Part 1 of 1
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Tonight, Will Coffin, urban shaman, spins a few barroom stories to a wobbly audience of one.
The Skinner Co. Network
159 - Coffin: Tell Tales, Part 1 of 1
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 159. Tonight, we present Coffin, Tell Tales, part one of one. [music] This week's episodes are brought to you by the Walker Journals. Life ain't easy, especially not amongst the dead. Find them all at youtube.com/walkarazombisurvivor. [music] Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled. Give it the shadows, I live with our number less. [music] [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, Lil Coffin, urban shaman, spins a few bar-room stories to a wobbly audience of one. Coffin, Tell Tales, part one of one. Written by JRD Skinner, art narration by Opoponix, an audio produced by Jessica May. [music] Coffin was sitting in dorsets watching his soggy roommate bunny finish off yet another foamy glass of corona. He had been her fifth beer. "You're going to end up like that guy," said Will, pointing towards a translucent man in a corner booth. "The fuck's his deal?" she asked. One of the bar's earliest customers, he replied. His habit was getting pretty troublesome by the time he died. He'd nearly managed to drown his liver when he was accidentally run over as he stumbled home. His spirit was too drunk to find its way, so now he comes in nightly to try and collect his thoughts in a mug. Dorsett dispenses a pint for him at the stroke of midnight, or the ornery bugger starts throwing things. "Can't you help him?" "Mmm, they don't hold A meetings for wandering spirits, which is what I'm trying to tell you." Beyond that, not every otherworldly problem has a mystical solution, or any at all. Sometimes people just need to get themselves straightened out, however dead they may be. Sneering, Bunny waved down the pudgy tap-tender and demanded a refill. "You mentioned, like, legends once. What about famous shit? Ever get fucking Dracula, or Frankenstein in here? I mean, anything I might have actually heard of." "Mmm, yeah," coffin replied. A few of the Greek gods passed through once. There were a bunch of shape-shifting perverts. I had to ask them to leave, actually. "Are you just as serious on his ass?" "Naw. Beside and then Bacchus. They were pretty rowdy pair. Wasn't quite as easy as picking them up by the scruff of their neck and giving them the heave ho, but... When Dorsett opened his doors, I agreed I'd act as part-time bouncer. Bunny's replenished glass paused, made a scent. "Wait, what? You work for him?" "It's my fault the bloody Englishman even set up a place here. He doesn't do it for the money. He doesn't need it. He just..." He came across some information regarding the end of the world that he wasn't supposed to know, and he started following me around. He bought this shack when I finally settled in capital city. "Why you?" I was the one who accidentally told him. "Fuck me. How long do we have?" "I don't know. That's what he's looking to learn as well. I promised him I'd tell him as soon as I had an exact date, but that was almost a decade ago, and he's still waiting." "Jesus. In that case, what's the difference? I could be hit by a car tomorrow. Doesn't mean I'm gonna move to a fucking Toyota dealership." Despite her bravado, Bunny took a deep sip from her glass before continuing. "I've never seen you give shit off or nothing, though. So why are you helping him? You don't mean drink the free beer he offers." "Well, I feel somewhat responsible for dropping the apocalypse on him, but I was also a huge fan of cheers back in the day." "The only time you crack a joke is when you're avoiding the truth," replied Bunny. She pulled in another mouthful of ale. "Are those guys your fault, too?" "The three steves," said Coffin, turning to the identical trio of blonde men in baseball caps. "No, they're their own problem." He was overseas doing some contract construction work when he found a relic he shouldn't have touched. Getting his selves back here was a pain, apparently. They had to risk mailing his passport twice before they were gathered again. He makes out okay now, though. Two of them hang out here while the others back home, and they get a lot of one-off renovation jobs around the city, so a pair can be earning while the loafer drinks the proceeds. "Sounds like a sweet deal." "Well, there's a hitch, of course." They all love the same woman, his, er, their wife. But they know damn well that if she was aware of the situation, she'd turn the lot of them onto the street. I think he kind of resents his selves for the time he spends with her. "That's f*cked up." "Yeah, like I said, not every problem has a simple solution." The guy who sent the steves this way, you met him once. He came to me looking for help in a professional capacity. He was high on shrooms and messing around with some of his friends in a southside rail yard when he'd fallen through a floor of a semi-abandoned service building. It was too dark to see, and he said he wandered around for hours before he fell asleep. Woke up in his own bed, no idea how he'd gotten there. Coffin scooped a handful of complimentary peanuts from the small brown bowl at his elbow. At first he just used the drugs to explain everything away, but he started having a repeating nightmare. He'd dream he was under his covers, and, although he couldn't move, he had a clear view of his room's door. For three or four months it was the same boring scene, then one evening he notices the front end of a sneaker at the entrance. The next night he had line of sight on a little Adidas runner with a great knee and shin attached. Then he could make out a pair of little blue shorts and a ten-year-old's face. He figured the boy was getting a step closer every time he slept. Tough circumstances. It was like he was awake, and broad daylight, with nothing to stare at for eight hours but the approaching child. Still, he couldn't give a decent description to help with identification. He said the kid's face looked as if it had been pulled apart by rats. He could even make out nom marks on the eyelids. Grimacing, Bunny finished number six and ordered number seven. She nodded away her interruption, encouraging Will to carry on. Wiping salt from his fingers, coffin dead. He only knew to ask me for assistance because he was my cousin by marriage. What a Sandy's favorite, actually. Honestly, I don't think it was coincidence. At the time, I could go years without encountering anything interesting, but between the day he fell into the hole and the day he came to me for help, I killed a lichenthrope, conducted a phantasmal marching band, and refused four separate offers for my eternal soul. I think he was called down there to wake something up. I was pretty green, but I'd read about a ritual that would be of assistance. We started it on the morning after the kid reached the foot of his bed. That was the last time he slept. His brain isn't quite what he used to be, but he still prefers not to know what would happen if he'd waited any longer. And, given how busy my trade's been since, I'd rather not find out either. Is a little bastard still getting closer? I can't say. Ghosts don't appear in dreams, and I've yet to find anything that would provide an explanation. I keep hoping to come across an answer that'll fix them both. I just haven't. Yet. He shrugged. Sometimes, there's no easy resolution. From over the lip of her upturned glass. Bunny's gin blossom nose bobbed in agreement. 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]