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View Full Version : A web serial I'm writing Language warning



Cuppy
January 22nd, 2012, 10:59 PM
Here's the link to the blog: http://talesthatareweird.blogspot.com (http://talesthatareweird.blogspot.com/)/

This will have some offensive language including racial slurs.

Episode One.

“Hello.. Duane…” I heard a voice say as I lay in bed. I turned my head to look for this uninvited guest, slowly I scanned the room, prepared to beg for my life. My eyes fell up a slim, white man, wearing a suit far too small for him. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you now for… awhile…” He said. The words dripped from his mouth like syrup, pooling on his tongue as he thought of the order they came in, then let them drip out in an inconsistent pattern. It was unnerving to say the least…

As he was going on with his monotonous speech, I was commanding my mouth to start making demands. Like why he broke in my house, who he was, and why his suit was so small. I could see the whole butcher shop. As the grogginess cleared, my mouth finally obeyed. “Whole the hell are you?”

He looked at me with surprise on his face. Apparently, while I was wrestling with words, he was still talking. Slowly, a smirk crawled along his face, “Call me, Mr. E…”

You’ve got to be kidding. I thought to myself.
“No, I’m not.” He said, seemingly in response to my thought.
“Well, Mr. E. How about you tell me how you got in.” I said, with false courage
“I’ve always… been around… you simply never… noticed…” He said this with an arrogant tone, apparently pleased with himself. “I think I should… Take my leave…” I gave him a dirty look, somehow expressing disappointment in him. “Don’t beat yourself Up…It’s only been..." He paused to do the math in his mind. "23 years…”

Then he disappeared. I fell back on my small mountain of flat pillows. I glanced to my left, to the alarm clock. It was 5:30 in the morning. I decided to get up. I had to get to work in two hours anyway. “No chance of sleep anyway.” I said to no one. I continued bitching at myself until I got to work. At the time I worked at a gas station called Marathon. It had the shittiest management in the world, Mr. Schneider. He was a 15 year old who got off from bossing people around. He normally called people fags and told them to get to work, regardless of whether or not you already were. He lived in what he thought was secret fear of his father. A stubborn, calculating, bear of a man who would take his son out back and squish his head if he knew what he was doing. Schneider Jr. was one of those kids who thought he had the biggest dick in the room. And everyone hated him.

I pulled into the parking lot behind the building. The sun was barely up. I sat in my car for awhile eating a breakfast burrito. It had gutted itself in the microwave so I had to wrap paper towels around it to keep the filling in. I finished it after a few minutes trying to eat it without making a mess, but I ended up with a large brown stain on the leg of my pants. I didn’t care, it was another for the collection.

I finally opened the store. I set everything up, even though no one but anything but cigarettes and newspaper. Then I just sat at the counter. I worked a long day today so I was just bored as hell. I sat there, staring at the floor for about 3 hours. “Just wish there was someone to actually talk to when I’m here.”
“I sometimes wished for…. Company when I watched you too…” I must jumped away from where Mr. E. was now standing, I think that must have been a world record. I quickly tried to recompose myself, trying to make it look like I wasn’t terrified of him
“Why are you following me?” I said, my heart was now trying to punch its way out of my chest.
“You act like we’ve just met… You have seen me before.. When Steve was hit by the train.” He replied so smugly that I was about to kill him. I didn’t remember Steve being killed. I’d apparently wandered home in shock. No one knew what happened. “I’ve always been there to keep you from being killed, Duane. Think of me as a lifeguard.” He said this as if he truly cared for me.
“A lifeguard sent by who?” I asked, curious in earnest now.
“Yo, who the fuck you talkin’ to!” Jr. was here. Apparently he was supposed to be gangta. It was painfully obvious that he grew up by a cornfield. “Did I give you permission to speak, nigga?” I’m not sure why he called me this, neither of us was black, so he would just be giving people another reason to kill him.
“No, Mr. Schneider….” I mumbled. It was humiliating taking orders from this shrimp. He could barely walk because of all the gold chains dangling from his neck.
“So who were you talking to?” He had the courtesy to slow his speech down so I could understand.
“I’m not sure.” He turned away in disgust then seemed to remember something, “Forgot my daily tax for letting you work here.” He reached into the cash register and grabbed a fistful of money. “Catch you later, my nigga.” He walked out of the store. I knew he would probably spend it on pot. He managed t hide it from his dad pretty well. Or maybe he was in on it. I don’t care.
“There’s an old hammer in the back room. Rearrange that little shit’s face.” Mr. E. had suddenly returned, his voice a vicious growl in my ear. “You can make it look like a drug dealer did it. You know they will eventually…” This was too tempting so I just went back to doing mindless work.
Eventually the lifeguard got bored and disappeared. I had to call someone. Anyone. This was too weird. I waited until business was slow (which it always was.), then called Brent. He was in the band I had, along with some other guys from high school. We mostly wrote songs about people attempting to fade us, or the misadventures of a yoga instructor/superhero. We were the best band in the world.
I pulled the phone out and speed dialed Brent. He was probably still asleep. I knew something was wrong when he answered on the first ring. “Hey, Duane! I was about to call you.”
“Really? This early?” I was genuinely surprised that he was even awake.
“Yeah, because my house…. Well weird stuff is happening… there are these guys, these men in black… They want to get in the house, I don’t know why…” He was obviously freaked out about these mysterious men in black, so I didn‘t immediately call bullshit. “And there‘s this shit that‘s written on the walls. I don‘t know what it means, but it scares the fuck out of me to read it.” He started crying. Something bad was going on. I quickly thought about whether I actually wanted to go. Then remembered that Schneider would be back, and with greater numbers. I ended up sprinting to my car, trying to remember Brent’s address.
He lived out in the country, by some haunted forest where he would get mushrooms with his friends. Brent did a lot of drugs, never addictive ones, he managed to somehow be careful. Mostly pot and mushrooms, but he occasionally bought LSD, but hadn‘t used it in months. He kept saying he quit. He used to take them before every concert but when his playing suffered we had to record him playing to convince him to stop.
Lifeguard didn’t come back for the entire car trip, surprisingly. I had almost expected him to come along so he could make smug faces at me. After a 20 minute drive I pulled into Brent’s driveway. The entire property was surrounded by forest, and much of that was given to Brent when his parents moved away. He must have had rich parents or something, because the house was practically a mansion. Like a log cabin castle. I got out and walked toward the door and noticed a piece of paper on it. A citation from the cops saying that his garbage blew onto someone’s property and they blamed him. “Men in black, my ass.” I grumbled, Brent must have seen the cops while he was on a bad trip and assumed they were jack booted thugs, here to dissect him under suspicion of being a UFO.
I opened the door and walked in, calling Brent every few steps, didn’t want to surprise him. No answer. I went upstairs, my heart trying to deafen me. “Why are you scared? He’s just a drugged up freak who has shown he can kill you with his bare hands?” Mr. E appeared behind me, I flinched, assuming he was going to kill me. Then a thought occurred to me, why wasn’t he bound by the laws of physics?
“I know what you’re thinking, I don’t have to obey physics if I don’t exist physically.” The mind reading was getting old, but I knew he was onto something. “I can pop in and out of your consciousness the same way you can log on and off a website. I am there one minute. Gone the next.” He was freaking me out now.
“But how is that fucking possible!” I barked at him, more mad than anything.
“Who are you talking to?” A hoarse voice called from the bedroom. Brent couldn’t hear him either. I walked further into the bedroom and found him on the far side of the bed, almost underneath it. The entire room was a mess, clothes strewn around the floor, the full length mirror next to the closet was smashed. And in the closet, the bar for hangars had been taken out and was nowhere to be found. Then I looked at the wall in the closet. There was a small mural, drawn in vivid colors. It seemed to have different panels. The first depicted Greys first arriving on Earth, showing technology to cavemen. The second showed a fanged demon thing eating men whole while the Greys watched from a distance. The third looked like it was drawn in charcoal. It showed humans being hauled off to a spacecraft in chains, men wearing dark suits, apparently taking orders from the Greys, the demon was standing over the whole thing looking cartoonishly evil. It scared the shit out of me.