" began the shade. "I've seen many things from my rest in place. I've seen them like the sky with nuclear fire and neon. I've seen pavement pressed over the landscape. And I've seen men and women on their last legs as their debt ridden husk carried them out of Vegas." Last spring, though, I was witness to a happening worse than any I've encountered in my long camp. A beast of a car pulled up. Bigger than any I've seen so close. Out pops of wire and maniac. A lot of twenty-five "cackling" like he's just made his fortune in the city. Except, of course, this is the middle of nowhere. And the girl falling him out onto the dirt isn't so sure about his attitude. I figured at first I might be about to witness one of the few acts of human Congress that hasn't changed much since my time, but once they're at my feet the last ain't so sure. That boy won't stop laughing. No one's telling any jokes. She took a step back towards their vehicle, but he wrapped his hand in her blonde hair and threw her in the dirt. Then he had a knife in his hand. Ambrose cleared his throat. "Well, I drew on him. Yield a bunch and kicks in. Of course, he saw none of it. He kept sawing that wicked blade across her throat, rambling about the police. Eventually he jumped up like he'd finished a good night's sleep and started digging. About halfway through, though he started weeping and accusing her of abandoning him. Bunny exhaled cinnamon into the morning air, but held her tongue. It was a moment before the shade found his own. He raised his milky gaze to the blazing sun. "She's been here with me since," he finally said. "And I need you to take her home." Flashpulp is presented by Flashpulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons contribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text 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 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] Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled. Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled. [MUSIC PLAYING] (upbeat music)