Five Stories of Love and Death Vol. 2 — Valentine Horror Anthology

Abridged story transcript. Sexualized passages have been omitted or replaced with brief non-explicit editorial summaries in square brackets. This is not a verbatim transcript. Separate host segments and advertising are omitted. Prepared from an automatic transcription; residual transcription errors may remain. Story introductions between the tales are retained.

Echoes by Shane Migliavaca. I first met him last week. though I'd heard about the new guy in town before that. Castle, New York was the smallest of small towns. Word travels fast when somebody new moves to town. Travis looked like he stepped out of one of those 50s biker films and last Thursday when he walked into the diner I work at I couldn't take my eyes off him and he knew it.

He caught me looking at him and smiled that sly smile of his. My eyes darted away and I tried to make it look like I was working around the diner, but it was too late. He strode over to me. Hello there, he said. Hey, I tried to sound confident like I didn't give a fuck, but my voice cracked. He smiled at me.

Can I get a chocolate milkshake to go? Sure. I heard they're like, wow, here. I started making the shake as he leaned on the counter. He looked at his reflection in the glass case of donuts, adjusting his perfect hair. Yeah, they're really good, I said, unsuccessfully thinking of something cool to say. Lived here all your life? he asked. Unfortunately. Ain't so bad.

I've been to worse. I finished the shake and brought it over to him. He gave me a wink and took a sip. Before I could say anything, he slid a $10 bill across the counter. A large silver ring gleamed on his hand. He turned and started to leave. Let me get your change. The rest is for you, Dolly. I watched him go.

Dolly? I felt a bit offended, but at the same time I was feeling something else. Love? Lust? Whatever it was, it made me somewhat forgiving of the Dolly remark. So that's the new guy. Not bad. I turned and it was my co-worker and friend, Bren. She adjusted her raven hair. What did he say to you, Ronnie? Nothing much, just wanted a milkshake.

Yeah, yours. We both laughed. Bren has this obnoxious laugh that usually ends up making me laugh even harder. The next day, he didn't show up, but the day after that, he was there again. This time, wanting a milkshake and a burger. No matter who waited on him, he always ended up talking to me. Usually asking me about some town idiosyncrasy or whatnot.

Always coming in at the same time, every other day. It continued like this for a month. We'd small talk a little, and then he'd leave. I never saw him outside of the diner. Then one day, he changed the routine. I got off work one sunny Monday afternoon and Travis was waiting for me. He was leaning ever so slightly against the side of the diner.

He smiled at me. Hey, I said. Hey, he answered. He flicked out a metal lighter and lit a slim cigarette. So what do you do for a kick around here? There's the movie theater or the bowling alley. No, no, you, he took a puff. Me? Uh, not much. Nah? Dang shame, pretty little girl like you. Um, thanks. The flattery made me blush.

Was he hitting on me? I sucked at this kind of thing. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to say anything. I haven't found much in town to get excited about. Dullsville, really. He took a long drag on his cigarette. So I was wondering if, uh, you want to hang? I thought for a second. He's asking me out. I suck at dating.

He's good looking and seems nice, but there's no way a date between us won't end an embarrassment for me. And perhaps him, too. How can I talk him out of it? It's kind of been a rough day, you know? Mondays? I just want to go back home and chill. It don't have to be today. Oh, cool. So, want to see a flick?

He said. Show the new guy the sights? Sure. Am I really going to do this? Yeah, I guess I was. Why not? I deserve some fun, right? Right. You do. Bren was always trying to get me to go out. This would really shock her. Tomorrow night good? I thought about it. Did you know I didn't have to work the day after? Sure.

Aces. It's a date then. I'll let you pick the flick. Cool? Yeah. He looked at me. You should always have your hair like that. I touched my hair. I forgot I tied it back at work. This was probably the first time he saw it loose. It's so beautiful and red, like a rose. Thanks. My face lit up as I blushed. Great. Gotta run, babe.

Be seeing you. He did a little point at me and winked before leaving, the spurs on the back of his cowboy boots jangling as he went. What had I got myself into? Our first date went well, as did the next three. Before I realized it, we were a thing in town. I think Bren was jealous. For our fifth date, Travis wanted to take me on a picnic to Harmony Lake.

It would be our first date in a less public space. I wasn't too worried. On every date, Travis had been quite the gentleman. I was getting ready in the apartment I share with Bren. I stood doing my hair over and over again. You look good. Let it go, she said. I turned from the mirror and presented myself. You think? I said, twirling around in my new dress.

You're hideous. Hilarious. Seriously, hon, you look amazeballs. She hugged me. Have fun at the lake. Try not to get too lucky. Hey, it's been a while, but not that long. Travis picked me up in his 1957 Plymouth Fury. It was a convertible. The thing looked like a shark that decided to crawl out of the ocean and start looking for meals on land.

He tooted the horn as he pulled up. You look stunning, babe, he said. Ever the gentleman, he wouldn't let me into the car unless he got out and opened the door for me. Some old song was playing on the car radio. In fact, I don't think he ever listened to anything after the 50s. We headed out of town as the king sang on the radio.

I can't get over your car, Travis, I said. It looks so good for its age. I take care of this baby. Means a lot to me. Sentimental value. I keep her cherry. Try to get maximum performance. He steps on the gas and we're moving a little too fast through town. I look at him nervously as he speeds up. Don't sweat it, Rose.

I got this. Travis had started calling me Rose. Honestly, I didn't mind. He took my hand. I think today is going to be special. The lake looked beautiful in the summer sun as we walked to a nice secluded spot under a large tree. Travis left the car radio on. Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet. He set down a large blanket.

My dear, he said, ushering me to the blanket. We brought quite the selection of food. Travis popped open a bottle of wine. Was that weird for a picnic? He caught me making a face. Don't tell me you don't drink wine. No, just seems like a bit much for an afternoon picnic. Well, it's a celebration too, babe. It is? What are we celebrating?

Five dates. I laugh. Okay, I'll drink to that. My love, she did not know. The song played on as he poured us each a glass of wine. We eat and I take a couple sips of wine. I haven't had much in the way of wine, but this is really good. I wonder where he dug it up around here. As we eat, we talk, mostly about me.

He always has so many questions. Every time I ask him something about him, he seems sad. almost on the verge of tears. I don't want to bring up any bad memories. As we talk, my head starts to feel light, which was a dreadful sign. What's up, Ronnie? Wow, uh, getting a head rush. I try to stand up, but my legs feel like rubber.

Travis catches me as I come crashing back down. On the radio, the song keeps repeating, a dreadful sign. He brushes the hair out of my face and gives me a sad smile. I'm so sorry, doll. What? Sorry about... I stammer. My mouth doesn't want to move. I'm sorry. You have to die. All beauty must die. It's my curse. I summon up all my strength and push away from Travis.

He tries to grab me and I scratch his face with my nails. Trying to stand again, I fall to my knees. The world begins shaking apart at the seams. My eyelids feel heavy. Every time I blink, it feels like it'll be my last. Maybe if I just sleep, it'll be better. I'll wake up from this nightmare. No, fight it. I start crawling on all fours, dragging myself, digging my nails into the ground.

I have to get away. Have to fight. Have to get to the car. A dreadful sign. I see someone standing by Travis's car. I can't make them out. Why won't they? Help, please. Rose, no one can help. I'm sorry. He grabs me by the leg, pulling me back. Travis turns me over, glaring at me. The scratches on his face aren't bleeding. I like playing with you, Rose, he said, But my dear, you're breaking my heart.

Fuck you! I try to hit him, but I have no strength left. Why won't that person do something? He stands up, pulling a large knife from his leather jacket. I could gut you, but that's no fun. Not anymore. He looks at his reflection on the knife blade. He adjusts his hair. I used to find his vanity cute. Bastard. the poison isn't killing you just making it hard for you to do anything why why not i tried to move my head to see if that person was still standing there a dreadful sigh why is that song repeating is that an effect from the drugs travis notices me trying to look at the car i can hear him talking to somebody, I think.

Go away, he says. You're not welcome here. He turns the radio off. Who was that? Who was he talking to? After what seems like hours, Travis comes back holding a large cinder block and rope. Comfortable, doll? Go to hell, I manage, my mouth starting to fail me. Travis just laughs. Be right back. He walks off, carrying the cinder block and rope. My mind races.

Move. Move. But I can't. It's physically impossible. I try to will myself, picturing my spirit leaving my body, flying over the trees, finding Bren or my folks, telling them what's happening here. If I want it strong enough, I can make it happen. Run! Flee! I will my spirit to soar. He comes back, standing over me. He reaches down and grabs my legs.

Going for a little trip, my beautiful rose? He drags me across the ground. I can see the grass ending as we go over a rocky area. But I can't feel any of it. I can't feel his hands on my legs, just a great numbness. We go up a small hill near the beach. He stops dragging me. We're here. We don't have much time left together.

He kneels down and touches my face, wiping away my tears. He pulls out two coins and puts one on each of my eyes. I blink my eyes and they slide off. He gets frustrated. Why did you do that? They're for your journey over. He takes them and sticks them in one of my hands, balling it into a fist. I see the cinder block with the rope tied to it near my feet.

He crawls over to it and ties the rope to my legs. No, no, no. He's going to drown me. You've been a blast. He picks up the cinder block and walks to the edge of the hill overlooking the lake. I scream, but my throat fails me. I can barely make more than a crackling noise. He hefts the block up. He sighs, parting.

Sweet sorrow and whatnot. He throws the block over the side and I can hear the rope quickly chasing after it, knowing that any second I'll be following it, and then I'm falling, followed by the slam of hitting the water. I sink, my lungs quickly filling with water. I welcome it. Please, let there be peace. I feel so tired. I just want it to be over.

I can see the sunlight trickling down through the water. darkness starts to creep into my vision until the light is swallowed by it. I wake, unable to move, my heart racing. Where am I? I'm in my room, laying on my bed. I hear a noise, a crackling hiss, almost like static. My eyes catch movement in the darkness. The thing nears the edge of my bed.

My heart pounds faster and faster. Am I having a heart attack? A low whispering hiss comes from the shade at the foot of my bed. Not a dream. Heed the sign. And then, the world went back to normal. I could move again. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. My heartbeat started to slow. I curled up in a ball on the bed, pulling the blankets over me.

For the longest time, I didn't move, fearing that that thing was waiting for me in the darkness. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep again. I woke, and my room was lit by the light of early morning. Had it just been a dream? A nightmare? I get up, dangling my legs over the side of the bed. Was this all a nightmare brought on by being nervous?

Over my big date with Travis? I stand in the shower, almost in a trance, as the water pours over me. I've taken plenty of showers before, but this just seems weird. The water feels like it's closing in on me. I hear the jarring sound of static. Through the shower curtain, I see a dark-shaped move. The thing from my nightmare. It's back for me.

I back against the shower wall. The wet tiles are cold against my back. I run my hands over them, looking for escape. A voice snaps me back to reality. You almost done, Bren says, annoyance in her voice. Water will be freaking cold. Sorry, almost done. I hear the door slam shut. All dread has faded away, and I just feel like a shit for hogging the shower.

I get out and dry off quick, trying not to waste any more time. I leave the bathroom a towel wrapped around me. Bren is waiting for me by the door. You okay? Why? What were you doing in the shower so long? Daydreaming? Or a little pre-date gratification? I shoot her a look, and Bren does that laugh of hers. I'm sorry, Ronnie. I know you're all stressed.

She gives me a kiss on the cheek and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. I hear the lock click. Guess I should have done that. At work, it's no easier. My mind drifts all day, thinking about our date this afternoon. The day moves in slow motion. What seemed like hours were, in fact, minutes when I looked at the clock and everything I did at work seemed like the wrong thing.

giving people the wrong order spilling drinks I shouldn't be this stressed over a date no it was that dream that nightmare I consider calling the picnic off but by the time my shift is over I've reconsidered maybe I could turn this day around when we get back to the apartment I strip out of my waitress uniform and splash some water on my face the water seems to engulf the room for the briefest of seconds but the hallucination quickly fades.

Am I losing my mind? The lake looked beautiful in the summer sun. We found a nice secluded spot under a large tree. Travis left the car nearby. He had the top down and the radio on. Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet. He sat down a large basket. My dear, he said, ushering me to the blanket with a wave of his hand.

We'd brought quite the selection of food. Travis popped open a bottle of wine. Was that weird for a picnic? He caught me making a face. Have we done this before? Don't tell me you don't drink wine. No, just seems a bit much for a afternoon picnic. Well, it's a celebration too, babe. my love she did not know i put my hand up i'm sorry but i don't think i should i'm feeling a little sick sick everything okay i just had a rough night bad nightmare he touches my hand i don't know why this makes me flinch he looks at me puzzled what kind of nightmare I think I was drowning and there was this figure there.

When I woke up, I swear it was still there. You know, he starts pouring wine into the glasses. I think you need a little nip of wine, my rose. No, really, it's okay. It'll help your nerves. Okay, maybe just a little. Travis hands me one of the glasses. There's the sound of static cutting through the air, like someone's adjusting the radio. A dreadful sign.

I look over at Travis's car and see it there. The thing from my nightmare. The glass of wine falls from my hand. It hits the ground, rolling and spilling all over the blanket. The song skips or repeats. A dreadful sign. Not a dream, it said. Heed the sign. At first, I don't realize I'm screaming until I see Travis's face. He grimaces. He grabs me, clapping a hand over my mouth.

He holds me so tight, I start to tear up. Shut the fuck up, would you? I try to pull away, but his hands are like iron clamps. I can see the anger in his eyes. He looks over to the thing standing next to the car. A dreadful sign. That's not going to help you, Ronnie, dear, he says. his voice never wavering. It's just an echo, as if robbed of its power.

The thing evaporates into the air. He tightens his grip. Tears stream down my cheeks, soaking his hand. I see the wine bottle lying there, just out of reach of my free hand. I could hit him with it. Listen to yourself. You're gonna hit him? This is nuts. It has to be a game, right? No, it's not. I just need a weapon To get away.

I rake his face with my fingernails, scratching jagged lines down his face. For all the world, it sounded like running your nails over stone. He lets go of me, and I lunge for the wine bottle. As I reach for the bottle, he grabs me by the belt of my jeans. The bottle slips from my hands as he yanks me towards him, rolling just out of reach.

I dig my feet and hands into the ground, pulling myself towards the bottle, the sun reflecting off of it. Like some magical weapon, it beckoned to me. My arms and legs burned as I strained. Almost. My fingers brushed off the smooth neck of the bottle. Why won't you let me help you, Travis says. Help me? I'm gonna free you of all this...

Bullshit. I manage a last bit of strength. And grab the goddamn bottle. I swing it and hit him square in the side of the head. Unlike in the movies, the bottle doesn't break. Travis lets go of me. I hit him again and again. The bottle doesn't break. He falls to the ground, momentarily stunned. I bring the bottle down again on his head for good measure.

This time, it shatters. I turn and run for his car. As I reach the car, Travis appears, pulling a large knife from his leather jacket. I didn't want to make a mess, Rose. He touches the wounds on his face. Gonna have to fix these. I slide into the driver's seat. Yes, the keys are there. I start the car. It roars to life.

I hit the gas, aiming right for Travis. This is insane. Am I in a never-ending nightmare? I ram into him, sending his body flying up onto the hood. He smashes through the windshield, his face contorted in a wicked smile. Hold hands, you lovebirds, he says. The car plunges into the lake. Water rushes in as we sink. The nightmare. I'm going to drown here.

With him. A shard of broken window floats by me as we sink down. I grab it. The jagged edges cut into my hand. I take it. Jabbing it into his eye. He lets go of me. He smiles at me as I push him away. I swim through the open top. For however long I live, I don't think I'll ever forget that smile.

The jagged shard embedded in his eye. Travis and his car sinking to the bottom. I pull myself onto the beach. I think I pass out for a while, lying there in the dirt, soaking wet. I wake with a start and see a shadow fall across me. I look up and see that thing. The thing from my nightmare standing over me. Its face and arms are blue and bloated.

Its face, vaguely feminine. and its remaining hair, rotten, hangs down in long strands. It wore a dress. My dress. Now, I don't know who you are or where you're listening to this from, but where we come from, that's a love story. And I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Well, the next story is a little bit more traditional, but not entirely so.

It's about young lovers heading into the woods to have a good time. And I know you're going to have a good time listening to it. But before we get to it, I want to say, if you love what we're doing here, make sure you're subscribed on your favorite podcasting app. And while you're at it, leave us a five-star rating. It encourages brand new listeners to give us a chance, and it doesn't cost you one red cent.

And we really, really do appreciate it, whether it's on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, or iHeartMedia, to name just a few. But now, my friends, it's time for a party in the woods after these quick words from our sponsors. Party in the Woods by Joe Solmo. Tristan and Becca made their way down the wooded path behind Tristan's neighbor's farm. Josh and Emily went to bed pretty early, so for years, Tristan had brought friends down here behind the farm to explore the woods.

As he got older, he explored less and came to the woods to drink and party with the girls from town. Becca was new to town, just moving here a month ago. Tristan was infatuated as soon as he saw her in the hall in school. her long brown hair flowing behind her. He followed her after school, trying to come up with something to say to her to spark a conversation.

It paid off, though, he thought, as he sneaked a glance at her behind the moonlight, through a break in the trees. She carried a bottle of Jack Daniels in her right hand. It was already missing a quarter of the brown liquid inside. She was more of a drinker than he was, he noted with a smile. He couldn't keep his eyes off of the way she walked, the curve swaying back and forth.

It was mesmerizing. The swaying stopped in front of him. Tristan, did you hear that? She whispered to him. Hear what? He asked at a normal volume. Shh, something in the woods, she replied. Do you guys have bears around here? She asked with a little bit of fright in her voice. I didn't hear anything. Don't worry, I've been coming here since I was a kid.

There's nothing out here that can hurt us, he said and smiled, that famous smile that got him the girl on numerous occasions. Becca still stood there for a moment. When she didn't hear anything, she began to walk the path again, but cautiously. Tristan snuck up behind her and grabbed the bottle from her hands. She let out a scared yelp as he laughed at her.

He took a big gulp off the bottle, letting the alcohol burn his throat. Are the others meeting us up here? Becca asked. She wouldn't agree to coming out to the woods with a guy she'd just met unless others were going to be there. He scrambled to find another couple to come along. Yeah, it's not much farther now. We got a little fireplace from an old house, Tristan said.

It must have been from the 1700s, he said. Sounds cool, Becca said. Thinking of the fireplace, Tristan frowned. He should be able to see it from here. He knew Greg and Beth were already there. He saw Greg's car down by the side of the highway on the way over. Maybe he was just lazy, he thought. The moon was hidden by the boughs of the trees above.

Tristan made his way in the dark to where he knew the stone chimney was. He could barely see the lighter stone in the darkness. He felt around to the right where he stacked the kindling. It felt wet. but he didn't remember it raining recently. Greg, if you pissed on our wood, I will kill you, he called out to the night. He hoped Greg heard him as he banged Beth or whatever they were doing.

He grabbed a book of matches from his pocket after stacking the wooden branches into a small teepee shape with pine needles and last fall's leaves underneath. I can't see anything, Becca said from behind him. One second, he said, masking his disappointment. She was one hell of a looker, but she seemed kind of annoying to him. He struck the match, which blinded him for a second with its brightness in the almost complete dark.

He instinctively moved the match to the pine needles under the wood before it burned out, or the wind got it. He saw spots in his vision as he gently blew on the pine needles. Yes, he called out as the fire came to life. It wasn't piss on the sticks. It was a darker, thicker color. It reminded him of the bottle Becca carried.

Hey, babe, can I get a drink? He said, getting to his feet. The sticks were catching now, and the light from the chimney was spreading. Becca didn't answer him. Babe, he said, and turned around. Becca was standing in front of him, ten feet away with the bottle still in her right hand, her widened eyes staring past him towards the chimney. What the hell's gotten into you?

He said and took a step closer. But she didn't move. He watched as the bottle slipped from her hand and struck the ground, spilling its contents. What's wrong with you, he said, grabbing the bottle off the ground to save its contents, which he tried to pour down his throat. He stopped with the bottle to his lips. Becca still hadn't moved. He started to get a creepy feeling and turned towards the fire.

The light from the flames illuminated the immediate area. The stack of wood he had piled there yesterday was definitely wet, but it was also red. It looks like something bled all over it. His eyes fell to just in front of the stack of wood, and he saw the source of the blood. Greg, naked to the waist, lay on the ground, twisted in a way Tristan could only describe as...

Wrong. His face looked behind him, and several vertebrae stuck out from a gaping hole in his neck. His eyes were wide open in fear. Similar to Becca's. He turned towards his would-be girlfriend, but she was still looking in the same direction. Tears streaked her cheeks, and a sob escaped her lips. He turned back to see what she was looking at. And that's when he noticed Beth.

[Editorial summary: Beth has also been killed. Tristan recoils from the scene of the violent attack.] Panic started to settle into Tristan. He stepped backwards away from the mangled corpses of his high school friends. Becca, he called out. Run. He turned himself to run and saw a horrid sight. Behind Becca, who still hadn't moved from the same position, stood three humanoid shapes. Their eyes reflected the firelight from the chimney.

Becca, Tristan managed to say before the creatures moved. In an instant, Two grabbed his date and held her arms behind her back. He heard a sickening pop as one of her shoulders were dislocated violently. The pain seemed to break Becca out of her shock. She screamed. The third creature charged Tristan. He managed to land a punch on the monster, but it didn't seem to have any effect.

It grabbed him and forced him to his knees, placing one of its large, clawed feet on the back of his legs so he couldn't get up. Help me, Tristan! Becca called out. It was her last words. One of the creature's hands suddenly protruded from her lower abdomen, tearing out of her flesh with a violence Tristan had never witnessed before. No! He called out in horror and began to sob.

He swore the creature holding him mocked his cry. Tristan saw the moment Becca died. He could see it in her eyes. The moment it ceased to be Becca and became only a sack of meat. It was worse than the mangled corpses of his friends. Watching her die like that. Becca's body fell down to the ground. The two monsters fought over her, tearing pieces of her flesh off in front of him, the same flesh he was admiring just a short time ago.

Tristan couldn't take it anymore. He put his head down, letting his hair cover his eyes, but the creature holding him reached down with its gray hand and pulled his hair until once again he was facing Becca. Not only did they seem to enjoy killing, but it seemed they enjoyed making him watch. He cried out. When the two creatures finished dividing up Becca, they began to eat.

Tristan struggled, but the creature's strength was too much for him. He clenched his eyes closed to block out the horror in front of him, but the creature seemed to know. It dug a dull nail into the back of his neck every time he closed his eyes, only letting the pressure off when he opened them again. Closed or opened, he was being tortured.

He kept them closed as long as he could take the nail digging him, never in the exact same space, then opened them until the pain from the nail was replaced with the evisceration of his date. It seemed to go on forever. He couldn't take any more. He tried to move again, but the third creature that held him did so diligently. Go on.

Get a bite, Tristan called out to his captor. It was the only thing he could do, mocking his torturers. He had no way to track time, but at least fifteen minutes passed as he watched his date disappear, piece by piece, down the gullets of these hellish creatures. He couldn't take any more and closed his eyes to escape, but his ears picked up on the wet, snapping of teeth through flesh and bone.

It reminded him of tearing the wings off of a chicken for dinner, and it made him want to throw up. The creature holding him down pushed him all the way to the ground. He opened his eyes and looked at what was left of Becca. At that point, he did throw up, but it had nowhere to go being forced down to the ground.

He breathed in his own vomit and thought he was going to drown. The creature yanked him back up to his knees as the other two approached. He was pulled all the way to his feet, and with the last act of defiance, he kicked the groin of the creature right in front of him. It stepped back from the impact, then reached out with its gray-skinned hand and grabbed his chest, tearing cloth and flesh away from his body.

He screamed. The pain was intense. Just fucking kill me already, he yelled out, just wanting it done. He couldn't take any more. Do it, you cocksucker! The monsters didn't heed him. One of them grabbed his hand and held it out. The first creature that had been holding him the whole time switched places with the one that tore a piece out of his chest.

It looked him in the eye, with an evil intelligence behind its gaze, as it slowly and deliberately raised his hand to its mouth and bit off his thumb. He screamed out into the night. He held on to a slim hope that Josh or Emily might hear him in the quiet country night. They had just had a newborn, so maybe they would be awake feeding it.

he thought. The creature bit off his middle finger and smiled, Tristan's blood and flesh still sitting in its gaping maw. Its body shook with small convulsions, with a grunting sound. A shiver shot up Tristan's back as he realized it was laughing at his misery. This next one may be my favorite Valentine's Day story we've released so far. It's a story about a woman who's left all alone on Valentine's Day.

But it turns out she's not actually as alone as she thought she was. And that's not really good news. So enjoy Deb, Debbie, Deborah. After these quick words from our sponsors. And hey, make sure you're subscribed. I'm not joking around here. Be subscribed on your favorite podcasting app, and we'll hear the story after these words from our sponsors. Deb, Debbie, Deborah. By Shane Migliavanka.

The cat thinks I'm fucking nuts. She may be right. I'm wearing my nicest dress, Dean Martin is on the stereo, and I have a gun to my head. I'm dancing with my dead husband on Valentine's Day. Angel, our cat, died three days ago. Her ashes sit on the mantle in an urn next to my husband's. I see her on her favorite spot on the couch, watching me.

She really is an angel now. I pull the hammer of the revolver back. I'm ready to join them. Click. Son of a bitch. Empty. Good job, Debra. I forgot the fucking bullets. I drop the snub nose on the coffee table. I haven't found where Johnny hid the bullets. He bought the gun for me, worried about us being all alone out here in the boondocks.

What good is a gun if the bullets are hidden? Excuse me, Mr. Rapist, while I find the bullets to shoot you. Maybe Johnny never got around to buying any. Ain't that a kick in the head, Dean? I dropped to the couch, defeated. My mind isn't what it used to be. Grief and despair have pushed everything out to the point that I have trouble dealing with the day-to-day shit.

It's for the best, I suppose. I'm not a religious woman, but I'd like to think there was something waiting, you know? After that, I could be with them in some kind of way. If there is a god and suicide is a sin, I better not risk it. being sent to hell, I'd never see them again. If you ask me, this is hell.

This world. Johnny, my Johnny, I miss that lopsided grin of yours. The way your stubble felt when you kissed me. How your hair fell across your eyes when you woke up. The touch of your coarse hands on my shoulders. Gone. All gone. Five and a half years ago, a drunk driver named Dave Robbins. Johnny had been on his way home from work when the bastard ran a red light and struck Johnny's car.

I still remember the trooper showing up at work. He stood there in his uniform, looking so out of place. His words were unintelligible as my heart pounded in my ears. they gave that man 10 years in prison 10 fucking years he took away our future and they gave him 10 years he got out in four for good behavior good fucking behavior i dreamed about killing him for so long how i do it how i drag it out make him suffer i'd even toyed with the idea of killing his family in front of him.

But no, there was Angel to think of. The cat, a housewarming present from Johnny, got me through that first grim year. She was there for me when I got home from another dreary day at work, happy to see me, purring her feline heart out. She was such a tiny little thing when he surprised me with her. She hid under the couch for the first couple of days until one night I sat on the couch watching the evening news, waiting for Johnny to come home from work.

I felt something small and warm curl up next to me. Now she's gone too. I'm left all alone in this house that used to represent our future together. A house that's become a tomb. The house was so empty and vast when I'd come home from the vet carrying little angel's ashes in a small container. Nobody there to greet me at the door.

I dread the thought of coming home after a day at work to this empty, godforsaken place. But I'll have to. I took a couple sick days, told Emily I had a bug. They don't need to know the real reason. Most of them look at me with some sort of pity, walking on eggshells around me. The others treat me as if this sickness in my heart can simply be sent away, that I should get over it and move on.

There is no moving on. I could take some medication, I guess, something to help me, at the cost of this hornet's nest of pain in my stomach, the pain that helps me remember them, that keeps them in my thoughts. Would I lose their memory in a haze of medication? The record ends. I stare at the snub nose. I should really find those bullets.

There's other ways I could do it. Pills, sure, or that old razor blade in the bathtub bit. Those are easy enough, I suppose. Hanging myself is off the table. I can't tie knots for shit. Besides, some idiot might think I was trying to get off and died by accident. Shit. Fuck it. The phone rings. I pick it up, looking at the number.

It's Catherine Wade from work, probably checking up on me. Hello, Cat. How are you feeling, Trooper? She answers in her unbearably cheery voice. I lie. Oh, okay, just a bit of a bug. You need anything? No, I'm fine, thanks. I want to hate her for caring. But damn it, I just can't. The phone crackles with static. Aren't you forgetting something, Deb? Another voice asks.

Cat? You there? I can hear something metallic on the other end. Have you checked the basement? Who is this? I ask, my voice trembling, but no answer. God damn it, who is this? Are you okay, Deb? Cat asks, sounding a bit shaken. Yeah, yeah, just this bug. I think I need a nap. Before she can finish saying goodbye, I hang up. What just happened?

I'm not even sure. I take a deep breath. I get off the couch. Maybe I should just go buy some fucking bullets. Looking out the window, I see I'm not going out anywhere today. The snow is coming down in a heavy white blanket. Frustrated, I turn the TV on. They're calling it the Valentine's Day blizzard, the weatherman proclaimed, as if he was a proud father praising his golden child.

These cocksuckers really piss me off in how much they get off on bad weather. I think they get hard over delivering bad news. Expect record snowfalls. Expect me not to give a fuck, I say, wishing about now the gun was loaded so I could shoot the TV. I never hated anybody till Johnny died. Now I can't stand anyone, most of all myself.

The smiling weatherman is replaced by a nicely dressed Chinese woman. The day's other big story, all but one of the escaped convicts have been captured. Police gather around an overturned prison bus in a ditch as the anchor woman goes over the details. Police are still searching for Charles Lee Andrew, convicted serial killer and rapist. He's considered highly dangerous should you spot him.

Why do these assholes always have three names? Is it a serial killer thing? They linger on his face. He's handsome enough except for the scar over his left eye. Crazy burns hot in those eyes. Even in a photograph, you can feel his stare just penetrating your soul. Bored, I walk out to the kitchen. A drink, maybe. And a sandwich. Dirty dishes clog one of the two sinks.

I've let the house go to shit. Haven't felt like cleaning since the cat died. I pour myself a glass of brandy and make a roast beef sandwich. I hold a stainless steel knife in my hands, catching my reflection on the blade. The house isn't the only thing that's gone to shit. I look terrible. My hair's a mess. There's bags under my eyes.

Fuck it all. Why should I care how I look? It's all a sick joke. The blade quivers in my hand. So sharp. One of those, as seen on TV, jobs you get at a save mart. Why, I bet if I just took the knife and sliced... Debbie. A sweet sing-song voice echoes out from the living room. The TV? Has to be. A coincidence.

Deb? The voice giggles. Who's there? I call out, feeling a bit embarrassed because it's most likely the TV. I grip the knife, stepping into the short hallway. I walk towards the living room. I can hear a soap opera on the TV. I stop and listen. Under the din of dialogue from the TV, I hear the wind outside, the tick, tick sound of snow and freezing rain against the windows.

And then, floorboards creaking with the unmistakable sound of someone walking over them. Debbie, the voice giggles again. Come and find me. I storm into the living room ready to confront the weirdo intruder You picked the wrong fucking time Empty I switch the TV off and I listen again Maybe my mind finally has hitched a ride to crazy town The house is still Silent Save for the wind and snow outside The furnace in the basement rumbles on making me flinch I laugh like a maniac tears sting my eyes as laughter gives way to crying.

I really have fucking flipped out. Wiping them away, I see them there, reflected in the black of the TV screen. Watching me from the hall, darting away before I can turn. Scrambling to my feet, I grab the empty gun and give chase. I can hear them upstairs. Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today.

Oh, how I wish he'd go away. The voice sang out from somewhere upstairs. I know that poem from a long time ago when I was a little girl. I creep up the stairs. No easy feat since they're creaky as hell. A door slams shut somewhere upstairs. How the hell did they get in? I didn't hear anything. Everything is locked. I didn't forget something, right?

With a knife in one hand and an empty gun in the other, maybe I can scare the living crap out of them. Yeah, right. Why am I scared? I was thinking about ending my life moments ago. No, it's not death that frightens me. It's what could happen in place of that. Rape? Being maimed? Being paralyzed? A coma? Those things frighten me. A living hell I can't escape.

I search the upstairs trying to look as badass as possible with an empty gun. That's when it hits me. I am fucking nuts. There's not a living soul up here. I search every room, every nook, every cranny, under the beds, in the closets. Not a sign of anybody being here other than me. Nothing out of place. Nothing touched. Feeling tired, I walk into the bathroom connected to the bedroom.

I run cold water over my face and stare at my haggard reflection in the mirror. Through the open door I see the bed, sitting there, legs hanging over the side, a dark figure, watching me. I spin around, nearly slipping on the tiled floor. Who the fuck? I blurt out. The dark, featureless figure, almost an outline of a young woman, its long hair and pigtails, hang down on black shoulders.

It tilts its head and waves. Hey, Debbie. Long time no see. I gawk at it for a few minutes. Speechless. There's something about this thing, this girl, that seems familiar. Something's been buzzing around the back of my head all day wanting to get out. Is this it? I should feel scared, yet I don't. I feel oddly reassured. What's wrong, sunshine? No hello for good old Maddie?

Maddie? I stammer, my mouth suddenly dry. Was that you running around the house? None other. Don't you remember, Deb, how we used to? I rub my head. There's a stabbing pain. Something wants out. Poor old Deb went and grew up. It's a delusion, that's all. I walk out of the bathroom waving my arms about. Go away! You're a figment of my deteriorating mental state!

You're not real! Good old Maddie slides off the bed, sauntering towards me. Not real? She pokes me with an ebony finger. That real enough for ya? I flinch as I involuntarily back up. You made me! Poor little Deb. Her parents always fighting. Nobody at school likes her. She reads too much. She's too much of a tomboy. Boo-hoo! Maddie mocks me, making a tearful face.

Somebody needed a friend and Maddie got the call. Her voice suddenly changes, becoming cold. Until somebody tossed me aside. Maddie backs away from me. Her gaze locked on me. But I didn't go away. Couldn't. That figure in the corner of your eye? That shadow in the dark room? That was me. She does a little jig. You can't kill yourself, Deb. I won't let you.

If I made you, I can unmake you. I grab a small ceramic statue on the dresser and throw it at this Maddie. It bounces off her head when I expected it to pass right through. Ow! She hollers, the manic joyfulness gone from her voice. Bitch! She runs out of the bedroom, holding her head. I can hear her feet on the stairs as she goes down.

Looking down at the plush royal blue carpet. I see a trail of crimson. Blood. I follow Maddie's blood downstairs to the kitchen. Bloody handprints on the doorframe welcome me as I enter. Maddie is bent over the sink, washing the blood off of her forehead with a wet towel. Fuck you, Deb. You always did have a temper. She turned to glare at me, a gash of bright crimson and her black forehead.

She holds the wet towel to it as she finishes off my glass of brandy, leaving behind bloody fingerprints on the glass. I'm sorry, I think you can feel pain? Well, no, duh. Of course I can feel pain. She pours herself more brandy, gulping it down in one go. This is some good shit, by the way. Got any bandages? I go to the downstairs bathroom, grabbing some bandages from the medicine cabinet.

When I come back, Maddie and her bloodstains are gone. Suddenly, I feel lightheaded. My head is buzzing. I take more aspirin than the recommended dosage, lying down on the couch. I feel as if I'm melting into it, becoming one with the upholstery. I wake up sometime later. The sun is low in the sky, snow still falling, but not as heavy as before.

My head feels better now. maybe that was all a dream the snub nose sits on the coffee table next to the knife i'd left those upstairs yes yes it was all a dream i just fallen asleep on the couch and dreamed the whole damn thing a fever dream the floorboards upstairs creak and my heart skips a beat this is an old house it's just settling that's all i pick up the gun still no bullets that hasn't changed what also hasn't changed is it's still fucking valentine's day why couldn't i have just slept through the rest of it instead of the day that won't end dragging on not letting me forget what i've lost i remember one valentine's day johnny made his specialty for dinner spaghetti and salad we watched an old western on the tv something starring the guy that played superman's dad.

It had been an exhausting week for both of us and we fell asleep on the couch halfway through the film, my head on his shoulder. The holiday didn't end up in a moment of passion. It ended in a moment of mundane tenderness. And I wouldn't trade it for anything. A knock at the front door startles me out of my fond memory. I wait, holding my breath.

Perhaps it was just a noise and not somebody at the door. Some snow falling off the roof or the like. Then another knock comes, ruining my fabrication, followed rapidly by a third. Hello, a man asks from the other side of the door. Is anybody there? Don't answer it, Maddie says, dropping into the recliner in the corner, the chair's old spring straining from the sudden weight.

Fuck me, I blurted out in surprise. Where did you come from? I notice her features have become more defined now, the darkness lessening somewhat. Her head no longer has a bandage nor a bloody gash. I've been hovering about, sleepy head. She tilts the recliner back. You know you talk in your sleep? Maddie looks up at the ceiling. Who's Rex? Johnny used to kid me about talking in my sleep.

Rex, why does that name seem familiar? Hello? The knocking at the door becomes more aggressive. I can hear you in there. Please come to the door the man pauses his voice sounds strained i need help i pick up the empty gun holding it like a magical charm capable of warding off evil as i approach the front door i look through the people at the man outside he stands on the porch a desperate look etched on his face his hair looks recently shaved off and he's wearing snow-covered clothes and a band-aid on his forehead over his left eye the man looked over his shoulder anxiously before turning back to the door please you have to hurry the man pleads as he knocks again i reach for the deadbolt i wouldn't do it maddie warns me shush i turn the lock on the door only partly convinced there's really someone out there and it's not another delusion i pull open the door a little peeking through the crack at this unwelcome stranger his clothes look ill-fitting a size or two too big for his frame Behind him, I notice his tracks through the ankle-deep snow.

Yes? You took long enough, the man grumbles. Excuse me? The man shivers, looking around. I'm freezing out here. Can I come in? Can I trust him? Should I? What are you doing way out here in a storm? Suddenly, violently, he pushes the door open, knocking me to the floor. I land hard on my back. The air pushes out of my lungs, the empty gun sliding across the floor.

I don't have time for your shit he angrily screams as he slams the door shut gasping for air I try to get to my feet get a weapon it's no use the man pushes me to the floor with a snow covered boot is there anyone here? are you alone? his head darts back and forth as he takes in the room he gives me another love tap from his booted foot before retrieving the gun from the floor he checks the cylinder laughing what were you gonna do?

wave this around and use harsh language to scare me? Maddie slides up behind him. Told you not to let him in. I didn't let him in, I managed, able to breathe again. The man looks around, perplexed. The fuck you talking about, lady? What do you want, I ask. I don't have any money. Oh, we'll see about that. He pulls me up, dragging me to the couch.

Both our eyes go to the knife on the coffee table before meeting again. He hurls me into the couch. When I manage to sit up, he hits me in the face. Hard. hard enough that the world goes black. When my eyes open again, the man stands over me, the knife in his hand. Just what the hell were you up to here? He leans forward, giving me a good view of the knife.

I'll ask you again. Is there anybody else here? I shake my head, noticing I've been tied to a dining room chair in the living room. I can taste blood on my lips. If you're lying, I can make it very unpleasant for you. I glare at him, more angry at myself than him. For once I should have listened to the delusion prancing around my house.

As he looks down at me, I recognize who's invaded my home. Charles Lee Andrew, serial killer and rapist. With this revelation, a stark fear creeps into my belly. yes I want to die but not like this and not by his hand I'm gonna go poke around you uh you sit tight he goes to leave and stops last chance there's nobody here right because if there is they're fucked I shake my head again satisfied he leaves me alone as he searches the house our house Johnny and me and little angel he has no right to be here fear begins to give way to anger this time directed towards this interloper I can hear him in the kitchen opening and closing the fridge he walks back into the room eating a leftover chicken leg good chicken you make it he smirks a greasy chicken smile I stare holes through him imagining his body being riddled with bullets jerking around in a death dance as flesh and bone are shredded in a hail of lead.

Of course, that would leave a hell of a mess, one I really wouldn't want to clean up. You know, you look like shit, he remarks, setting a plate with the half-finished chicken leg down at the coffee table. I mean, other than where I socked you in the kisser. I watched as he looks out the window. This is perfect. With the storm and this place being in the middle of nowhere and East Jesus, the cops won't be around i can definitely lie low and catch a breath he bends down close to me and locks me in his gaze and i definitely plan on having some fun before i go he tries kissing me on the lips i manage to pull away and he kisses my cheek i turn my head in disgust seeing johnny's urn on the mantle i start to cry i don't want him to see this not my johnny the bastard notices my tears, sees the urn in the picture of Johnny next to it.

Aww, what are you crying about, sweet cheeks? He picks up the picture, gawking at it with those soulless eyes before turning his attention to the urn. This your, uh, your dead hubby? Fuck you, I spit out between sobs. You will, don't worry, you will. He drops the picture to the floor, shattering the glass. First, I think I'll look around and then freshen up.

Maybe take a nice shit and see if you still have some of your old man's duds. Seeing your little shrine here, I'm willing to bet that's a yes. And then I'm left alone. Left alone to think about this mess I'm in. Mess. It's a fucking nightmare. I can hear him moving about the first floor, ransacking the place and making comments, stoking the boiling anger inside me.

I struggle against the ropes holding me to this chair. I flex my muscles, imagining myself bursting through the ropes with sheer force of will. When this fails, I slump in the chair, tired and defeated. Maybe I will die this day, just not how I envisioned. Come on, you can do it, kiddo. Maddie sits down on the floor in front of me. Easy for you to fucking say, I grumble.

Why don't you help me? She lies down on her side, propped up on one elbow. It don't work like that. Gotta do it yourself. That fucking figures. Cheese it, Maddie warns me. I could hear him coming back down the hall. After a tense couple of minutes waiting, he appears in the doorway. Not much down here. Got a question though. What's with the lock on the basement door?

I shrug. I don't know. Doesn't everybody have that? Sure, I'll deal with that later. For now, I'm headed upstairs. Hope this shithole gets better on the second floor. Maddie sticks her tongue out as he walks away. What a dick, she turns back to me. Come on, now's your chance while he's screwing around upstairs. I'm thinking, I'm thinking, I say before letting out a loud fart.

Maddie backs away, waving at the air. Oh, fuck, really? Sorry, just the stress. I think something died, Maddie coughs. You could kill him with that reek. Sure, you can smell that, yet you can't help me. Hey, I don't make the rules, she stands, holding her nose. I'm going to sit this one out. Maddie leaves, finally a chance to think. I can hear him upstairs doing God knows what.

Maddie's right, I have to get free. Unable to do anything but look around the room and think, I start to form a desperate plan. By the time he comes back downstairs dressed in some of Johnny's clothes, night had fallen outside, and I had a plan. He now has a piece of paper in his hand. He holds it out, showing me a newspaper clipping about a missing man.

Who's this? You got all these clippings about the search for this guy. He picks up Johnny's picture from the floor, shattered glass falling off. Don't look like your husband, he grins. Did you have something on the side? My heart races. Somewhere deep in my mind, a loud banging starts. A door that desperately wants to open begins to crack. I know who you are.

Charles Lee Andrew. You're on the run. He grins a devil's grin. My reputation precedes me. Then you know how dangerous I am. I know you're just a sad, sick shit who gets off hurting women. Then you should be nice to me. I ignore his words, watching how my words hit him. What's wrong? Daddy beat you? Mommy didn't love you enough? Boo fucking who, Charlie?

I fake cry. This was too much for him. He storms over to the mantle, grabbing Johnny's urn. Shut your fucking mouth, whore! He opens the urn, forcing my husband's remains into my mouth. I choke on the ashes, my eyes burning. Finished, he throws the urn down across the room. That's one way to suck your husband, the son of a bitch laughs. I stain for air, coughing out clouds of black.

That's all you got, pussy boy, I say, hoping to push him further. I bet mommy used to touch you and call you her special little boy and you liked it. Give you a nice hard one, did it? I smile with ash-covered lips. No, maybe it was daddy who did the touching. Cunt, he screams, every letter filled with venom. Lifting me and the chair off the ground, he slams me down on the floor.

I scream out in pain as my arms are pinned to the floor by my own weight. Not wasting any time, my now numb hand gropes around on the carpet. Come on, come on. They have to be here somewhere. Those shards of glass from Johnny's picture. If I can just grab one and get enough time to use it. But this enraged asshole isn't giving me much of a chance.

He looms over me, kicking at my downed body. I need to get a look at the floor. Thankfully, this douchebag didn't see fit to tie my legs to the chair. I kick out. After a couple of tries, I score a direct hit, hitting him in the balls, doubling the bastard over and buying me some time. I roll over onto my knees, my eyes, searching the carpet.

There, a couple of big shards of glass. I roll over onto my back, trying to keep the gap of the chairs back even with the glass. I keep my eyes glued to the bastard as my fingers run over the floor, feeling for more. Charlie glares at me as he clutches himself in pain. The jagged glass cuts into my fingers when I find it.

I poke my arms a couple of times as I line the glass up with my bonds, the glass slicing into my hands as easy as it does the rope restraining me. I feel my hands come free as Charlie limps toward me. Anger so intense I can feel its heat boils out of his very being. Freed of the chair, I push away from it, kicking it into his path.

Pained, he barely dodges it. His face red with rage. Charlie lunges at me, his hands at my throat. I strike out with a shard of glass. Thank you, officer. I appreciate it. I smile at the trooper on my porch. Just doing our job, ma'am. The storm really hindered our search. Well, as you can see, I really got snowed in here. Not that it matters.

You're the first visitor I've had in ages. After a little small talk, the trooper leaves. I watch him leave, locking the door as he drives off. I lucked out. I was shoveling off the porch when the trooper showed up. My cut hands were covered up by black and purple gloves. If he'd seen them, would he have known? Would he have probed further?

I don't know. I pick up a set of keys from the stand by the front door, my hands still sensitive as they begin to heal. I walk to the basement door, unlocking the silver padlock and stepping down into the darkness. The nauseating smell of feces and piss burn my eyes and nose. I need to buy a couple dozen air fresheners for down here.

My hand runs over the wall, stopping at the light switch. The basement lights hiss to life below me. I feel as if a great milestone has been taken off my shoulders. During that fight with Charles Lee Andrew, the door, buried deep in the back of my mind finally flew open. Just in time, too. I step onto the cold cement floor and I'm greeted by a pitiful, sobbing grunt.

Music to my ears. How are we doing today, Charlie? Chained to a wall in a pair of stained briefs, my new pet groans into his cloth gag, his bare chest and back a map of scars and bruises. I wheel out my tray of toys, selecting a nasty-looking box cutter. Are we ready for playtime? Charles Lee Andrew, once a feared killer, tries to plead through his cloth gag, no doubt begging me to let him go.

Don't worry, love. The cops don't even think you're in this county anymore. From the other side of the basement, chains rattled as he stirred. a thin, filthy man emerged from the shadows, crawling on all fours. His knees bore the scars of two bullet wounds. Don't worry, Rex. Mommy won't forget you again, I coo. I turn back to Charlie. I think Rex is a little jealous of you.

Don't worry. You two will have plenty of time to get to know each other. Perched on the stairs, Maddie watches with delight as I begin to slice. Now love is really in the air and I bet your heart is pumping that wonderful love liquid, also known as blood. And I want to mention, if you love the spooky we bring sometimes three or more times a week, why not join our Patreon?

For as little as $1 a month, you get a bonus episode every single month, the access to all previous bonus episodes, behind-the-scenes content, and of course, our undying appreciation for the devotion. You can find that at weeklyspooky.com. Just click on Patreon. We really do appreciate it, and it's what allows us to keep going. That and of course, our sponsors who we're going to hear from right now before the story starts.

Boy Meets Ghoul by Rob Fields Christian Schaefer was having lunch with his friends outside at Clancy's, a popular fast food place among North Ridgeway high school students. The four of them were on the football team talking about whatever. Then the subject of Christian's upcoming date came up. Hey, how come you're not telling us who you got a date for Saturday night? Eric Danvers asked.

How come we got to hear about these things from Chelsea? Christian groaned. Why does my little sister always have to be such a pain? So about this date of yours, Matthew Martinson inquired, Jeffrey Moose Keegan put his hands up to his pecs and pretended to squeeze. [Editorial summary: Moose crudely questions Christian about the girl.] That's just the way us men are. The bigger, the better.

You do realize you're probably going to die alone, right? Christian asked. Half serious. Moose reached out and playfully shoved Christian's shoulder. Come on, bro. Quit holding out here. Who is she? What's she like? He grinned mischievously again. [Editorial summary: Moose repeats his crude question.] When Christian realized his football brothers weren't going to back off, he finally conceded. Fine, fine, you bastards. Her name is Chloe Ann Carmichael.

I met her when we had our game with Strickfield High here a few weeks ago. Whoa, dude, you're really going out with a chick from Strickfield? Eric asked. Isn't that like, I don't know, dating the enemy or something? Christian pointed to him. It ain't no different than that cheerleader you're seeing from Pendleton High. Eric raised his hand up in front of him.

Okay, okay. Christian continued. So we just beat Strickfield high and finished our showers. I was all set to get in my car and head out. Then I saw this other car with the hood up and a girl underneath it. I went over to help her. Then she came out from under the hood and looked at me. I swear she looks like she's right out of the fifties.

I mean, she's wearing a red and white polka dot dress that goes down just past her knees. She's even wearing those black and white shoes, you know, like with the black across the middle. He pointed to Matthew. Your older sister has shoes like that. Yeah, she does, except Bethany's into the 60s, Matthew shared. Okay, go on. Christian pointed quickly at Matthew. And she looks exactly like Betty.

from those Betty and Veronica comics your sister always reads. Moose shot up out of his seat. Oh, come on. What, you think we're stupid or something? There ain't no girl who looks like she's right out of... But Christian shut up when he brought up her picture on his smartphone and let everybody look at it for a moment. Now do you believe me?

Damn, she really does look like Betty, Matthew agreed. Wait till Bethany hears about this. [Editorial summary: Moose interrupts with another crude remark; Christian dismisses it and continues his story.] Anyway, she had a loose wire under the hood. I fixed it for her. Then we got to talking for a while. We got each other's phone numbers and we started texting and video chatting.

Now, we got a date for Saturday night. I'm gonna pick her up at her place. She lives in the woods with her family just outside Strickfield. Then, everybody just looked at Christian. Christian just looked at everybody in return. What? Man, you got your head up your ass or something? Eric asked. Don't you know there are stories about those backwoods of Strickfield? You don't want to be heading in there, especially at night.

Christian groaned. Seriously, what's there to be scared of in those woods? I mean, come on, Strickfield's own mayor lives in those woods. He still makes it to work every day, right? Matthew pointed at him. But there have been stories about things that have happened in those woods. Stories about people dying out there. And even a few of them coming back to life.

And then there are the stories about creatures lurking around in there. And even cannibals. There are just stories on top of stories. Eric pointed to Christian's smartphone. You should just text her and cancel or have her meet you somewhere. Christian groaned again. Come on, you guys, really? All those stories are just superstitious horseshit. I'm going on my date with Chloe Ann Carmichael on Saturday.

End of discussion. Almost nobody said much of anything after Christian's declaration. Even when they finished their lunches and headed back to North Ridgeway High for their afternoon classes. Christian was driving through the woods on Saturday night and following the directions that his smartphone's GPS was giving him. Christian did have to admit these woods near Strickfield did look quite spooky and seemed to stretch on for miles and miles or maybe it was just the consistent fog that had a foreboding presence seemingly everywhere still he was willing to suffer a few heebie-jeebies to get to Chloe Ann Carmichael's house prepare to turn left on township road 34 and one quarter mile christian gasped and pointed a shaky finger at his smartphone then he shook his head slowly he couldn't believe how he'd let his football brothers get to him this wasn't halloween for crying out loud this was a date with a really hot girl who just happened to look like a hot classic female comic book character.

Still, he kept his head on and made the turn when his GPS told him to. It wasn't much longer after that, when he finally reached his destination. Christian just sat in the car when he saw the Carmichael farmhouse. There were barely any lights on inside, and the fog really seemed murky and dismal around the farmhouse and huge yard. He even saw some cars that had been gathered near the barn.

He started to wonder if anyone was even home. He was almost wondering if maybe he should turn the car around and head back to North Ridgeway. Suddenly, the porch room at the front entrance came ablaze with light. and then the door opened. Christian felt his spirits lift when he saw Chloe Ann Carmichael step outside. He got out of the car and went to meet her.

Chloe Ann! Hi! Christian said. I hope I'm not late. It's a bit foggy out here. Christian thought Chloe Ann was truly breathtaking. She was wearing the very same red dress with white polka dots and those same shoes from the night he had first met her. She wore her blonde hair down, the last time she wore it in a ponytail. [Editorial summary: Christian is captivated by Chloe-Anne.] Chloe-Anne pointed to the car.

Could you shut that off for a smidgen? My parents want to meet you. Uh-oh, Christian uttered jokingly. Chloe-Anne smiled. Oh, ain't nothing weird. They just want to know who I'm going out with tonight. She sighed. They want to know who they gotta shoot if and you don't bring me back home on time. When Christian looked at her with wide eyes, she burst out laughing.

I'm just kidding, silly. My parents still want to meet you, though. Christian obeyed Chloe Ann and was soon in the living room where the rest of the Carmichael family was seated. Her parents were in recliners and a young girl sat on the couch. Mr. Carmichael gestured to the couch. Have a seat, son. As soon as both he and Chloe Anne were seated, Mr.

Carmichael spoke to Christian again. Look, I don't know what your intentions are with my eldest daughter here, but I'm a gonna trust her decision on you. Christian quickly raised his hands up in front of him. Sir, I just want to take Chloe Anne out on a date. I'll have her back whenever you say she's gotta be back. Seriously, I really like her and I just want to get to know her.

That's all. Both parents studied him for a moment. Even the youngest daughter, Hannah, just gave him an odd look. Also, he didn't want to let his football brothers get the best of him, but he could swear that they were all a little pale. Even Chloe Ann. Again, he was not going to let the guys get to him about the backwoods of Strickfield legends.

Mr. Carmichael seemed to consider Christian Okay, again, I trust my baby girl here Chloe Ann's old enough to know what she's doing She seems to be real into you, too Then he said to Chloe Ann You sure he's a whatcha want, darling? Chloe Ann smiled from ear to ear Oh, I do, I do, I do, I do Mr. Carmichael clapped his hands together once Okay, then.

You young'uns have yourselves a good time tonight. Um, what time do you want me to bring her back, sir? Christian asked. Mr. Carmichael just looked at him and smiled. I really do appreciate you calling me sir. Yes, I do. Then he seemed to think. Well, now I'd say that'd be up to the both of you, cause I get a feeling you're really gonna get to know my baby girl real well, real soon.

He waved them off. I should go. Have fun. Christian wondered what he might have gotten himself into, but he quickly drove that thought out of his head when he felt Chloe Ann taking his hand. Let's go, honey. The two of them were about to leave the house. Then Chloe Ann stopped him. Hey, you know what? I almost forgot. Wait right here. Chloe Ann turned and went into the kitchen.

She returned with a large picnic basket. I was thinking we can have ourselves a little picnic, you and me. I even know this romantic little spot that'll just set the mood. It ain't far from here. Christian smiled. Let's go. Christian couldn't believe he was having a picnic dinner with Chloe Ann in the heart of a swamp. Still, the fire circle that Chloe Ann set up and lit seemed to give it more of a romantic ambience, even with the fog.

The swamp was quiet for the most part. It didn't even bother Christian that he hadn't heard a single cricket chirping or even a bird fluttering. It was just the two of them with their picnic dinner and their conversation. The two of them hadn't touched their food yet. Actually, they had been talking for a little while now. Christian realized that he was really into Chloe Ann.

He wasn't caring so much that she was a backwoods girl. He even seemed to be mesmerized by her hazel eyes that glowed next to their fire. [Editorial summary: Christian and Chloe-Anne spend an intimate night together. He falls asleep without realizing that she has changed him.] Christian woke up quickly and realized two things. The first was that it was morning. The second was that he was in an unfamiliar bedroom.

Then he looked down to see Chloe Anne was sleeping soundly next to him and wearing only an oversized blouse, loosely buttoned. He wondered how the two of them had moved from the swamp into her bed. Suddenly, Christian felt his stomach growling like he'd never felt it growl before. He groaned and wrapped his arms around his midsection. Then Chloe Ann woke up. Christian, we never ate your picnic last night, he joked.

I'm just feeling really hungry Chloe-Anne quickly moved over him and got out of bed then she grabbed his hand come on with me right now okay okay he got up and let Chloe-Anne escort him through the house into the kitchen Chloe-Anne opened the refrigerator door and pulled something out a human forearm and hand eat this right now Christian shrieked. What the fuck?

He wondered what the joke was, but Chloe-Anne didn't look like she was joking. I mean it, Christian. Y'all need to eat this right now. Well, we can go out for breakfast, he stammered. Chloe-Anne shook her head slowly. We can't eat that shit. We means you too now, honey. Christian's stomach tightened so hard and made him groan in such agonizing pain that he actually found himself accepting her offering and biting deep into the forearm.

He was surprised at how delicious it really tasted. He kept eating hungrily. Then he saw Chloe Ann pulling out another forearm and joining him. When he'd finished eating his portion, Chloe-Anne immediately took his hand. She led him down into the cellar and to a walk-in refrigerator. She brought him inside and handed Christian a whole human leg. Y'all gotta keep eating, honey, she said.

You gotta eat until you're full, what with it being your first time and all. As the two of them sat and continued to eat, Christian felt the need to ask, What's going on here, Chloe-Anne? Why are we doing this? I thought you'd never ask. She took a last bite off the leg she was feasting on. You're just like me now. She dropped the bones and took both his hands into hers.

You're with me now, Christian. You're part of the family now. When Christian's unfinished leg had fallen to the floor, Chloe-Ann quickly picked it up and handed it back to him. Sorry, honey. Keep eating. As much as Christian wanted to put what he was eating down, he found himself obeying Chloe-Ann. He had gone through almost an entire human body before finally, He was full.

Chloe-Anne herself didn't have to eat nearly as much. Christian looked to her to finish her explanation. Like I told you, Christian, you're just like me now, she told him. Like I said, you're part of my family now. Christian looked dumbfounded. Chloe-Anne was patient. Oh, I get it. You don't know everything. Well, I'm going to teach you all you need to know. Are we...

are we zombies? Christian choked out. Chloe-Anne smirked a little and shook her head. Close, honey. We're like zombies in many ways, but what we are is... ghouls. We gotta feed on humans to survive. Keyword. Survive. See, if and we don't eat when we gotta eat, then we're real zombies. As in you'll waste away until you fall apart and there ain't no going back.

Christian just looked at Chloe-Anne. Then he groaned as he got up and ran up the stairs. He turned to the back door and ran outside. Chloe-Anne chased after him. They both ran away from the house. Much to his surprise, he was running faster than he'd ever ran in his life. What was more, Chloe-Anne could run even faster than him and eventually tackled him near the edge of the swamp.

Get off me! Christian shouted. Chloe-Anne wouldn't move. In fact, she grabbed his arms and pinned him down. Now y'all listen to me, honey. You and me, we're both ghouls. You belong with me now. I made you. Christian went limp. You... What? [Editorial summary: Chloe-Anne explains that she was born a ghoul and has now turned Christian into one, too. He protests, confusing ghouls with zombies, but she corrects him.] Then she sighed patiently.

Daddy said it was going to be tough teaching you, but I gotta do it. Because I made you, and you're just like me now. Christian listened as Chloe Ann explained things. For one thing, ghouls didn't shamble like zombies. They could walk and run. In fact, ghouls could be civilized and live almost normal lives. The Carmichaels remained in isolation and only took living humans who dared to venture into the backwoods of Strickfield, which seemed quite plentiful.

As far as the humans who already lived there, they were left alone because the wrong people might ask questions and possibly come in to investigate. [Editorial summary: Chloe-Anne explains that ghouls need human flesh. They wash in the water, then hear a gunshot.] aw foo Chloe Ann muttered I'm thinking that Strickfield mayor done seen us we better run honey another gunshot whizzed right past Christian almost touching his nose shit Christian turned and ran off Chloe Ann knew she needed to go after him it wasn't too long after that the mayor of Strickfield Patrick Gunter stepped out of the shadows he tightened his jaw and grunted, God damn zombies on my property again.

He readied his rifle again and moved along. Chloe Ann called out to Christian to stop, but he was too scared to listen to reason. Again, she proved to be his superior by catching up to him and tackling him. Stop, Christian. Christian finally stopped. He was really angry now. Why? Why, Chloe Ann? Why would you do this to me? Did I piss you off or something?

Christian wanted to heave in anger, but he realized he no longer breathed. His anger turned to sadness. I was a really good football player at North Ridgeway High. I think I even had a good shot at a full ride to college. I had my whole life ahead of me. He looked at her. I suppose you've heard this before. She shook her head.

Nope. I don't go around making other ghouls the way I made you. We'd have a real mess, and Daddy would be none too happy. Then why me, Chloe-Anne? Chloe-Anne just simply smiled, took firm hold of his face, and kissed his lips softly. Christian couldn't help easing his arms around her and kissing her back. They kissed passionately for a long while. When they came apart, they looked into each other's eyes.

Now you understand, Christian? Chloe asked. Y'all came to me when I needed help that night. You talked and kept talking with me. You made me love you. You did. I told daddy I wanted you and why. He gave me his blessing. We did some loving with each other and I turned you. Now you're with me forever and ever. Like marriage. In fact, you and me, we're married now.

She raised her finger. Ghoul law. But we don't really know each other that well to be married. Christian pointed out. Chloe Ann kissed his lips again. We've been man and wife twice now, honey, and it feels to me like you want to be man and wife again. Face it, Christian. You ain't leaving me. Ain't making no threat here. You'll stay here with me, cause you wanna.

Christian gave Chloe Ann that look that told her she was probably right. After all, how many of his past girlfriends had treated him the same way Chloe Anne had? True, they weren't ghouls, but this particular ghoul had feelings and knew what she wanted out of life. Or was it the afterlife? He would have many years to figure that one out, wouldn't he?

Suddenly, the two of them heard another gunshot. Christian felt the bullet go right to the back of his head. He even saw it go through Chloe-Anne. It's that dang mayor again, Chloe-Anne complained. She quickly grabbed hold of Christian's hand. We gotta run, honey. Snap out of it, dang it. She only needed to slap the back of his head hard to bring him back to reality.

Christian shrieked repeatedly. I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this. He ran away from Chloe-Anne in a general direction. He heard another gunshot, which completely closed out anything that Chloe-Anne was yelling his way right then and there. I'm getting the hell out of here and heading back home. I ain't staying here.

The others were right. I never should have come out here. He was so frightened that he couldn't stop running. He even managed to lose Chloe-Anne this time. He made it back to her farmhouse and found his car right where he'd left it. He jumped into the car to find the keys were still in the ignition. He fired up the motor and got the hell out of there as fast as he could, and without killing anybody along the way with his crazy driving.

Christian pulled in at his house and went to go inside. His mother was busy at the stove and cooking barbecue chicken, his favorite. The only problem was that he really wasn't wanting it. He wanted it, yes, but his stomach was telling him a big fat hell no. After having a brief argument with his mom about the way he was dressed, he went straight up to his room and put on some fresh clothes.

Then, he went back out and went behind the garage. It was then when he smelled something sweet. Like candy. It wasn't long before he found that he had a visitor. At first, he thought Chloe Ann had finally caught up with him. But instead... Moose? What's up? Christian asked. Just in the neighborhood, man. Smelled your mom was cooking barbecue chicken again, he replied in his growling voice.

Well, go on inside and go have some, he invited. How could Moose even smell his mom's barbecue when all he could smell was sweet candy? Moose was about to turn away to take him up on his offer, but then he remembered. Hey bro, how'd that date go with that Chloe Ann chick? I'm surprised you made it back from those fucking woods. Before he could answer, he gave him a brotherly tap on his shoulder.

[Editorial summary: Christian is preoccupied with his transformation, the bullet wound in his head, and the sweet smell that now signals human prey.] Wait a minute, Moose, do I look okay to you? Christian asked. Moose looked at him like he was crazy. Well, you kind of look a little pale, but... [Editorial summary: Moose continues teasing Christian. Chloe-Anne arrives, attacks Moose, and the two ghouls feed on him.

That night, Chloe-Anne brings Christian home to her family.] Oh, Mama! Daddy! We're home! She called out. In here, kids! Mrs. Carmichael called back. Dinner's ready! The two of them found the rest of the family in the dining room. There was a naked couple tied to the table. Aw, y'all didn't have to wait none for us, Chloe-Anne said softly. We eat as a family, Chloe-Anne, Mr.

Carmichael reminded her. Then he said to Christian, that goes for you too, son, now that you're part of the family. When Christian realized that Chloe-Anne had easily found him, he knew there was no point in resisting her or what he now was. when he'd asked his new wife how she'd found him. She simply told him, Why silly, I could have found you any one of two ways.

The easy way would have been to look in your wallet since you left it behind. But I'm a ghoul, honey, and you're my man. I made you so naturally, I can smell you. Don't matter none where you are in the world. and I know y'all could smell me coming for you. Face it, honey. It's you and me, together forever to the end.

Christian realized that being with Chloe Ann wasn't as bad as it seemed. He was part of a family that truly cared for its own. He'd been shot in the head and was still alive. Chloe Ann explained that he could have had his brains blown out, but he would have lived as long as he would have been fed or given human blood to help in the regeneration process.

In the beginning, he felt bad for the people he would have to eat in order to sustain himself. But he was a ghoul, and that was his new afterlife now. Christian and Chloe Ann stayed on at the farm. He even took her last name. Over time, he would come to learn from the Carmichael's that nothing was more important than family. Even if you are ghouls.

And as for the mayor of Strickfield, Patrick Gunter, he still didn't like the idea of zombies coming onto his property. Now that is our kind of love story. And if you loved Boy Meets Ghoul, I think you're going to really enjoy this next one. It's about a woman named Roxy. And she is, without a doubt, much more than meets the eye. And I wasn't kidding about that Patreon thing last break, by the way.

If you go to weeklyspooky.com and click on Patreon, For as little as $1 a month, you get a creepypasta reading by me every month on top of my working filmmaker podcast all about filmmaking, my vlogs, exclusive sneak peeks of movies and podcasts, and so much more. So check that out at weeklyspooky.com and click on Patreon. But now, it's time to meet Roxy after these quick words.

Roxy by Charles Campbell Thunder only happens when it's raining, or so Stevie sang in the popular Fleetwood Mac song. But I've found, in my lifetime anyway, that is not always the case. It can thunder without rain, and it can be, oh, so very loud. So loud, in fact, that it drowns out everything that once was important. What was my thunder, you ask?

My thunder was a girl named Roxy, and she rumbled into my life two short years ago. I wish she hadn't. Two years ago. Jake Blackman was walking his mud of a dog, minding his own business, when she passed him by. Jake caught a whiff of sweetness and turned his head. He took a deep breath. The scent was immediately intoxicating. And, when he saw her, his eyes widened as if he had just stumbled upon the Holy Grail.

She was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. She stopped when she noticed him staring at her. Jake fumbled for his words. Hi, your name's Jake. What's yours? He winced as soon as the words escaped his lips. He felt better when she giggled. You're a cute one, aren't you? She asked. Her skin was like porcelain, and her smile cut through Jake in such a way he felt lightheaded.

Let me try that again. I'm Jake Blackman. What's your name? Roxy. She replied. Roxy what? No Roxy what? Just Roxy, she answered. Her long jet black hair hung around her shoulders like a shawl on a cold night. Roxy's eyes were dark brown pools that pulled Jake in like a cobra. And her smell. He couldn't quite describe it. It was sweet for sure, but not sickeningly so.

It was a smell that felt ancient and new at the same time. Roxy was a different breed, and Jake felt it. It made him wander. Jake's mud of a dog was even enamored with the woman. Normally, he'd sound off with barks and growls around someone new, but Rusty seemed to be just as lovestruck with Roxy as his owner. He was sniffing her black knee-high boots.

Oh, what's your dog's name? Roxy asked as she knelt down and stroked Rusty's head. Jake struggled to remember and Roxy let him off the hook Oh, his tag says Rusty Hey, Rusty, she said as she stood Rusty jumped up his dirty paws leaving streaks on her boots Rusty, stop! I'm so sorry, Jake said It's all good, Jake. They'll wipe off You want to buy a girl dinner?

she asked Jake was nodding his head and she knew this was going to be easy. After a dinner of burgers and fries, they walked back to Jake's house with Rusty hanging closer to Roxy than the man that fed him. Jake was completely in love with this woman. Everything about her, her look, her smell, the way she spoke to him in an unassuming tone, keeping Jake on edge, in a good way.

He felt the thunder for the first time when they went inside. Do you love me, Jake? Roxy asked as soon as they were inside the house. I do, Roxy, he said. It wasn't a lie. He was madly in love with her. Roxy led Jake to the bedroom as if she had lived there all her life. Rusty followed behind and whimpered when the door closed in his face.

Roxy and Jake made love. Jake felt the thunder roll through his heart. She was lying in his arms and no words were spoken as the rain began to fall outside. It was followed by thunder that paled in comparison to what Roxy had brought him. She was trouble. Somehow, he knew it. But Jake didn't care. He would later. Very early the next morning, Roxy nuzzled her face next to Jake's neck and breathed that sweet breath in his ear before she whispered, Jake, will you kill for me?

You know I will, Jake replied without a second thought. She was the cobra after all, and she had completely glamoured him. That's good, you sweet man. Now, go back to sleep. She whispered. And that's exactly what Jake did. He went to sleep. When he awoke four hours later, Roxy was gone. Jake didn't get a phone number and no last name. The mystery lover blew his world apart without trying.

He looked for her high and low. She was gone. Jake remembered what she asked him in the middle of the night, and he remembered his answer. He meant it. He would kill for her. Anything. To have her in his life. Rusty missed her too. He whimpered and whined for two weeks straight after Roxy disappeared. Two months after that, Jake wondered if it was even real.

Maybe she never really existed. Maybe he made the whole thing up in his mind. It was her scent that he couldn't shake. Jake could almost smell her. He hungered for it. and he wouldn't get a full night's sleep until she was in his arms once again. Another ten months passed. One year later. Jake was now alone. After Roxy left, Rusty was never the same.

He stopped eating. He didn't want to take walks anymore. And after more than a few visits to several different veterinarians, none of them could give Jack a plausible explanation as to why Rusty's desire to live was so siphoned away. Rusty passed away one night, lying by the kitchen door. Jake was devastated. It was three days after Rusty died and Jake was walking home with his head hanging.

Then, the smell hit him. Jake felt a tingle in the back of his neck. He stopped looking at his feet. I'm sorry to hear about Rusty, Roxy said. She was standing there in front of him looking exactly as she had one year before. Same hair, same clothes, same boots. And she was devastatingly beautiful. Where have you been? Jake asked. Oh, it doesn't really matter.

You want to buy a girl dinner? Roxy asked. Jake's sadness over Rusty vanished. He smiled and took a deep breath of her sweetness. It was even better than he remembered. After a dinner of Caesar salad and wine, they walked hand in hand back to Jake's house without uttering a word. When they got inside, Roxy led him directly to the bedroom where she quickly ripped at Jake's shirt before they both hastily undressed.

Roxy pulled him toward her. She kissed him hard and rough. Jake felt a trickle of blood roll down his chin, but he didn't care. Jake lifted Roxy. She was almost weightless, and he set her gently on the bed. She was rough. He was not. He couldn't be. Not with her. He moved slowly over her porcelain body, taking in every feature, and was more intoxicated by the scent than he had ever been by alcohol.

He kissed her softly, as if he may break her. As soon as Jake's lips touched Roxy's, she moved so fast. Jake was now under her, and she locked onto his eyes as she moved rhythmically on top of him. She spoke. Jake, you said you loved me, and now it's time to prove it. I need you to kill for me, Roxy said as she began to grind harder.

He was shaking his head in obedience and ecstasy. Jake never took his eyes off of Roxy's, and he saw the change. Her eyes were now opaque, covered by a third lid that sprang from the bottom corner of her eyes. It was like a shark's eyes. He wasn't afraid. Jake was captured. The thunder was louder. The next morning. It was deja vu because it certainly happened before.

Jake woke in a daze, and Roxy was gone. He searched the house like he had the year before, and there was one noticeable difference. There was a single piece of evidence that confirmed to Jake that he wasn't psychotic. It let him know that Roxy was real. There was a note on the kitchen table. He read the only four words on the torn sheet of notebook paper.

Kill Billy Kuto. Roxy. Billy Kuto? Jake asked the empty room. He hadn't the slightest clue who this person was or why he had to die. But he knew he had to do it. Because Roxy said so. It was Saturday, so Jake had nowhere to be. He walked to the small desk in the corner of the living room where his laptop lay dormant.

Jake clicked the mouse to bring it back to life, and he entered his password, Rusty2017. A chrome window was already open, and Jake refreshed the Facebook page. The feed was filled with shared memes, pet and children pictures he could care less about. He quickly typed the name Billy Kuto into the search bar. There were three hits, one of them local with four mutual friends.

Three of the mutual friends Jake really didn't know. Jake was pretty loosey-goosey with accepting friend requests. He pretty much accepted them all and deleted the hot chicks that immediately messaged him out of the blue, looking for money, once a request passed. Twelve hours later, Billy Kuto stepped onto his front porch. There was a chill in the air, but it didn't require a hoodie just yet.

Billy lit the Marlboro that hung loosely from his lips. He glanced at his phone, hoping for any kind of communication from the woman that came and went out of his life a couple years ago. She was all he could think about. Billy used to keep his hair cut short, a Marine crew cut if there ever was one. Now, his hair was shoulder-length, and he sported a nicely-groomed beard.

One other change Billy made since she disappeared was discontinuing his monthly shipment of contacts. Instead, Billy opted to get some old-fashioned, horn-rimmed glasses, Buddy Holly style. He shouldn't have threatened to expose her, Billy thought. Sure, she was different, but aren't we all? She frightened him, and he couldn't handle it. Then, she left and Billy hadn't seen her since. The sound of a hammer being pulled back brought Billy to the here and now.

The cigarette fell from his lips. Roxy sends her regards, Jake said before the single shot rang out, scrambling Billy's brain, killing him instantly. Dogs were barking in the distance. Jake held the smoking gun and smiled. He had never taken a life. But Roxy was worth it 100 times over. He'd kill the entire fucking town if she asked him to. He went home to an empty house.

Ten months later. It was now a life of longing. Roxy was all he could think about. Jake ate just enough to keep him going. The same went for sleep. He muddled through work every day, doing just enough not to get fired. But his once-friendly demeanor was replaced by one of constant sadness, and he was indifferent to people that cared. There was only one that mattered to him.

Jake did what she asked, and Roxy still hadn't returned. That's really what kept him going. Jake was compelled to wait on her, no matter how long it took. It was Friday afternoon, and Jake was zombie walking home. Hey, Jake, Roxy said as he approached his house. Jake stopped looking at his feet and raised his head to meet her gaze. Roxy was sitting on the front porch steps, looking exactly as she had always looked, wearing the same outfit.

There was one big difference this time. Beside her sat a little girl that was the spitting image of Roxy. Jake gave her a puzzled look. Who, uh, who's she? Jake asked. She's your daughter, Roxy replied. The little girl looked up at Jake with the same brown pools. That's impossible. If she were mine, she'd still be a baby. This little girl is at least three years old, maybe four, Jake said.

Anger wasn't his emotion. It was confusion. And then a thought slapped him in the face. Billy. He bet it was Billy's daughter. Not that it was a deal-breaker because he wanted Roxy more than anything. His veil of indifference was yanked away. Hi, Daddy. My name's Roxy, the little girl said. What? Jake asked, looking at her mother. She's me, and I'm her, Roxy said.

And she's you, too, Jake. The little girl stood and outstretched her hand for a shake. She looked like a living porcelain doll. Jake took the girl's hand and smiled. It fell into the everything-was-a-okay-if-roxy-was-in-his-life lane. The three of them walked into the house, together. Jake and Roxy sat together and listened to little Roxy tell her father everything about her life, about the things she had learned.

And Jake was amazed. She was smarter than any adult he had ever met, and not in a precocious kid way. She was beyond anything he had ever encountered. The dialect and intelligence with which she spoke frightened Jake. This was no ordinary child, and she had no ordinary mother. Jake remembered the last time he and Roxy made love, and the uniqueness of Roxy's eyes.

But Jake thought of himself as quite ordinary. Boring, in fact. He didn't care. He loved Roxy and the little girl by the same name. Little Roxy looked at him with the eyes of her mother. Daddy? Kill for me, she said. Sure, sweetie, Jake answered. He was just as charmed by little Roxy. I need you to kill him, she said, and pointed toward the window.

There was an older man walking down the sidewalk toward Jake's house. Okay, Jake said, and grabbed the baseball bat he kept in the hall closet. It was secondary protection if he wasn't within reach of his pistol, if someone kicked in his door. Jake casually walked out the front door, looking as if he were going to batting practice. The man took notice as soon as Jake stepped from his front porch.

Hey there! The man shouted, smiled for a second, and waved at Jake. Jake didn't return the wave. He broke into a sprint, and this is when the older man realized the threat. Jake held that bat over his head as he closed the distance between himself and the man. The man held up his hands in a defensive posture. No! Don't! were the two words the man got out of his mouth before Jake brought the bat down on the man's skull.

The dull thunk of wood-striking bone filled the air. The older man blinked wildly at Jake. His eyes were crossed and blood trickled down his forehead. He kept his feet with the first strike. Jake brought it down again and this time It sounded like a ripe melon splitting in half. The man fell face first onto the sidewalk. Jake went to town on the corpse's head.

He brought the bat down over and over again. Bits of brain and bone flying with every smash. Little Roxy smiled from the window. She watched it all happen. Her mother was behind her. You learn so fast, Roxy whispered in her daughter's ear. It's time to go. There was a scream and a yelp from across the street. Sydney Jones yanked her dog back by the leash.

Jake turned toward her with a bloody grin on his face and tipped the bat toward her as if it were a hat. Jake wiped his brow with his forearm. His mouth was parched. He'd go inside so little Roxy and her mother could see what he did for them. They weren't there. He looked through the house and stopped when he saw the note on the kitchen table.

Thank you for killing Billy and his daddy, the Roxies. Then the wail of sirens came. Jake set the bat on the kitchen table and went to the porch steps. He waited for the police. Jake knew he'd never see them again. They were worse than mermaids in the legends of pirates. And they were much more than mortal. But they needed men to breed.

How many Roxies were in the world? Jake wondered. Beautiful creatures that convinced men to do their evil bidding before disappearing in a veil of mystery. Jake raised his hands as the officers stepped from the cruiser. There would be no trace of DNA evidence suggesting that anyone else was in the home. Just the handwritten note tying Jake to the killing of the younger Couto with his bloody prints.

Thunder does not only happen when it is raining. Thunder can come from anywhere. Thunder can have any name. The name of Jake’s thunder was Roxy, and he was certain he was not the only one.