Part 1 of 1
Read the show notes at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight we present a cat and mouse game, already mid-chase.
The Skinner Co. Network
Guestisode 001 - Norman, by Scott Roche
(upbeat music) - Welcome to Flashpulp, guest episode one. Tonight, we present Norman by Scott Roche. (upbeat music) - Hey Marcia, what are you doing? - I'm reading a book on my Kindle. - What, those ebooks can be so expensive. - Don't I know it, but in these tough economic times brought on by poor political and economic decisions for previous administrations, both Republican and Democrat, as well as the current administration, we need a little help, and that help comes in a little money saver called a coupon. - Really cool, tell me more. - Well, I got this coupon to Scott Roche's horror story, Fetch, that can be found on Smash Words. All I had to do was enter that code at the checkout and wham, bam, thank you Scott Roche. - Send me that code, will you Marcia? - I wanna save money and read an awesome story too. Gosh, does Scott Roche have more stories? - He has a ton of short stories, compilations, and a novel at Smash Words. I've read them all, and everyone is excellent. - You should get them all too. (upbeat music) - If you'd like to read a great story and save some money too, then enter this code, E-T-3-3-J, and smash words to get discount on the story Fetch by Scott Roche. (upbeat music) - FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to 10 minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, we present a cat and mouse game, already mid-chase. Norman, part one of one, written by Scott Roche, art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. (upbeat music) (upbeat music) ♪ Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ - Norman. Norman's breath fogged in front of him as he panted short puffs. The walk-in smelled of frozen sides of beef. He cherished the odor, though he preferred his blood red and dripping, both from his stakes and from his sacrifices. Thick walls kept him from being seen or heard by any pastors by. He couldn't stay in here long before things got uncomfortable, but it was necessary. The police were only two steps behind him for a change instead of fumbling around like children in the dark. That was thanks to police detective Clive Barrows, the bastard child of Holmes and Spencer. Norman had managed to underestimate him in spite of that knowledge. He changed his breathing and attempted to force his heartbeat to slow. After seconds of intense focus, the muscle bent to his will. The temptation to clutch his arms around himself was strong. Instead, he did a brisk set of jumping jacks as the frigid air bit into him. Thinking of seeing the green eyes of his last victim stare up at him as he plunged the knife in one more time, also helped keep him warm. The girl was 12. The age his sister had been when he killed her with a pair of chicken scissors. Lila was his first sacrifice to the dark god below. This little tart was his 16th. Each little girl brought his master, that much closer. Five minutes passed as he struggled to stay alert and ward off the chill. The coach should be clear now. He didn't think anyone had followed him here. A false trail of blood spatter led away from his hiding spot thanks to the contents of the court bag in his outer jacket pocket. He didn't like wasting any of his trophy, but it was for a good cause. When he was unable to stand at any longer, Norman hid the button that would allow his freedom. The heavy door swung open and stopped, allowing only a quarter inch of space between it and the jam. Momentarily confused, he pushed at the solid slab of steel again and heard the clank of chain. Push all you want, Norman. I don't think you'll be able to break out. Bear his rich baritone made it through the gap. He was caught, trapped. His left hand crept towards the dagger in its sheath. If he could convince his nemesis to come inside, there would perhaps be a chance to use it. Why the chain, Barrows, come in. Take me into custody. The laughter had an edge to it that Norman recognized, the beginnings of madness. There'll be no taking you in, Norman. You see, I was unable to convince the DA's office that you were the arachnid. Norman cringed at the name the papers had given him. Apprehending you when you were this close to your latest victim was my only chance. I won't bore you with how I cracked your pattern or how I knew where you would be. My efforts were fruitless since you managed to get to her before I did. I saw your little ruse and tracked you back here. That side that further pursuit is meaningless. Never catch someone as clever as you. The sarcasm was thick and was the only inflection present in the last handful of sentences. An unfamiliar sensation crept at the back of Norman's neck. He thought it might be fear. His mouth was dry and his heart beat faster. Look, detective, you caught me, bring me in. What's that, Norman? You're not scared, are you? The killer saw the freezer's wand light reflect off one bloodshot eye outside the opening. He moved for the dagger and towards the door at the same time, but Barris was too quick. The blood stain steel skittered against the metal doorframe, marring it and slicing the rubber gasket. He pressed his face against the two narrow gap and tried to suck in warm air. I'm not scared, detective. It was a lie when he almost believed himself. It's you who should be afraid. Free me or face the wrath of the whole restaurant jumped and lurched to the right. Pots and pans crashed to the floor. Norman could make out Barris swearing over it all. Things quickly settled, but the kitchen had gone pitch black. Now Norman was afraid. The cold was bad enough. Add the close confines to it and the primitive fear of tight spaces common to most men bled around the edges of his damaged psyche. The darkness was the final nail. After much too long, a brilliant light cut through the black. He watched Barris pick through the now cluttered kitchen to the door. The detective looked shaken. Soon he stood outside and fumbled with the chain. Maybe I only wanted to scare you, Norman. The killer wasn't sure who Barris was trying to convince. No one would blame me for leaving you here, but I'm a better man than that. If I could get this blasted chain from, as if in slow motion, Norman saw the floor part behind his foe. The cap wasn't enough to be certain, but he was left with the impression of bone-white Kaiton, a handful of the glistening orbs he knew numbered among a thousand on the face of Karwick, the Spider-God. That was when the freezer door slammed shut. Norman couldn't hear his foes' screams or the unimaginable horror of his master's unearthly skittering. All he could hear were his own cries, as the cold and utter darkness finally crushed his mind. Before the collapsing building crushed his body. 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 skitter@skitter.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. ♪♪ ♪ Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ [MUSIC PLAYING] (upbeat music)