Tag: Flash

Flash Pulp 083 – Mulligan Smith and The Mortician, Part 1 of 1

Flash PulpWelcome to Flash Pulp, Episode Eighty-Three.
Tonight, we present Mulligan Smith and The Mortician, Part 1 of 1
[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashPulp083.mp3]

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This week’s episodes are brought to you by Flash Pulp on iTunes.

In no way endorsed by the Pretoria University Law Press.

To subscribe, click here!

Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

Tonight, Mulligan has a brief encounter in a crematorium.

Flash Pulp 083 – Mulligan Smith and The Mortician, Part 1 of 1

Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May

The parlour was immaculate. The plastic flowers were pristine in arrangement and lack of dust, and the carpets still held wheel-tracks from their recent vacuuming. Each drawer of the front desk was locked, and the magazines on the hall table were arrayed in a perfect fan.

He was in search of a dead man who’d been writing cheques.

During his inspection, Mulligan had studiously ignored the sound of the poorly tuned radio emanating from behind the door labeled “Authorized Personnel Only, but, having completed his tour of the uninhabited area, he finally pushed his way inside.

The startled mortician was wearing grey jogging pants and a paint splattered sweater – Smith didn’t blame him for the informal attire, he couldn’t have been expecting many visitors given the hour.

The man had made preparations for unannounced visitors – when he caught sight of the prowling PI, a baseball bat materialized in his hands from beneath the long table on which he’d been working.

Mulligan eyed the club, keeping his hands loosely at his sides.

“Listen, I think -,”

The man rushed him.

He had the Taser in his fingers with a flick of his wrist, but Smith waited out another three of the undertaker’s long strides before firing. He considered it a courtesy to give the old guy a chance to stop, but he also knew he wouldn’t have been happy if he’d fired early and missed.

The embalmer’s hands closed hard around the bat as he fell. Mulligan let up on the trigger and provided a polite suggestion to let it go.

Once the lumber was free of the man’s fingers, Smith swallowed back a lump of tension and approached the prone figure, gently pulling the probes from his target’s neck.

He’d arrived too late in some senses – the body had already gone into the crematorium. Mulligan knew it was a waiting game at that point, so he pulled out a stool and sat.

“How long’s he been in there for?” he asked, pulling a replacement Taser cartridge from his pocket.

The silver-haired man stood, lowering himself stiffly onto a nearby bench while his eyes stayed locked on the weapon.

“He’s been baking about an hour, I guess-” The mortician’s eyes narrowed. “Be another one and a half before he’s ready to come out. Not that it’ll help, he’ll just be dust by then.”

“Maybe we should just pull him out now.”

“Have you ever seen a half-melted body? I assure you, you don’t want to mess with the process. It’s all automated anyhow, I’d have to do some fair jiggering to get it to stop, and even then (pause) he’s just going to be a roasted mess.I don’t know what you’re talking about though, there’s a body in there sure, but I’m also positive it’s not someone you’re looking for.”

“Don’t bluff me, sir.” Mulligan finished snapping the gun back into working order and tucked it away into the folds of his hoodie. “Given the impeccable tidiness of your establishment, I think you’re the kind of fellow who’d take the time to do things properly.”

The man pulled a latex glove from his hand and ran his sweaty fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” Mulligan continued, “I’m sure there’s no room for mix-up anyhow, but a fella like you gets by on process. I’m sure you took the time to stamp him out a name tag before you cooked him.”

The man in the paint splattered sweater didn’t reply, but the PI didn’t like his flat smile.

“Still, sorry I had to shock you,” Smith added after a moment of quiet.

The room fell into silence, and the pair waited out the time by staring at the coloured lights on the panel alongside the short sliding door.

Nearly two hours later, Mulligan discovered that the tag was gibberish.

“You wrote it out in some kind of code to keep him anonymous? Well, can’t win ‘em all.” Mulligan said, still holding the metal plate.

He grabbed up the dusty skull, his palm wrapping around the jawbone so that his fingers protruded from the empty eye-sockets.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll take this down to the station and talk to a friend of mine who happens to know a thing or two about forensic dentistry. If I’m wrong, I’ll scoot this poor fella’s noggin’ back to you in a couple of hours. If I’m right though, you’ll probably want to consider sticking around, as it’ll be less risky to explain to the police how you came into possession of a missing man’s cranium than it will be to explain to heiress Petra and,” he hefted the weight in his hand, “her psychotic boyfriend, how her father’s skull went missing. I hope you cashed her cheque already – while she’s still rich.”

Once the door had clicked shut behind him, the PI stooped to expel his late dinner into one of the fake potted plants – he was careful to not get any on his deceased client.

Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flash Pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.

Flash Pulp 082 – The Glorious: Minerva's Last Ride, Part 1 of 1

Flash PulpWelcome to Flash Pulp, Episode Eighty-Two.
Tonight, we present The Glorious: Minerva’s Last Ride, Part 1 of 1
[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashPulp082.mp3]

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This week’s episodes are brought to you by Flash Pulp on iTunes.

It’s the only known cure for vampirism.

To subscribe, click here!

Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

Tonight, we once again return to the halls of Valhalla, this time to hear the tale of a girl named Minerva Peabody.

Flash Pulp 082 – The Glorious: Minerva’s Last Ride, Part 1 of 1

Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May

The smoke filled halls of Valhalla were a rough location to start up a friendship, and few had it tougher than Minerva Peabody. The girl, permanently locked at the age of fourteen, was the sole warrior amongst thousands to be adorned largely in hot pink – a relic of the period in which she’d earned her place, the mid-1990s.

She’d walked the long benches many a night, finding little comfort in the rough hewn tables and legs of boar that adorned them. Few of the violent men that filled the rows had interest in a girl her age, and most who did had only the wrong intentions.

It was with great pleasure then that she dined with Leroy “Cutter” Jenkins – his own daughter had been her age when he’d died, and it felt like some small measure of home to have her sup with him. They’d met at the center of a melee in a swamp, caught between a division of Persian immortals and 300 Maori warriors. The groups had circled the tangling vines and muck drenched ground for an entire afternoon, hoping to happen upon an exposed flank, and the odd pair out, Cutter and Minerva, had used the opportunity to ignore the sniper rifles they’d been issued and instead swap stories about their respective lives.

“So -” Cutter said, one evening well after their introduction in the bog, “How’d you end up here, anyhow?”

It was usually the first question of any new encounter within the glorious halls, but somehow in the intervening weeks they’d both danced around the topic.

She took a long moment before answering. Finally, shoulders squaring slightly, she began to tell her tale.

“I was in central park with my Dad, it was fall and the air was crisp and we’d been out shopping for a few hours and were just looking for a street-meat vendor that didn’t look too sketchy so we could sit down on a bench and take a break.

“I saw the guy first, although I guess it didn’t really help any. He was tall, in his early twenties, hair cut super short and with a black trench coat on that didn’t really fit him. One minute I’m thinking “Look at that weirdo,” and then he’s suddenly got a shotgun in his hands.

“I’m pretty sure I cussed – I think it was the only time Dad ever heard me do it, he definitely looked up fast enough. He’d been talking about dinner plans and random junk; how excited Mom would be to see the stuff I’d picked out. We hadn’t been talking much lately – not on purpose or anything, he’d just been busy doing his thing and I’d been busy doing mine – anyhow, it was a pretty great day, and then this shaved DB pulls out the shotgun.

“Boom – first shot takes out the lady he’d been talking to. Boom, Boom – second and third shots take out a couple of people picnicking on the grass not far from him. Dad stands up, figuring I guess he’s going to save me somehow, and boom, the left side of his head is gone.

“I don’t really remember how I got under the bench, but I got down. This cop on a horse comes pounding up, but, boom, down he went. I’m pretty sure he was dead before he hit the ground, but his neck made an awful sound when his helmet bounced off the cement path.

“I could see the whites of his horse’s eyes as it reared up, and there was the smell – I didn’t know what it was then, but now I’m all too familiar with a good whiff of burnt gunpowder. People were running everywhere and the guy had this look on his face like he was ruler of the world.

“I couldn’t stand it – up till then I’d just been scared, but while I was staring at what was left of Dad and the cop with the funny bend in his neck, the day I’d just had flashed before my eyes – ten minutes earlier I’d been ruler of the world, and that guy, for whatever reason, had decided to take a dump on it.

“I started crying, but it didn’t stop me. I busted out from under the bench, and one handed the reins of the horse. I’d spent the previous six years worth of Tuesdays and Sundays at Appleberry Stables – I didn’t have my stupid beige breeches, or my stupid chaps, or my stupid black helmet, but I was pretty sure by then that I’d probably never need them again anyhow.

“The guy had started walking the other way, just strolling and firing at anything that moved as he passed.

“People – I mean back there, not here – they’ve kind of forgotten what horses are, why we raised and rode them. It’s easy to flip on the TV and see how brutally fast we’ve built our cars, but people have forgotten what it is to have a couple thousand pounds of horseflesh baring down on them.

“He spun and fired at the last moment – sheered my arm right off. I don’t know how I managed not to lose control of my mount, I guess the bloodlust was upon us – I’d have given him the finger if I’d still had a free hand to do so.

“The guy fired again when we were right on top of him, and the horse reared, kicking in his skull. I fell off then, and died staring at his exposed brain.”

The girl sniffled as she sipped at her inexhaustible wine.

Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flash Pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.

Flash Pulp 081 – Joe Monk, Emperor Of Space: Groupthink, Part 3 of 3

Welcome to Flash Pulp, Episode Eighty-One.

Flash PulpTonight, we present Joe Monk, Emperor Of Space: Groupthink, Part 3 of 3
[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashPulp081.mp3](Part 1Part 2Part 3)

Download MP3
(RSS / iTunes)

This week’s episode are dedicated to the recent marriage of Elektro and Anycheese – long may they live and love.

Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

Tonight, Joe learns the terrible truth about Lol, planet of the cactus people.

Flash Pulp 081 – Joe Monk, Emperor Of Space: Groupthink, Part 3 of 3

Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May

Joe was on the roof by himself for quite a while.

After the tower fell, his scarlet clad companion had spent ten earth-minutes berating him in a variety of buzzes and hums. As the human did nothing in response but stare at him with a slack-jawed expression on his face, the elevator operator had eventually made a crossed limb gesture, which Monk could only assume was rude, and then disappeared back into the box.

Realizing there was no other exit, Joe had kicked the downed antenna, stubbing a toe in the process, then used the toppled rod as a seat.

He still held out some small hope for a victory parade.

After a time he became convinced that the elevator operator was a spy for whatever evil puppet-master was running the planet’s zombies, and he was sure his best chance was that a resistance of newly freed cactus people would spontaneously rise up, rescue him from his perilous perch, and then praise him as their saviour.

While he savoured the daydream, two round robotic drones topped the edge of the building and began to fly in slow circles, the shining lenses at the center of their metallic bodies focusing on his movements.

An hour later the elevator re-opened, depositing Macbeth onto the rooftop.

His claws ground against each other as he approached.

“I told you to stay in your room,” he said. The severity of the situation was made obvious to Joe by the trilling notes in his friend’s voice – when Macbeth was truly angry, his English accent became increasingly worse. In this case it sounded as if he was speaking through a flute.

“I was just trying to help. These people are all zombies! Some sort of evil hive mind has control of them!” Joe stood, approaching one of the two cactus-people in blue who’d accompanied Macbeth to the roof. Miming to the cactii that it should spin in place, he tugged at the collar of its overalls, revealing the metallic disc, with its blinking green light. The light was now dark. “I saved these people!”

The grinding of Macbeth’s claws doubled, and the human could clearly see flakes of chitin falling from his pincers.

“You saved nothing, you jerk. I told you before that these people are on a very long life cycle – they sleep ten of your years at a time! Fine if you’re on a world with no other higher lifeforms and you can just nap for a decade, safe behind your spines, but these people have lives to lead and they need cold hard cash to do it – so why not work it off?”

Monk’s face clouded with confusion.

“These folks are all slumber-labour!” Macbeth continued. “They open the doors, they run the elevators, they even drive the cabs, and they’re all controlled by a central computer that you’d be shot twenty times before you could even sneeze on. That’s why the repair work is so good and cheap – it’s all computer controlled! You managed to wake up a five block radius or so, and you’re incredibly lucky that a runaway taxi, or startled nanny, didn’t accidentally kill someone.”

“I – but.. I…” Joe attempted to interject.

“No. No “buts”. You’ve not only lost these people some pay, but you’ve acted out the equivalent of running into someone’s bedroom in the middle of the night shouting “Ooga-Booga!”. You’re going to need to apologize big time to these guys, and we can only hope that they don’t sue you for their missing income. If they do, you may need to get a sleep-job yourself.” The eyes at the end of Macbeth’s dual stocks shrank to a slit. “I happen to know a place that pays well for exotic-species dancers.”

Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flash Pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.

Flash Pulp 080 – Joe Monk, Emperor Of Space: Groupthink, Part 2 of 3

Welcome to Flash Pulp, Episode Eighty.

Flash PulpTonight, we present Joe Monk, Emperor Of Space: Groupthink, Part 2 of 3
[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashPulp080.mp3](Part 1Part 2Part 3)

Download MP3
(RSS / iTunes)

This week’s episode are dedicated to the recent marriage of Elektro and Anycheese – long may they live and love.

Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

Tonight, Joe finds himself attempting to save an entire planet from an unseen puppet master.

Flash Pulp 080 – Joe Monk, Emperor Of Space: Groupthink, Part 2 of 3

Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May

It was only once he’d found himself thoroughly lost that Joe, future emperor of space, realized he was unsure of how to proceed. He knew it was his duty to free the slaves of Lol, but it was tough to know where to start in a world largely lacking signage.

His epiphany had only been reconfirmed by the slack-limbed responses of those few cactus people he’d attempted to stop for directions. His first idea had been to pull at some of the blinking discs he now saw to be omnipresent at their collar lines, but they were well implanted.

He’d spent twenty minutes shouting at one of the passers-by to “help me help you!”, but he’d gotten little reaction. He wasn’t sure where the optical sensors were located on the cactus folk, and it bothered him that he couldn’t even meet them eye-to-eye.

It was a coincidence then that brought him to the largest building in the area, its height in no way lessening the inscrutability of the structure.

His eyes turned upwards, hoping to spot some sign from the gray-brown above, and he noticed a large antenna at the apex of the otherwise flat-topped architecture.

With his mind churning, he stepped towards the sliding entrance at the tower’s base, and was gratified as it opened of its own accord. There was a desk at the center of the room, and, behind it, six further sets of doors. At the long empty surface sat another of the cactus people, this one adorned in a teal jumpsuit.

“Hello,” Monk said to the room’s apparent guardian.

The being sat, impassive.

“Er, I’d like to go to the top floor, please,” he added, slowly sidling around the far corner of the desk.

He was startled when he actually received a response, even if it was simply to have one of the receptionist’s many limbs point at the right most access.

“Thanks,” Joe replied, his stride gaining confidence as he approached the opening.

Before he reached it, the portal slid open.

Another cactus sat in the small box.

Joe stepped inside, recognizing similar devices from many of the situation comedies he’d researched with Macbeth.

“I’d, uh, I’d like to go to the top, if that’s OK?”

The tender of the transport did not respond, but instead punched a button on the panel it faced. Once the doors were shut, Monk felt the pull of gravity in his stomach as he was elevated to the upper levels of the building.

The exit opened directly onto the roof.

Joe was unused to heights, at least unless there was a thick layer of window between him and the drop, and he turned to the helpful cactus before he stepped from the box.

“I’ll, uh – I’m here to help. If you want to wait, I wouldn’t mind.”

There was no response from his companion, so Monk stepped out into the sunlight.

The antenna was of solid construction, and its destruction would have required an incredible effort on Joe’s part if it had not been for the handle. As it was, the human simply pulled a large ripcord, one of the few well marked items he’d encountered on the planet, and, after a brief squeal of protesting metal, it fell safely sideways onto the rooftop.

Turning, he saw the elevator-cactus stumble from its post, two black round portals blinking in the area above its collar. The dark globes brought themselves to a squint, as if unused to the light.

Joe could not translate the hum and squeal of its language, but he knew agitation when he heard it.

Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flash Pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.

Flash Pulp 068 – Koyle's Ferry: A Blackhall Tale, Part 2 of 3

Welcome to Flash Pulp, Episode Sixty-Eight.

Flash PulpTonight, we present Koyle’s Ferry: A Blackhall Tale, Part 2 of 3

(Part 1Part 2Part 3)

[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashPulp068.mp3]

Download MP3
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This week’s episodes are brought to you by the Relic Radio family of podcasts.

Horror, suspense, laughs; Relic Radio has hundreds of hours of quality entertainment, and you don’t even need to construct or align a crystal set.

Find it at RelicRadio.com, or search for it via iTunes.

Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

In the second chapter of our current serialization, we obtain a glimpse of a younger Thomas, even as our hero is carried further off-course by the hands of fate, and John Koyle.

Flash Pulp 068 – Koyle’s Ferry: A Blackhall Tale, Part 2 of 3

Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May

Other than what he carried with him, rituals, promises and habits were all that Thomas Blackhall had to guide him through the primeval forest.

Even as he was pitched through the furious water, a combination of the three were again what saved him.

Years earlier, well before his journey to recover Mairi, or his encounter with the ferryman, he’d stood on a small hillock outside the city of Parma, a dead boar at his feet. As he’d shouldered his spent rifle, he’d thought himself the saviour of a frail woman of no less than eighty, and, given the tusks and speed of the rushing beast, he’d expected a look of thanks, or even fear, upon his approach – instead he’d seen naught but glee.

His understanding of the local form of Latin had been poor, and the woman’s vernacular was rapid fire. She seemed to have questions, but he could only shrug. After a moment she’d raised her shoulders in exchange, then begun to fold back a thick woolen sleeve.

Working free her forearm, she’d plunged it deep into the dead beast’s throat; with a sharp tug, and a moist pop, an ornate woven sack had come spilling from between its jaws.

Despite his earlier considerations, it was Blackhall who stood flummoxed. The woman had wasted no time in rummaging through the sack, a steady stream of indecipherable commentary pouring from her lips as she inventoried with nimble fingers. Turning on Blackhall, she’d pulled free a roughly hewn rawhide necklace from amongst her spoils, a milky stone dangled from its loop.

She’d thrust it at him.

“No worries, I’m glad to have been of assistance,” he’d replied, sure she understood none of it.

Shaking her head at his ignorance, she’d dropped the stone into her mouth, then begun inhaling and exhaling dramatically while miming as if swimming.

The show was enough that he’d accepted the token on her second offering. Having settled accounts, she had turned on the boar, delivering a swift kick to the corpse’s belly, then galloped down the slope at a speed he’d known he could only hope to match with the most agile of horseflesh.

It was the next day, after he’d spent the morning exploring the bed of a nearby stream with the stone lodged firmly in his sealed mouth, that he’d begun to understand the extent of the gift he’d received.

In time he grew used to using the artifact to expedite his fishing, and it had long become habit to grasp for the stone at the point of any submergence.

Still, as he rushed through Ophelia’s rapids, he would have had little chance to reach for his token if it had not been for the water tight container in the breast pocket of his great coat; the container in which the yellowing final letter from his wife rested alongside his sheaf of smoking papers.

Thomas BlackhallIn his half-conscious state, the bobbing package, plucked by the current, felt as if the fingers of Mairi herself, attempting to snatch him from an unwelcome dream. The tug pulled him from the deepest black, although his body had little left to give as he struggled to place the milky stone between his jaws. The rock in place, he swallowed around it, clearing his mouth of water in spite of the belly-full he’d already involuntarily drank.

Panic was the enemy then – he knew enough to save his strength for such a time as he might require it, but, even with his breath recovered, his muscles longed to fight the current; to kick free to the shore. By force of will he waited, patient against the tumbling darkness of the encompassing water.

His perseverance was rewarded.

Without warning he found himself ensnared in a net of fallen dead pines. His position was awkward – he was well below the surface – and yet he was glad to have solidity onto which to grasp. With only a brief pause, he began to pick a careful route amongst the jagged ends, climbing the wavering branches.

As he neared the surface, his hand encountered another surprise: where he had expected a thick protrusion of pine, he came away instead with a pliant human arm. He broke the surface, even as he had hold of the aberration with his free hand, and was taken aback to see there was naught attached to the appendage.

He cast it into the stream.

The flow immediately carried it once again into the waterlogged barricade.

Taking a moment to breath naturally, his gaze moved over the length of the obstruction which had halted his progress. His eyes encountered many patches of coloured cloth caught in the wooden spines.

Turning towards shore, he found himself facing the rotting visage of a woman. Maggots had taken root amongst her cheeks, writhing nubs indicating the progress of their consumption.

It was the low growling beyond, however, which left him longing for the Baker rifle he’d left in the ferryman’s indelicate care.

Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flash Pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.

Flash Pulp 060 – Ruby Departed: Utopia, Part 3 of 6

Welcome to Flash Pulp, Episode Sixty.

Flash PulpTonight, we present Ruby Departed: Utopia, Part 3 of 6

(Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6)

[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashPulp060.mp3]

Download MP3
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This week’s episodes are brought to you by Flash Pulp on iTunes.

Did you know Henry “The Fonz” Winkler was a producer on McGyver?

Anyhow, click here to subscribe to the Flash Pulp iTunes feed.

Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

Tonight, Ruby begins to receive disturbing signals from her current roommates.

Flash Pulp 060 – Ruby Departed: Utopia, Part 3 of 6

Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May

Ruby Departed: Utopia 3-1Ruby Departed: Utopia 3-2Ruby Departed: Utopia 3-3Ruby Departed: Utopia 3-4Ruby Departed: Utopia 3-5Ruby Departed: Utopia Note

Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flash Pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.