Part 1 of 3
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Tonight we begin a three part serial featuring master frontiersman, and student of the occult, Thomas Blackhall. In this opening chapter, we find our hero already in the process of being accosted with troubles not of his making.
[Music] Welcome to Flashpulp episode 46. Tonight, SAP, a black haultail, part one of three. This evening's story is brought to you by Flashpulp on iTunes. Every five-star rating wins the subscriber a free episode. Search for Flashpulp in iTunes or find the link at Skinner.fm. [Music] Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled at. Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled at. [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, we begin a three-part cereal featuring master frontier's men and student of the occult, Thomas Blackhall. In this opening chapter, we find our hero already in the process of being accosted with troubles not of his making. SAP, a black haultail, part one of three. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Popodax, and audio produced by Jessica May. [Music] Nine years passed, I fell in love with a girl named Annie Henley. I was little more than one in twenty, and frankly, I'd barely been off my dad's parcel. She was like a wispous silk when she moved, all limbs and grace. As the speaker paused to relight his pipe, Thomas Blackhall shifted in his chair, taking the measure of his patience against the volume of ale remaining in his glass. I, Blackhall, began, but the man's victory cough cut him short. As I was saying, in those days, I spent many of my hours in reflection on her composure and complexion. There was little chance for us to interact, however, as the only times of which we might congregate were at Sunday services. I did make many an attempt to woo her in that stifling environment, but her father had little love for me, and he soon hardened her against my approaches. The man, who'd introduced himself as Wilfred Lutharios before landing heavily upon the chair opposite Blackhall, paused to trade positions between pipe and drink. One mid-summer night, I had taken as much as my fever imagination could bear. Slipping into the still hours, I made my way from the porch across the field and into the darkness. As I walked the ditches and cart paths, I gathered wildflowers by moonlight. When I reached her home, my hands were bursting with the evidence of my love. After much creeping and peeking, I came upon the window I believed to be her own, and gave a gentle rap. My care and selection proved through, it was indeed her chamber, and after a moment her face swam into view behind the darkened glass. Her beauty was untempered by the shadows. I extended my offering, whispering her name, but I must have startled her as she immediately took to shrieking. With no small amount of panic in my veins, I turned back towards the fields, and just in time as I heard the stuffing of her father's muzzle loader at my heels. My bouquet left scattered across the lawn, I reached the wheat just as old man Sutherland let forth with his musket. I was unscathed bodily, but my britches did not weather the encounter well. Blackhall, who'd nearly found himself at Slumber's door, now gave a thin-lipped smirk at the idea of the intruder being threatened with gunfire. With my heart broken and my trousers moist, I took the slow route home. Breaking from the road to stumble down to the bank of Granary Creek, I rinsed my laundry in the clear waters. Selecting a wide rock upon which to enumerate my laments, I set about waiting for my pants to dry in the night breeze. Wilfred attempted a straighter attitude against his chair. I have told few of what followed. It's my understanding that you've some experience with the weird. The barkeep, Sam, is one of the few who's heard my tail in full, and he's also the one who suggested I might talk to you. And well, he should, considering how much of my drinking coin has built this place. He emptied his mug. It was not long in my wailing when the old woman in her strange parade happened upon me. They walked in single file, some three or four dozen, but it's my memory that she was the only one to speak, and as she went they went behind her, a perfect shadow of her movement through the brush and timber. I had not heard her approach, my awareness was lost in tears. I must have appeared quite a portrait, with only the long hems of my shirt to hide my shame, and my nose thick with snot. She said to me, "What then of you?" and her accent was at first so thick that I could hardly understand the words. Something in the silence that followed drove me to tell my tale, and, as I finished, I once again found myself weeping. Black Hall's heavy eyelids grew taut, his hands pressed flat upon the rough wood of the tavern's table. His change in attitude went unnoticed by the inebriated storyteller. "Did you happen to notice a woman of thirty? Brown haired with a scar across her right eye that prevents her eyebrow from fully regrowing?" asked Thomas. "I must admit, it was dark and long ago. I had little recollection of any face but the old hags, which shall not escape my memory," the drunk replied. I waited many evenings by the creek, but I have never again looked upon her. With a nod, Black Hall bid the man continue his story. As I completed my tale of woe, the woman turned, and without a word, a man stepped forward, offering up the bundle he'd been carrying upon his back. From deep within a packing of sawdust that must have made up half the fellow's burden, she pulled forth a slim vial of red liquid, an elixir of love that will ensure your woman's affections for ten years, three thousand six hundred and fifty-two days of joy, she said, a dry giggle slipping into her voice. With that she moved on, her throng trailing behind in their strange mirror-pantime. It was an encounter of such singular peculiarity that there was no doubt in my mind that the concoction would work in my favor, and I had little time to worry on it, as it was not but three days to the arrival of one of the church's summer picnics. I was concerned that my presence would bring remembrances of our nocturnal confrontation, but there was no recognition in the eyes of any of the Sutherlands. It was a simple enough manner to happen by her briefly unattended glass at the height of the festivities. Concerned about the rules governing the elixir's use, I was sure to be the first she spotted upon taking a drink, as they say as a necessary step in the bite of Cupid's arrow, you understand. Whatever the case, after she finished that cider, her heart was mine. Wilford grinned, his eyes clouding with memory. Her father was not pleased, but there was little he could do given the strength of her convictions. By harvest we were married, and as a gift he allowed us a plot at the corner of his land. Her mother had passed many years previous, and when the old codger finally joined her we moved into the main house. It's there that we've spent these last seven years in bliss. It is nearly a decade now, though, and I fear for the life I have built with her. Silence settled upon the table, as both men were momentarily distracted by thoughts of loss. Wilford gave his throat a long clearing, spitting upon the pinewood floor. "I ask you now, will you help?" Blackhall stood, and with a motion to allutharios to remain seated, he disappeared up the stairs at the rear of the great room. After a moment he returned, now wearing his heavy coat and carrying his baker rifle over his shoulder. His attention seemed to be focused on the leather satchel that hung low under his arm. "Will that be necessary?" Wilford asked, eyeing the weapon. "Likely no more than this," he replied, pulling back his coat to reveal his worn cavalry saber. "I have little in life to call my own, however, and what I do have is worth the effort of keeping close at hand. Thomas hoped the man might have a cart to carry them to his home, but was happy enough to let his feet lead him along in silence. The lack of conversation was a necessity, as his companion required the full strength of his perception to maintain his balance under the unsure weight of his drink. As their treads shook the morning dew from the grass, Blackhall rummaged about in his satchel, combining powders and slick waxes. As they entered the allutharios' dooryard, Wilford finally broke the silence. "There's not much therein that might harm her," he asked, considering the flecked amber lump that had been formed with pinches from the frontiersman's unlabeled envelopes. The strongest item used is a shaving of mermaid scale, but in truth the majority of the construct is pinegum. The drunkard's eyes went briefly agog, but Thomas refused to allow himself a smile. Before they'd topped the porches' steps, the door swung wide, a dim oil lamp revealing the form of the former Miss Henley. "I was worried," she said, stepping into the crisp night air and Wilford's arms. Before proper introductions might be made, Blackhall moved directly into business. "I have something for you," he said, extending the wad of sap and exotic reagents. The woman turned her face from the offering to her husband. "Make her eat it," Thomas told the man. "Choo it up," the drunk eagerly insisted. She did. "Have you restored her condition? Do I have yet another decade of beatitude?" Nay, responded Blackhall. His focus stuck upon the woman. I have shortened her sentence by a year. The rest of quality that had long dominated Annie's eyes now evaporated, replaced with something sharper. 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]
