Part 2 of 2
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Will Coffin, urban shaman, and his drunken roommate, Bunny, undertake a journey at the side of a carrion-masked attorney.
The Skinner Co. Network
212 - Coffin: Cast Off, Part 2 of 2
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 212. Tonight we present... Coffin, Cast Off, part 2 of 2. [music] This week's episodes are brought to you by the pen dragon variety podcast. Consider... this. [music] Now consider... this. I've vociferously disagreed with him. I'm not feeling too sanguine about, you know, eating up to him. Now picture character Arphy type hanging from every finger. The romantic hero type, the almost villainous protagonist type. Well, I'll be darned. It does sound like that. Meek, I think you waxed North Carolina in there for a second. [meeking] Pen dragon variety, usually more intelligible than a baby. [music] 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, Will Coffin, Urban Shaman, and his drunken roommate Bunny undertake a journey at the side of a carrion masked attorney. Coffin, Cast Off, part 2 of 2. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, and audio produced by Jessica May. [music] The riddle of the dead face box had paid for the rental car, a hotel room with dirty carpets, and gas, but Coffin had little confidence he'd see any further payment for his efforts. He, in fact, believed that things would end rather abruptly. He'd spent fourteen hours the day previous, and three since dawn, avoiding the rearview mirror. Despite the fact that Bert Stewart, his client, was largely covered by a hat and upturned jacket collar, there was no getting used to the decaying muscle work exposed at his cheeks, or the milky puss he constantly wiped away from his nostrils. While Will had been quiet regarding the situation, Bunny, his soggy roommate, was less so. "Zombies are big money these days. Maybe you could get a movie roll or something," she said from the passenger seat, as she sipped from a Gatorade bottle filled with a bright red liquid of questionable composition. "Hell, you can be a little unshaney of our age. But instead of the man of a thousand faces, I guess you'd just be the man with one really fucking ugly face." "She's not serious, right?" replied Stewart, his gaze never leaving his furiously thumbed phone. He'd busied himself for the majority of the ride, with prodding the piece of electronics, but was now becoming increasingly distracted by Bunny's endless prattle. "I was straight with you when I took on the work," said Coffin. "I know someone who might be able to help, but this is a matter I personally don't have a fix for. Perhaps she will, but I'm just playing driver and advisor on this expedition." It wasn't the first time he'd carried out work for Stewart. On a previous occasion, the lawyer had asked for assistance after being assaulted on a chill October evening by dime-sized ice spiders. The beast had formed upon the surface of his above-ground pool, as he lounged in his nearby hot tub and enjoyed one last weekend dip before covering the pair for the cold season. It was Will's opinion that he was largely saved by the steaming froth of the jacuzzi. Otherwise, he'd likely have been found dead the next morning, with body covered in a red and black rash of frostbite. Children was at hand to watch the attack repeat itself the following night, and his solution, draining the pool entirely of its cursed contents, had prevented recurrence. It was only once he'd tracked down the grandmother who'd issued the curse that Will had begun to understand his client's day job, but he'd managed to talk the woman into cessation of hostilities over tea. She'd insisted, however, that it was for him, and not because she had any forgiveness for the shyster lawyer she saw as having stolen her light via litigation. As he departed, Will had ensured the promise by removing the small offering bowl she'd used to conduct the ritual. It was a family heirloom, and he rather suspected she'd never seriously considered that the legend attached to it could be true. It had been Coffin's theory that holding off on some portion of his questioning till they'd become better acquainted as traveling companions might make the rotting man more open to honesty, but it was increasingly obvious that Bunny's humor was doing little to bring on a sense of camaraderie, and they were running out of highway. Clearing his throat, Will asked, "Burt, if we're going to get this thing resolved, you've got to be honest with me. How did you get a hold of the box in the first place?" "I told you already. Another client, Bullshit!" said Bunny, "I've seen that goddamn thing in the trunk. It's heavy. It smells, and there's crazy writing on the side that looks like something out of Indiana Jones vs. the cannibals of Mars." "F***ing hate lawyers!" But I never met one stupid enough to shove their face in something like that. I bought it from a private dealer. After the spiders, after watching those sharp little crystal legs melt into droplets while crawling over the sides of the tub, I realized there was a lot more of the world than helping part debtors from their bungalows. I started looking, but everything on the internet seemed to sham, and you, Will, weren't willing to help me out. One day this guy on a tweed's suit shows up at my door, bald with a broad smile. He had the Cuban toe, and said he heard about my search and thought it might be of interest. You can feel it when you touch it. Your belly gets tight, and your palms tingle. I knew it was genuine. I paid less than I expected for the piece, but finding someone who could translate the writing cost me nearly twice as much. Took me a few months. I had other things going on. You know how it is, but I finally found a professor in Calcutta who could manage it. Hugh, who places his visage within the box, will witness the true face of eternity. That was good enough for me. I thought I might see God if I looked inside. Coffin bit at the inside of his cheek as he mulled over this new story, then nodded. "Fine," he said. But the artifact isn't without some history. Didn't you do some research to try and find its intent? I tried the local library, and online, but came up empty. Oh shit, don't eat even, it's the third bunny. I fucking know a dabbler when I see one. You're that guy with a broken down Mustang he talks a lot about, but never spends any time trying to get running. You're the guy who buys a piano and never learns to play. You had a toy handed to you, took the first opinion you got on the thing, then immediately shoved your head into the meat grinder. You're a fucking dabbler. The car was silent until they reached the abandoned hotel. The Scandinavia Inn had once existed as a 20-room establishment, but now stood in ruin. Its interior having been thrashed by the constant wear of nature and squatters. Both floors of the structure looked out over a small lake, but its allure, its promise of isolation, had also caused its financial downfall. "You sure she's gonna be here?" asked Bunny, as the trio stretched alongside their rented Ford. "No," replied Coffin, "and fortunately ancient ladies of the Great Woods don't carry cells. That said, she holds all of her meetings here, on the day of the full moon. Frankly, I'm pleased we're the only ones who appear to have shown up this time around. I say we probably have greater than even odds that she hasn't found something better to do." Shuffling his still-stiff legs over the disintegrating pavement, we'll ignore the stoutly locked front entrance, and instead directed the group towards the slope that led to the shore. "Suff answering work emails and pay attention," Bunny told Stewart, "you'll trip and get a used needle in the eye." Bert tucked the device away. The rear revealed easy access, as a dirt path littered with discarded beer cans and condom wrappers ran directly into the darkened patio of the nearest room. Stepping through the jagged edge frame of a sliding door, they entered. During her way past upturned televisions and splintered nightstands, Bunny was forced to remove a lighter from her pocket to fight the gloom. "Just gotta remember which hand holds the fire and which one holds my drink," she muttered to herself. As he mounted the stairs to the second floor hallway, Coffin announced his presence. "Hello, Madam, we've come to enjoy your sparkling conversation." He was unsure if he would receive a reply, but, after a moment, a nappy voice called from the third opening on the right. "A hello to you, then, Chairman Coffin, and to your delicious smelling friends as well. Come, come." The lady of the woods had skewed the window coverings to allow some light to be shed upon her gathered nest of moulding pillows, and the den had been carefully tidied, so that the constant trash underfoot ceased abruptly at the threshold. "Not too shabby," remarked Bunny, pushing the now unsure steward onward. "You've done well," Coffin said, bowing slightly to the hulking wolverine who rested amongst the cushions. "Baa," said Sarathistle, "I haven't done well since the great collapse. Hooligans run amuck in this shelter on those days when I am not on hand. Or worse, they stumble across my conferences and call in brutes who attempt to shove me in a cage. People had more respect before magic went out of the world." Despite her complaints, her snout had turned up a toothy grain at the compliment. "Perhaps," responded Will, "that has something to do with the fact that, at the time, you could easily command a furred army to consume their village." "They don't refer to them as the good old days without reason," said the beast, allowing a pleased rumble to enter her voice. "If you've come to venerate me, however, you seem to have brought excellent sacrifices. I know what you carry in yonder's sack. But even fleshless, I can smell the occult upon it, and it would gladly consume its potency, and this man. What a gift! he seems to satisfy both my need for power, and my taste for meat. You certainly know how to spoil me." The scene was too much for Steward's frayed nerves, and he collapsed to the ground, tears in his atrophying eyes. "Please! I've come a very long way. I want simply to be fixed. I want my face back." "Oh," responded Sarah Thistle, who was now taking a closer look at the man's ripe condition. "So it's the dead face box I can taste on the air. Well, enough. Give it here." Despite the extreme rarity of such peace, Coffin was relieved to have the responsibility handed off. "You've read the inscription," the wolverine asked the shaking man, who nodded. "Blackhall had some trouble in translating, and it was actually in while having decoded that the carryo was lost, although he did find some history and the phrases, meanings. You took it as a riddle, and invitation, it is not. He who places his visage within the box, will witness the true face of eternity. When it was built, it was as a punishment, and his creators never thought that a date might come, when the nature of the relic might be forgotten. I've noticed that human empires are rarely capable of acknowledging their own horizons. It was intended as an ultimate exile to be cast out of human society as an abomination, and usually to die amongst the din of the jungle insects. It's simply an illusion, however. Its own flesh remains unchanged." "Oh," said Stuart, "it must be reversible, then." "No," Sarat Thistle replied, "you do not invest the effort to create an item such as this, with the intention of providing an easy remedy. This was a penalty, only for the most irredeemable." "I'd rather die than go on like this." "Then perhaps I could eat your head." "Once exposed to the occult, it is like a glue. The energy remains with you, and emanates, until it is dissipated or consumed. All too often, in the old nays, human graves were disturbed, to feed the belly of some wandering glutton, and such pilfering often led to hunt for the perpetrator, and unnecessary violence. I am hungry, and it is not our way to waste good flesh, any more than you would let the pig rot after slaughter, so comes their suicide, and place your seemingly rotten flesh within my maw. We will correct your lament, and my empty stomach, with a single motion." "There aren't too many people who personally slaughter their pigs any more," said Coffin. "But to be fair, I've had plenty of roommates leave over ripe deli in the fridge. I'm thinking, though, that perhaps it isn't a meal you need, but a regular partner for conversation. Your tongue seems rough." "I'm from it, a companion," said Sarathistle, chuckling at the admonishment. "Perhaps you want right, whatever the case, Bert Stewart dies today. Consider this the birth of a homely child. What shall I call you, my grotesque babe?" "A babbler," interjected Bunny from the corner of a mouthful of liquor. The beast nodded her agreement, "Sit, dabbler, and we will parlay as to why I should not eat such an ugly babe." She then removed the antiquity from its carrying bag, and began gnawing at its corners, rolling the shape over in her nimble paws. Soon freshly exposed metal caught the sun at every seam. Wearing his opportunity, Will made his move, and plucked the phone from the stunned lawyer's pocket. It was only then that the man who hired him realized that he'd been evicted from his former life. "You wanted into the Magic Kingdom," said Bunny, as she stumbled through the exit. "Welcome to Disneyland." As he exited, coffin shivered at the scraping sound of unyielding tooth on metal and the pitiful weeping beneath it. 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 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. ♪♪♪ ♪ Sunday's gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪♪♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪♪♪ [MUSIC PLAYING] You