Ep.218 – Send Beer - Even in the Apocalypse Work Sucks

After a zombie outbreak has nearly destroyed everything Felix is stuck being the only delivery working in the area and believe it or not the zombies aren't the only ones who are hungry...
Send Beer by Michelle Antisocial
Read her comic at:...
After a zombie outbreak has nearly destroyed everything Felix is stuck being the only delivery working in the area and believe it or not the zombies aren't the only ones who are hungry...
Send Beer by Michelle Antisocial
Read her comic at: https://www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/at-the-end-of-everything/list?title_no=527008
Contact Us/Submit a Story
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Joshua Butler
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by
HenFlix.com
For everything else visit
WeeklySpooky.com
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So it's the zombie apocalypse, so
everything has changed forever. Well, even
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so, you still got to earn
a living. So what if you,
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in the middle of an apocalypse,
were the only delivery worker in your entire
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area? And believe me, the
zombies aren't the only ones hungry. Feel
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the chill in the air, Listen
to the leaves Russ Ross as they die
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and fall to the ground. It
is holloween. You'll experience tales of our
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ghosts and death. It is not
recommended for the week a art. Join
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00:01:04.640 --> 00:01:23.200
me for a tale foul. This
is Weekly Spooky Time. Hello, my
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spookys, It's Wednesday, and you
know what that means. It's time for
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a little spooky in your weekly I'm
your host, but not narrator Tonight,
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Enrique Kuto and the story we have
for you all tonight. It's by my
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good buddy and Monthly Spooky co host, Michelle Antisocial. At the end of
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every month, she and I sit
down and talk about weird news stories and
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odd topics to kind of round out
the month here at Weekly Spooky. Well,
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Michelle has done me an incredible favor. Michelle has not only written a
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story for all of us to enjoy, but she narrated it for us too,
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so that I could take a much
needed break and prepare for tomorrow's show,
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which is an entire audiobook. An
entire free audiobook from the Babysitter Massacre
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collection. Babysitter Massacre Daddy's Little Killer
will be here for you to listen to
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00:02:21.960 --> 00:02:27.719
tomorrow completely free. So if you
love slasher films, well you won't want
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to miss it. But now we
have this story from Michelle that I really
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enjoyed, and I know you will
too. It's got a whole lot of
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scares and a whole lot of laughs. It's my kind of story. But
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before we get to that, I
want to say thank you so much for
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listening. I know so many of
you who are tuning in are brand new
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to the show, and I hope
I've earned your subscription by the end on
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your favorite podcasting app. And hey, while you're at that podcasting app like
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Apple Podcasts or Spotify, why not
leave us a five star rating and make
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sure other spookies know they're in the
right place. I really do appreciate it
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from the bottom of my heart.
And if you want to join us over
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on Facebook, just punch in Weekly
Spooky's Tomb of Terror into the search box
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and you can join me and our
fellow authors as we share fun stories and
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memes and all things spooky. And
remember, there'll be a brand new episode
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every single day this October, so
you do not want to miss what we
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have in store for you as weekly
Spooky is daily. But now it's time
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for the apocalypse after these quick words
from our sponsors, Send beer by Michelle
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Antisocial. You know how sometimes a
squirrel would just grab an unripened tomato right
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off the plant, take one bite, and then throw the rest right on
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the ground to rot. That's exactly
the way I found Lucy on the sidewalk,
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surrounded by flies, A long line
of ants marching into the missing chunk
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of flesh and feathers on the left
side of her neck. I touched my
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own neck in empathy. The area
is still slightly tender after all this time.
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Shaking the ants away, I picked
up her rigid body. I removed
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the note that was still somehow tied
to her leg. Send beer. Fuck,
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there was no beer. Those frat
boys at seventeenth and Oak must have
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been well aware of that fact,
and yet they sent Lucy to her death
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for what a joke? Or did
they really think I could find them alcohol?
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Did they think I hadn't looked.
I mean, maybe if I broke
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into every empty house in the area, I could find some. No.
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No, if they wanted it so
badly, they could do that themselves.
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This, of course meant that even
though I didn't have anything to deliver,
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I still had to stop over there
and politely ask them to please please stop
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asking for alcoholic beverages. I wrapped
Lucy in the remnants of a plastic bag
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that I'd been keeping for this kind
of occasion and carefully placed her into the
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empty side pocket of my backpack.
I was as excited at the prospect of
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barbecued pigeon for dinner as I was
nauseous over the idea of chewing on her
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potentially bacteria ridden rotting flesh, and
I still had a long evening of oppressive,
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early autumn heated humidity before I could
get home to cook. I cursed
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the useless gas generator as I loaded
my supplies and homing pigeons into the rickety
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cart attached to the back of my
bicycle to get ready for the ride around
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town. Friday means that instead of
just working a nine to five delivering floral
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arrangements to mostly funeral homes. I
pull a grocery delivery shift afterwards, which
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is exactly what it sounds like.
Everyone has a week to send their birds
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back with a list of everything they
need, and then I go get those
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things and deliver it to them,
as well as return the pigeon for next
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time. Given the situation, It's
not a job I would choose if I
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actually had the choice, but for
reasons I won't and frankly do not want
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to get into too. I have
qualities that make me significantly more capable of
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being around the no longer people people
than your average weirdo does. So it's
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either me getting food to people or
it just doesn't happen, at least now,
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without terrible, terrible consequences for the
delivery person. And it seems wrong
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to make others suffer like that,
so I suffer instead, just markedly less
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so. Or at least that's what
i'd tell my parents to make them feel
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better about my recklessness if I thought
they actually cared about me. Not that
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they can care anymore. They're dead, after all, But enough about my
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dead family. I was headed to
the supermarket. The supermarket used to be
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my least favorite part of the entire
experience until recently. It was still open
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to the public and more or less
a functional business. Some guy, maybe
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the guy who owned it, was
always there and would make small talk with
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me when I shopped, or at
least he would attempt to. He was
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nice enough and remembered my name from
the one time I told him, though
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I think I was his only customer
most days. I even caught him making
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attempts to use gender neutral pronouns when
referring to me. All of that was
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a problem because I couldn't, for
the life of me, remember his name.
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I wanted so badly to respond to
his cheery Hi of Felix with something
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other than hey, But I couldn't, and it killed me more than any
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zombie ever, could you know,
metaphorically speaking? At least I tried everything
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I could to figure it out.
Could I have just asked him? Fuck
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no? So you can imagine the
position I was in. Anyway, All
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problems are temporary, right at least
this one was because one day the store
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was just closed. Maybe he just
got tired of seeing me and only me,
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the kid who didn't remember his name
and decided it was finally time to
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end this charade. It would make
me so happy to hear that that was
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the reason. And it's not that
he died, but you know how that
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goes. The supermarket was only a
few blocks from the flower shop. The
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building was partially boarded, and in
the beginning stages of decay, tall weeds
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sprung up from once minuscule sidewalk cracks, and the dirty green striped awning that
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hung over the entrance had partially detached
from its brackets. It swayed slightly in
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the sweltering breeze. I ducked through
the shattered glass door, ready to get
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to work. Despite its exterior,
the market was quite pleasant now. It's
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cool, musty decor and shelves of
decaying food were almost homey to me.
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At that point, there wasn't much
desirable product left, but I always did
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my best to accommodate. I do
like a good challenge. No box spaghetti
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left. Replace that sucker with a
can of spaghettios. You want ingredients to
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make chicken parmesan, Well we don't
have chicken anymore, but let me introduce
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you to these here spaghettios, green
beans, Spaghettio's got you covered. Fam
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looking for those individually wrapped brownies to
give your kids so they stopped crying about
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the zombies. Canned ravioli. They're
sort of the same shape and just put
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sprinkles on them and you're all set. The whole shopping experience took about an
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hour, and then I headed out
on my mission to deliver the goods.
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Unfortunately, Lucy's demise left the Frat
Bros. Without a pigeon, which meant
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that I had to do something I'd
been putting off a welfare check. It
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had been two weeks since I'd gotten
in order from one of my oldest customers,
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the Patels, a family of three
on the East Side. They had
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never taken even a week off from
ordering before, and while I was hoping
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that they just decided to switch to
one of my competitors and forgotten to return
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my bird, I was also aware
that I didn't have any I was the
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only person on this side of the
city stupid enough to do this, which
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meant something happened to my pigeon,
or worse. The Patels lived at the
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very edge of the suburbs. It
was a little bit out of the way,
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where the roads were less predictable with
cars and dead things. So I
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waited until close to the end of
my room, when I was carrying less
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food and pigeons to swing by.
Also, I was really dreading it.
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While there was still plenty of time
before sunset. You'd never have known.
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Due to the densely wooded streets that
encompassed the area, all was silent on
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my approach. Besides the crickets.
Nothing lives here anymore, lives here anymore,
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lives here anymore. The phrase welled
up from somewhere deep within my subconscious
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and gave me pause. I gulped, gripping my handlebars a little harder than
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necessary, as I turned down the
Patel's driveway. Their house was one of
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those mid century types, one story, flat roof, no basement, many
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many windows, exactly the kind of
place you'd pray you didn't have to ride
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out the apocalypse in. They'd done
their best to board up most of the
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windows, but I always wondered why, with the majority of the city available,
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they'd chosen to stay in that particular
place. It's the kind of ridiculous
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sentimentality that'll get you killed, I
scoffed, and hopped off my bike at
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the curve of the driveway by the
front door. The place looked secure,
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but as my breathing calmed, I
noticed an unusual sound intermixed with the drone
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of crickets app tap tap, the
unmistakable sound of a fingernail hitting plexiglass radiated
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out from the building in an unpredictable, somewhat frantic pattern. Were they trapped
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inside and trying to get my attention? I wondered? Maybe someone was just
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practicing their drumming technique against the window. I sighed, If so, they
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had no sense of rhythm. Now, in context, that makes next to
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zero sense. But since I'd conjured
the possibility into existence, I took a
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moment to wonder what I'd do if
mister Prattel answered the door and asked what
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I thought I'd say. It sounded
delightful. They were doing their best,
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after all, and a little encouragement
can go a long way. Sweating more
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over the possibility of an awkward conversation
than someone needing my help escaping. I
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knocked timidly on the door. Nothing. I tried a bit harder, missus
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Pattel, It's felix. I fumbled
you know, the grocery person you U
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sometimes get grocery deliveries from response,
just consistent light tapping. Are are you
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okay in there? I gingerly tested
the doorknob. It was locked, mister
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Brattel, Do you still have my
pigeon? Maybe they were just in the
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bathroom or something. Yeah, all
three of them in the bathroom, just
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hanging out. I'd hate to think
that I rushed their bathroom family time.
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So I just silently stood there for
a full five minutes, trying to be
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polite and panicking about what to do
next. All the while the tapping persisted.
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I sighed it was time to get
serious and investigate the source. I
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carefully and quietly began to walk the
perimeter of the sprawling residence, weirdly afraid
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that someone would see me and think
I was trying to break in, like
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there were people. As I made
my way around the left side of the
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home, I was able to pinpoint
its general location to a window directly behind
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a row of overgrown barberry bushes,
which, as you probably don't know,
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are my my number one least favorite
type of shrub, and yes I do
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have a list. I pushed myself
between the vegetation, insiding, trying to
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avoid the plant's thorns and failing miserably. The area behind the bush wasn'tcompletely boarded,
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but it was too dark for me
to see inside. I pressed my
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hand against the glass. It reverberated
in tandem with the taps. I was
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in the right place. I fought
with the thorns and my pants pocket to
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retrieve my flashlight, and then,
shaking, lifted it towards the window and
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slid the switch to the on position. A tiny face was staring back at
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me. Bisura. I gasped.
My pigeon cocked her head, possibly equally
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as surprised to see my face.
Her beak and feathers were soaked in blood.
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Smeared specks of blood clung to the
window where she'd been pecking. Adrenaline
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shot through my small frame, and
I tore out of the bushes and back
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to the front door. And then
I kicked that bucker until the jam snapped
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and the door burst open and slammed
deafeningly against the wall. Sorry, I
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called out, sheepishly, but it
was silent. Streaks of daylight from the
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gaps between the boarded windows criss crossed
the lime green carpet illuminating the interior just
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enough for me to see without a
flashlight. Once my eyes adjusted from the
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four year where I stood, everything
looked pristine. I was beginning to consider
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the possibility that they'd simply packed up
and moved to a safer, less windowy
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house or headed west in a desperate
attempt to cross state lines, just leaving
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my pigeon, intentionally or unintentionally,
convinced I was at least momentarily alone.
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I crossed the living room and started
down the hallway in the direction of the
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window that had my bleeding bird in
it. Four doorways loomed ahead of me.
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The first two were empty bedrooms,
then the third was a bathroom with
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no family time happening in it.
However, the last door, unlike the
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others, was shut and locked.
I thought maybe I could hear faint rustling
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inside Bissurah, I called out.
I was so relieved to hear her coup
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from within the room that I jimmied
the door open and took several steps into
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the space without much thought. My
only goal was to grab her and get
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the hell home. There was no
way I trusted the frat FROs with an
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injured pigeon or really anything. At
this point, they'd have to wait.
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Basurah flew right over to me and
perched on my hand. Good girl,
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I assured her quietly, as I
examined her body, trying to locate a
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cut or a wound of any kind. But while she was caked in what
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was most certainly blood, she wasn't
actually bleeding, not anywhere. My heart
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sank. What have you been eating, sweetheart? Basurah bobbed her head at
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me quizzically, as if to say, no oblo inglish an espongol porfifour.
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You know I don't speak Spanish,
I said aloud, Let's just get out
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of here, okay. As I
turned around to leave the bedroom, I
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caught something big and dark in my
peripheral vision. I froze. There.
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Hanging from one of those decorative exposed
ceiling beams was a very dead missus Pateel,
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And to make matters more uncomfortable,
she was just covered in peck marks.
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I unconsciously dropped my hand, prompting
Mensieur to fly off of it and
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over to missus Pateel's shoulder and begin
munching on her face. Bassurah, get
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down from there, for this instant. You're embarrassing me, I said,
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in an unnecessarily hushed tone. My
bird continued to not understand English and attempted
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to rip some of the skin off
of Missus Pateel's cheek. But sir,
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I, something stirred further off in
the darkness. Hello. I switched on
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my flashlight and began to search the
far side of the bedroom, careful to
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aim around Missus Pateel to spare my
psyche any further gory details. Something was
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hunched down behind one of the chairs
in the small sitting area near the en
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sweet bathroom. You're not safe yet, weakly spooky, We'll be right back.
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From my position, all I could
see was long, dark hair.
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Hey, are you a zombie or
The thing continued to sit quietly, So
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I made the regrettable decision to find
out for myself and slowly close the distance
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between us. If you're not dead
and you could respond to me, it
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did help a lot, I coached, realizing in my panic to save my
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injured pigeon, i'd left my weapon
outside. This was bad. The thing
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that I could by that point more
accurately categorize as a little girl, probably
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the Betel's daughter was still not moving, her head was down, body slumped,
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and I could make out several partially
scabbed, partially infected human bitemarks around
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her ankles. So yeah, this
was probably a zombie, but I needed
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to confirm before I made any decisions
about how to dispose of it, prepared
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to pull away in case of an
attack. I carefully pushed back her hair
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as I did. Her body tensed. Fuck, sorry, I mean,
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but I couldn't think of another word
to replace it with. Not that she
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was listening, not really. After
a moment of awareness, her eyes had
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fixed on something very far away.
If this was literally any other place or
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time in modern history, i'd have
called nine one one the ambulance, and
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the police would have been dispatched,
and I would have sat outside with her
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until they came. They'd wrap us
in blankets and i'd give a statement to
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the cops. Then they'd take her
to the hospital and treat her injuries,
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and CPS would handle things from there. But none of those things existed anymore.
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So I was going to have to
handle it, and I don't mean
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handle it in a good way.
A sudden wave of anger course through my
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body. You don't go about this
the same way as when the oxygen mask
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drops on a plane. You do
not take care of yourself before your child,
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Missus Vittel. Child first, always
child first, and murder suicides don't
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make me do it. Based on
her limited reaction to stimuli, it wasn't
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too difficult to estimate that the girl
whose name I'd forgotten was on day five
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or six of a grueling seven day
slock between exposure and full infection, which
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consisted of increasing confusion, loss of
awareness, antisocial behavior, and well,
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who really knows what else until at
the end you're just some violent human husk.
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There was, of course a point
five percent chance that she'd just die
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instead, but that death always looked
incredibly painful, so I can't say it
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would be much of an upgrade.
I sat there for a long time,
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trying to convince myself of the importance
of committing the act. That her mother
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would rather end her life than see
come to pass. You have to,
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you know, I told myself.
Straightening my back, I reached out towards
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her and wrapped my hands around her
throat without a gun. No bullets left,
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bet dubs. It was the nicest
way I could think of. Once
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her body was dead. I'd have
to use more violence to make sure she
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didn't come back. I'd made the
decision. All I had to do was
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squeeze. As my grip increased,
her eyes suddenly locked with mine. They
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were filled with fear, A lot
of fear, like way too much fear.
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I'd been wrong about the timeline.
Her fingernails sunk into my forearms,
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desperately trying to pull me off as
I choked her. The awareness of her
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reaction completely caught me off guard.
Had she even been bitten? I mean,
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I was almost positive that those were
human bite marks on her ankles.
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00:20:15.680 --> 00:20:19.799
But the very real and increasing possibility
that what I was really dealing with was
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just a very traumatized seven year old, not a monster, made my extremities
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go cold, and before I realized
what I was doing, I'd grabbed Bassura
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and bolted out of the room.
I could hear her coughing and gasping for
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00:20:33.039 --> 00:20:37.039
air as I rushed down the hallway. Fuck this, Fuck all of this.
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In the kitchen, the Patels had
a large stockpile of bottled water.
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I sat my pigeon in the sink, and as carefully as was possible with
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my trembling hands washed the blood from
her feathers. There was absolutely no reason
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I needed to add this one to
the long list of things plaguing my conscience.
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I wasn't even sure I agreed with
the premise of mercy killings anyway sparkly
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00:21:00.720 --> 00:21:06.039
clean, or at least clean enough. I toweled Bassura off in my shirt
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and headed for the front door.
I was gonna drop Basura off at the
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frat and go home, and suddenly
a desperate scream crashed through the building and
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sent me running right back down that
Saint damn hallway. Oh it was mister
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00:21:19.000 --> 00:21:22.519
Brettel. I've been wondering about him, but there he was now in the
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bedroom, pinning his already almost strangled
daughter to the ground and like eating her
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00:21:26.640 --> 00:21:30.599
small intestines, large intestines. I
don't know. I'm really not that good
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00:21:30.599 --> 00:21:34.920
an anatomy. Well, at least
that's what he was doing until my rapid
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approach distracted him and he lunged at
me. I wasn't able to dodge quite
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00:21:40.160 --> 00:21:42.759
as nimbly as I'd liked, and
he flat out tackled me, knocking me
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00:21:42.799 --> 00:21:47.160
into the bedside table before I hit
the ground. I was trying to keep
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his teeth away from my everything and
simultaneously punch him hard enough to get him
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00:21:51.759 --> 00:21:55.599
off of me. But I'm not
that great at close combat. Granted he
285
00:21:55.720 --> 00:21:57.119
was like twice my size, but
I feel like I should have been able
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00:21:57.160 --> 00:22:02.359
to manage better all things considered.
So I was laying there, using every
287
00:22:02.359 --> 00:22:04.599
ans of my strength to keep from
being chewed on, excepting that everything I'd
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00:22:04.640 --> 00:22:08.480
done that day was very stupid.
When a dark blur streaked across the room,
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00:22:08.799 --> 00:22:14.480
landed on mister Mattel's face and started
pecking his eyes. It was Bisurah,
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00:22:14.960 --> 00:22:18.359
my attacker. Momentarily distracted, I
was able to reach behind me,
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00:22:18.400 --> 00:22:21.079
hoping that there'd be something in the
knocked over table that I could use to
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00:22:21.200 --> 00:22:25.400
end this. I fumbled around until
I felt something cold, hard and substantial,
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00:22:25.680 --> 00:22:27.759
and then I brought it down over
his skull, and then I hit
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him over and over and over again. And then I continued to hit him
295
00:22:33.240 --> 00:22:37.079
until I was sure that no part
of him would ever be able to move
296
00:22:37.119 --> 00:22:42.599
again. I then took a moment
to catch my breath and waited patiently for
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00:22:42.680 --> 00:22:47.559
his daughter to stop breathing, and
you know, proceeded to do the same
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00:22:47.559 --> 00:22:53.160
thing to her too. Afterwards,
I washed my hands really really well.
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00:22:55.200 --> 00:22:57.759
It was only then that I realized
what the object I had been using to
300
00:22:57.759 --> 00:23:06.640
crush my attackers was a somehow still
intact, three quarters full bottle of vodka.
301
00:23:07.119 --> 00:23:10.920
The frat was only about a fifteen
minute bike ride away, so I
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00:23:10.960 --> 00:23:14.440
made it there before eight thirty.
I don't know why I keep calling it
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00:23:14.519 --> 00:23:18.799
that. By the way, the
university had been made inaccessible as it was
304
00:23:18.839 --> 00:23:22.160
on the other side of the now
blown up bridge, and also it hadn't
305
00:23:22.160 --> 00:23:25.559
held classes in over a year,
so it was a little less like a
306
00:23:25.599 --> 00:23:30.680
frat and more like a gang,
like a really boring gang. The house
307
00:23:30.759 --> 00:23:34.599
was one of those opulent nineteen twenties
Johns that had been falling apart for at
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00:23:34.680 --> 00:23:40.359
least a decade before the bad stuff
happened, surrounded by a fifteen foot tall
309
00:23:40.440 --> 00:23:44.960
fence made of an amalgamation of just
about every building material that you can think
310
00:23:45.000 --> 00:23:49.200
of. A guy dressed in too
cool for the Apocalypse gear pointing his gut
311
00:23:49.279 --> 00:23:53.519
in my direction from a makeshift watchtower
as I approached, only to lower it
312
00:23:53.559 --> 00:23:57.720
again. I tried and failed to
speak so that I could explain myself,
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but it didn't seem to matter.
I know, just going already, he
314
00:24:02.480 --> 00:24:06.039
motioned to the gate with his rifle. Earlier on my route, I'd come
315
00:24:06.119 --> 00:24:10.279
up with the most perfect, soap
boxy speech to shame these guys. I
316
00:24:10.359 --> 00:24:12.559
was going to tell them about Lucy
and how they were putting me and my
317
00:24:12.640 --> 00:24:17.279
birds in unnecessary danger. But I'd
give them one more chance, because I
318
00:24:17.319 --> 00:24:21.359
didn't think they were being malicious.
But by the time I stood on that
319
00:24:21.480 --> 00:24:26.359
dry rotted porch staring at Stefan,
the only guy whose name I'd actually remembered,
320
00:24:26.680 --> 00:24:30.759
I was having trouble keeping any sort
of mental narrative running. I was
321
00:24:30.799 --> 00:24:33.559
really just trying not to throw up. I don't know how I looked at
322
00:24:33.559 --> 00:24:37.279
that point, but I can only
assume it was kind of off putting,
323
00:24:37.799 --> 00:24:41.880
because instead of saying hello, Stefan
just stared at me. I parted my
324
00:24:41.920 --> 00:24:45.839
lips to speak first, but I
could only manage a nonsensical squeak, so
325
00:24:45.960 --> 00:24:51.079
instead I lifted the bottle of vodka
out of my backpack and shoved it into
326
00:24:51.079 --> 00:24:56.079
his chest, then turned to leave. Oh oh, the beer thing.
327
00:24:56.279 --> 00:24:59.240
That was really just supposed to be
a joke, he said, staring at
328
00:24:59.240 --> 00:25:03.039
the bottle. I stopped turned back
and made a spur of the moment decision
329
00:25:03.720 --> 00:25:08.920
instead of Besserah, I retrieved the
plastic bag wrapped dead Lucy from the pouch
330
00:25:08.960 --> 00:25:14.200
i'd stored her in and shoved her
into his hands. He fumbled to hold
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00:25:14.200 --> 00:25:18.559
onto both her and the vodka.
Thanks, I shrugged and again turned to
332
00:25:18.680 --> 00:25:23.000
leave. I could hear the plastic
crinkle behind me as he opened the Lucy
333
00:25:23.079 --> 00:25:27.079
package. Hey, it was really
supposed to be a joke, Stefan called
334
00:25:27.119 --> 00:25:34.359
out. I stopped good one.
I managed to eke out good one.
335
00:25:34.680 --> 00:25:40.160
Fucking good one, I berated myself
as I rode through the mostly empty streets,
336
00:25:40.480 --> 00:25:44.359
zigzagging to avoid the occasional zombie.
How on earth was that a good
337
00:25:44.359 --> 00:25:48.519
one? Felix? And to make
matters worse, I'd handed them my food.
338
00:25:48.720 --> 00:25:52.400
I was clearly never gonna be able
to face that gang again. Luckily
339
00:25:52.440 --> 00:25:56.759
for me, I was no longer
even a little bit hungry, So instead
340
00:25:56.759 --> 00:26:00.279
of having barbecued pigeon as planned,
I went to sleep for dinner, feeling
341
00:26:00.319 --> 00:26:06.720
like I'd played the ultimate prank on
myself. Gotta make the joke funny somehow,
342
00:26:06.799 --> 00:26:15.079
I guess, what did you Spooky's
thing? I really enjoyed it,
343
00:26:15.119 --> 00:26:18.759
and I think you should leave a
little comment encouraging Michelle by sending an email
344
00:26:18.799 --> 00:26:23.039
to Weekly Spooky at gmail dot com. Michelle did an incredible job, and
345
00:26:23.160 --> 00:26:26.880
of course, on the thirtieth of
this month, on Monday, you'll be
346
00:26:26.920 --> 00:26:32.440
able to hear Michelle and I do
our special Monthly Spooky for Mischief Night,
347
00:26:32.799 --> 00:26:34.519
and you won't want to miss that. We have so much cool stuff coming
348
00:26:34.599 --> 00:26:37.839
up. This Saturday, I'll be
doing a new episode of Cutting Deep into
349
00:26:37.880 --> 00:26:42.880
Horror with Rachel and we're going to
be talking all about the Halloween Comedy Horror
350
00:26:42.920 --> 00:26:47.279
Classic Murder Party. You will not
want to miss that episode as well.
351
00:26:47.319 --> 00:26:49.160
I know, I know. We
have so much content our cup. It
352
00:26:49.279 --> 00:26:53.960
truly runneth over Hey, it's spooky
season, so you better believe we take
353
00:26:55.000 --> 00:26:57.920
it seriously over here. Because if
you're new to listening, just be aware
354
00:26:59.680 --> 00:27:03.759
every single week, whether it's January, February, March, April, May,
355
00:27:03.880 --> 00:27:07.960
June, July, August, September, we're always here to bring you
356
00:27:07.000 --> 00:27:11.119
the spooky. And we're gonna have
a lot of extra special episodes for the
357
00:27:11.200 --> 00:27:14.559
Christmas season as well, because some
people don't want to admit it, but
358
00:27:14.720 --> 00:27:19.839
Christmas itself has a whole lot of
spooky backstory to it, and the humongous
359
00:27:19.880 --> 00:27:25.079
thank you to our Patreon backers who
make this all possible, and especially our
360
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Patreon podcast boosters. These are folks
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hear their names at the end of
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bobotopia dot Com, Megan Hua,
Julia Kersh, Brent mccallaugh, Steve
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King, Karen Weemant, and Craig
Cohen. And if you want to join
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that list, if you want to
join the spookies helping us make sure we
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bring the scares forever and always,
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on Patreon. For as little as
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the spooky keeps on coming and every
single month you get a brand new,
368
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exclusive scary story just for you,
and so much more. There is a
369
00:28:03.440 --> 00:28:07.200
lot going on over at the Patreon
over at Weeklyspooky dot com. Go over
370
00:28:07.240 --> 00:28:11.279
there and check out everything we've got, including over two hundred previous episodes.
371
00:28:11.319 --> 00:28:12.640
But now I've got to get out
of here because I have to get ready
372
00:28:12.759 --> 00:28:17.319
for so much more content, but
for myself, for my executive producers,
373
00:28:17.359 --> 00:28:19.559
Joshua Butler and Rob Fields, my
producer Dan Wilder, and my composer Ray
374
00:28:19.559 --> 00:28:25.599
Mattis. I'll talk at you tomorrow. Thank you for this phase. Make
375
00:28:25.720 --> 00:28:30.359
sure to find your way back next
week week, But for now you are
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00:28:30.480 --> 00:28:33.000
safe. Trust me,














