Part 1 of 1
Read the full text at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Will Coffin and his friend, Bunny, discover a grisly scene.
The Skinner Co. Network
172 - Coffin: Comfort Food, Part 1 of 1
[♪♪♪] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 172. Tonight, we present Coffin, Comfort Food, Part 1 of 1. [♪♪♪] This week's episodes are brought to you by the Geek Out with Mainframe podcast. This is Richard Green, aka Mainframe of the Geek Out with Mainframe podcast. That can be found at GeekOutWithMainframe.com. With hundreds of Geek interview podcasts, I have one of them. Interviews have included people such as Michael Plastit, Gerald Axelrod, P.C. Herring, J.R. Murdock, Chris John Ellis, Mark the Encafinated One Killfall, Paul Ikuli, and Nathan Lowell with more to come in 2011. So come to GeekOutWithMainframe.com, where our geek flag always flies hot. [♪♪♪] [♪♪♪] 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, we'll coffin and his friend Bunny discover a grisly scene. Coffin, Comfort Food, Part 1 of 1. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. [♪♪♪] Standing nude beneath the low ceiling of the living room, a tear appeared on the old man's cheek. Disappeared into the depths of his wrinkles, then, traveling as if in a subterranean river, reappeared at his chin. Every surface in the tiny basement apartment had been covered with cheap plastic sheeting, duct taped together at the seams, including the ceiling, and the noise of the falling droplet seemed to linger along the shrouded walls. "What in the sweet kingdom of cow shit is going on here?" asked Bunny. Coffin thought it was fairly obvious, given the camp stove, the Tim plate, and the carefully piled dismembered corpse. Two days previous, Will and his drunken roommate had been sitting in dorsets, and the urban shaman had been explaining a truth of his occupation. "Well, what I'm trying to tell you is that not everything fantastic in the world, and by fantastic, I don't mean great, I mean awe-inspiring, has to be some sort of a cult happening." Listen, I've seen some goddamn ex-file shit since we've been hanging out together, and I don't think the bloody miracle of birth or whatever stands up to say, basement zombies, or suicidal immortals, replied Bunny. "You're only down on child birthing because you've never been through it. For example, I know a guy who compulsively collects porn." Well, thank you for opening my eyes to the mysteries of the fucking universe. Har-har. The thing is, he does it for the artistic merit. He's been at it since he was 18. He was looking through a magazine, busty bikers, or ladies in the tramps or whatever, some low-class second-string naughty book, and he came across this photo of a woman on a couch. There's something about the lighting, the position, the mix of fear and hope on her face. He started crying. Heh. I had a boyfriend who'd do the same thing when he was looking at nudie pics. Frankly, he did it after sexy time, too. Bunny took a deep sip of her rum and coke. Heh. It wasn't like that. He wasn't doing it out of shame. The picture was just... I've seen it. It's beautiful. Cough and paused, collecting his thoughts. I don't think it was intended to be. There were probably 500 pictures on the shoot. One shoot in however many thousands that happened in a year, and through the law of averages, one of them was accidentally art. It was enough to send the collector on a lifelong quest to find the diamonds in the rough. Heh. I knew a few strippers named Diamond, too. I still don't get it, though. They're just a bunch of naked ladies. Willside? Tell it to Goya, you said. Who? Never mind. It was then that the mortician had arrived. The shadiest of capital cities array of undertakers, Cough and had dealt with the man on several occasions, often at the end of a long day of unpleasantness. It was a surprise to have the man come to him, as usually the situation was reversed. Rolling up his sleeves and drinking down half of the sudsy bounty Dorset had dispensed him, the silver-haired body wrangler took a seat at Will and Bunny's table. "I've got a problem," said the newcomer. "Heh, join the club," Bunny answered, smacking her lips against the numbing layer of liquor that had gone unstirred at the bottom of her drink. "No, not with a drink. I've got a body missing." Cough and raised a brow. "I thought the disappearing act was the reason you were paid so well." "It isn't a client's cadaver. It's actually Tokaweed." His leather jacket creaking as he stretched, Will whistled. Seeing his roommates confused, look, he explained. Tokaweed is one of the assistants at the crematorium. She isn't, uh, wasn't exactly here legally, but she was happy enough on the occasions I encountered her. She came with her husband, Manum, decades ago. O'wari earned a tribe from Brazil. I suspect her employer here was fond of the fact that neither her or her husband spoke terribly great English. "It didn't hurt," said the embalmer, "but we've worked together for years. I treated them like family." "Family who slept in a makeshift apartment over your garage?" Cough and replied. "Sounds like you can't find either of them, though." "Well, no. Manum came to me, weeping, and we went to his loft, and there was Tokaweed. Dead on the couch, Mr. Bean's still playing on the TV." I tried to bring her down to the crematorium, but while I was on the stairs, Manny hit me from behind. I woke up later, lying in my own driveway, and the pair of them were gone, as was my wallet. Hmm, I'm not really in the business of tracking down rogue bodies, at least not unless they're back up and walking around. Said Will. "Just call up one eight hundred dial ago through whatever it is you do, and I'm sure you can track them down." Cough and Space had remained unyielding, until he noted the bundle of bills rolling at him from across the brown lacquered surface. Then, the hunt had begun. The smell in the tiny, windowed space was not a pleasant one. Must have taken a bit of effort to find a place he could rent for cash, said Will, then to get the plastic and everything. I don't think he even has a car. Carwick only knows how he got all this here without anyone noticing he was dragging a dead woman around behind him. "He's a body-chopping people-eater," Bunny replied. "Don't be so close-minded. He loved his wife." The man himself said nothing as his shoulders rolled with despair. His lament silently nourished the growing puddle at his feet. He isn't Jeffrey Dahmer. His people used to consume their loved ones as a way of finding closure. He isn't a monster. He's just sad and old, wanting to carry on a tradition that supposedly civilized people told him he couldn't. His wife has been a part of him, emotionally, for a long time. Now he wants her to be literally. Not only that, but given their heritage, I'm sure it's what she wanted as well. They've been here for decades, maybe 50 or 60 years, and they've only had each other and their beliefs. That's disgusting. I know a lot of folks who undertake a little metaphorical cannibalism every Sunday, coffin said with a shrug. In this case, he'd usually have a whole village to help. He has a big meal ahead of him. As the room once again fell into a hush, we'll nelt beside the portions that were once tokaweed, and lit the small stove. With a wretch, bunny moved towards the stairs. Flashpulp is presented by http colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of Flashpulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. [Music]