Welcome to the box. You are receiving the Tales from my Box podcast Transmitting from the Digi Dungeon Studio somewhere in Washington State. Life is a terminal illness that we all have. Episode 5 follows the last drive of a man whose clock is about to strike, and he ain't all too happy about it when it comes to facing death. Our hero has added a sixth stage to the grieving process. See if you can pick it out. What would you call it? Leave your ideas in the comments section. This heartwarming episode is made possible by Jordan A Thomas' debut audiobook Coronation by Jordan A Thomas' debut audiobook coronation. It's the story of a teenage couple who've grown up in a concentration camp run by vampires. Check out the links on the Tales From my Box webpage to get your copy.
Speaker 2:Grab your Grandma Season 1 t-shirt while you're at it and remember to do all that adding, sharing, liking, subscribing, fingering and moaning shit you're always asked to do in the name of free entertainment. Today's triggers include, but are not limited to, death. Lost faith and jim morrison references. Lost Faith and Jim Morrison references. Kick the Bucket is a popular game. Everyone does it, but never the same Time on this earth is what everyone hunts. You're sure to play the game, but you only play it once, from Anchorage to Everett, and Portland too. Take your eyes off the road and you're surely screwed.
Speaker 1:A shadow in the mirror, you can only guess who.
Speaker 2:It's a creeper, it's a sneaker.
Speaker 1:It's dark, this country road is lonely enough to have a tender profile. The thunder tide above me rolls, endless rain distorts visibility and I drive ten below the speed limit like the responsible citizen I've always been. Oxycodone helps me be a responsible citizen. I'm still scared of making a mistake that cuts what's left of my life short, a mistake that'll leave me just another stiff that came dehanded and left the same, forgotten. Everyone is forgotten eventually. Either that or they became a gross distortion of who they were in the minds of the future generations kind enough to remember them. I have no illusions. Nothing I can do in the next twelve hours will engrave my name in history. Nobody remembered the main after all. High beams on, but it doesn't help much. I want to speed through the stretch of highway to civilization, but the fear of a deer or an elk jumping out to me is real. My little Chevy Spark Econocar isn't made to take full speed impact with a deer. This car doesn't belong out here. Neither do I. This city boy came out this way for all the wrong reasons and the country knows it. The country can feel my presence. The country knows I'm an intruder.
Speaker 1:Passing through the blind curves are the worst. Can't see what's coming around the bend. Any drunk hillbilly crosses a line at just the right moment, and I'm a dead man. I'm scanning the roadside for deer eyes, waiting for one of the suicidal little shits to make his move. There's a figure ahead, too washed in high beam light to make out, but it's there, slowing my approach. I turn down the radio so I can see what was it the Lizard King said. If I give this dude a ride, something, something my family will die, no family left to worry about. So what the hell?
Speaker 1:I'm down the 15 miles per hour as I approach, dim the headlights out of courtesy Headlights, spot the figure. Who becomes clearer through the foggy windshield. A scraggly hermit, rasputin looking motherfucker, stands off the edge of the road holding his thumb out while swaying in place with eyes closed. He has a dirty long beard and matching hair. His clothes look like burlap sacks roughly sewn together with twine. I could take him in a fight. At least he's on better shit than I'm on. Part of me wants to pick him up. See what happens. I slow to five miles per hour as I pass. His eyes snap open, empty. His eye sockets are empty, but he's still staring into me as he continues this way. I hit the gas.
Speaker 1:Tiny four-cylinder piece of shit can't get me out of here fast enough. I look up in the rearview mirror to watch him disappear back into the darkness where he belongs, eyes bored for a split second before I slam on the brakes. Did I say all this out loud? Am I still recording? The car skids to a stop, the smell of burnt brakes and friction roast tires mix to fill my nose with a nauseating aroma. The raggedy man stands in front of my bumper, still swaying Eyes closed. He lowers his head and extends his fist out slowly, but the sharp lick of his thumb comes up into hitchhiker position, killer in the road. What if I hit him and flee the scene? I hit the gas and a ragged man disappears over the top of the car in a fluttering mass of dilapidated rags, but no impact on the vehicle. I look up to the rearview mirror and he's standing back in place facing me with his thumb extended, hollow eyes wondering why I don't want him.
Speaker 1:This ain't no regular dirty hermit, raspy looking motherfucker. This could be the angel of death. Has to be the angel of death. Why doesn't he just take me if he wants me? I couldn't stop him. I drive along at 20 miles per hour. There's no escaping the angel of death. Don't you think I deserve an explanation? How is this part of the plan? How is ripping my life away, the one thing I spent 48 years building, part of your plan? I was baptized and I was steady at the church week in and week out, 52 times a year for 48 years, but I'm the one who has to go.
Speaker 2:I'm the one who doesn't get to see his life fulfilled.
Speaker 1:I don't get to peak no big accomplishment, no moment of glory, nobody to miss or remember me when I'm gone, dying Nameless, nameless. Another speck in the hourglass, another look at the Reaper in the review. He's fading back and back and back. But as soon as I shift my focus he'll be there. Unavoidable is destiny. Side of the road, thumb out. I assume the car is driving itself. As I ponder, I look back at the Armalet 15 I have in the backseat of my little pussy city boy conic car. There's a bump stock, five 100-round clips and 1500 rounds of ammunition. My last message to God you eat me out, I'll take you from your garden. Focus shifts and there he is, thumb out. I press on the brakes.
Speaker 1:Maybe I'm already dead and in some unavoidable loop that keeps going and going and going and not until I pick this bitch Sort of. I'm at a complete stop on some unknown highway with the angel of death. Why doesn't he take me? He is the unavoidable. He is the unavoidable, he is the ultimate destiny. He is all I have to look forward to in this world. But he doesn't take me Thumb out, he just stands there with his thumb out. The angel of death is here and he's supposed to take me. He's supposed to take me before I can deliver my message to God. He's here to take me, thanks. Yet there he stands, thumb out. Yet there he stands, thumb out. Thumb out means he wants a ride. Thumb out means I'm the one doing the driving. Thumb out means he ain't here to stop nothing. The mount means he's down to ride. I reach over and I pull the latch on the passenger side door more. Thank you Okay.
Speaker 2:I shouldn't have to say don't go on a shooting spree, but apparently I do because of the way that story ended. Please, from all of us at Tales From my Box, do not go on a shooting spree. Lock up your guns. If you even think about going on a shooting spree, please seek help. It is available to you. You can call 911. You can go to any emergency room and tell them you're feeling homicidal and need help, and you can call the National Suicide Prevention and Crisis Lifeline. The number is simple. It's 988-whatever-you're-going-through. Help is available. Reach out before you act out.
Speaker 1:Until next time, don't open the box.
Speaker 2:Keegan, Chapter 18. I know all about cars, but I've never experienced one until now. The heavy equipment we used for the temple loaders, backhoes and a couple of flatbed pickup trucks gave me plenty of experience behind the wheel. Never at this speed, though. We're shooting down the desert road with the speedometer pinned at 120 miles per hour. It's an insane speed and I'm not in control of it. Dashlights cast weird shadows over the face of the most gauntly looking human I've ever encountered. Poke has the wheel and my life in his hands. It's horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. A wire spring in the back of my seat has popped out of place and I can't seem to shift into a position where it isn't sticking me in the back. A smell of old cigarillos makes me hold my breath for long periods while poke drones on and on about his life story and the vampire hunting business. What I've learned so far If you sever a vampire's head clean off the neck, the head will remain preserved and you can turn it in at a clearinghouse and collect a bounty. However, if the head does not come off clean, everything will turn to ash and you put your life in danger for nothing.
Speaker 2:I met an Australian fella named Michael Kelly. He was doing trick boomerang shows with a carnival I fell in with. After my whore of a mother kicked me out of the house, we got to talking about the occult and since my whore of a mother was all into that shit, since the time I can remember I kept up in conversation with him. He must have liked me some because he took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about boomerangs. Once I started hunting vampires I made sassy. Here he taps his jade boomerang with his bony finger. He has the damn thing mounted on his dashboard as if we might have to battle a vampire while going 120 miles per hour Kind of a tribute to the master. Poke chatters non-stop for an hour. The calf muscles in my leg begin to cramp up from the nervous contractions I'm making. We can see maybe 20 feet in front of us. Anything appearing in the road becomes instant death. But Poke seems unfazed by it all. He keeps talking and talking.
Speaker 2:I rode solo for a long time until I met my wife, Judy Mayflower, the love of my life. We were both trying to collect the bounty on Adam Silver Spike. He was a famous first generation ghoulie older than the Bible. Silver Spike was about to split my dome with some ancient battle axe when Trudy came up behind him and rolled his head, Saved my life. We never left each other's side until the day she died. He's making me think of Lexi right now. We spent all our lives together and when it came down to it, she'd rather stay in our little village and die than run off with me. I'll get over her. Plenty of girls my age in the city of Provo. That's where Polk says we're going to turn in the bounty on the Sentinel's head. My love is vengeance. Now Went off and got hooked up with some junkies in Seattle, Got myself a blood disease that'll ash up even the most purebred creature of the night.
Speaker 2:Polk adopted vampire hunting as his life's calling. One day, on the set of Battle in the Bush, a B-grade movie about Australian cowboys, the film crew turned into a bunch of hungry vampires and began snacking on all the pretty actors. During the film's wrap party, Polk made it out with five heads and a new career, or so he says. Where are we going? I ask. Polk shuts up. He stops gabbing on a dime. I wish I had asked an hour ago. My appreciation for his silence lasts a couple of minutes before it gets creepy. I look over at him and he smiles at me. We're gonna see that pretty face of yours in action, he tells me. I hope I'm wrong about his meaning.
Speaker 2:A flash of a human form out the corner of my eye and in a split second he's clipped off the passenger side corner of the van. Poke keeps the gas pedal down without a second thought to the person he just hit. I look up in the rearview mirror and watch as the guy laying in the road gets to his feet and starts walking down the road as if nothing happened. He's dead already, kid, Don't give him a second thought. There are plenty of them waiting for you. As the words leave his lips, another figure appears off the side of the road and pokes headlights. We shoot past him, Even at high speed. I'm able to see the dead. Look on his face.
Speaker 2:Vampires, I ask Mongrel? Vampire breeding has, to this point in history, been selective. Humans with a very particular genetic coding were considered candidates. You just saw what happens when a human without the vampire gene gets turned. Someone I know is building an army of them. "'someone I know is building an army of them' "'What does that have to do with me', I inquire. "'you are going to fight them', he informs me.
Speaker 2:A mob of mongrel vampires appears in the roadway, at the edge of Polk's headlights. He lets his foot off the gas, but it's too late to keep us from slamming into the crowd. The cracking of bones under tires and thudding of bodies hitting the side of the van create an unnatural rhythm. Polk hangs onto the steering wheel as the body veers from one side of the road to the other. He lets out a howl of laughter as a vampire dressed in a three-piece suit disappears under his tire.
Speaker 2:You want to know how my old man taught me how to swim? No, I say Cocksucker took me out to the lake and walked me to the end of the dock. He looks down at me and tells me to kick if I want to live. The van skids to a stop and the writhing vampires engulf us, well aware of our presence. What does that mean? I blurt out, as a once attractive woman in tattered clothes bares her fangs at me through the window. I know I mean who says that to a kid. Long story short, he tossed my ass in and I swear I ain't shitting you here.
Speaker 2:I went out of body Like I could see myself drowning in the nasty water with the algae and the fish shit, but I could hear my old man's voice yelling at me through the water Kick, Kick, Kick. I'm listening, but I'm fixed on a long-haired Asian vampire smashing his fist into the windows far too many times to leave his hand intact. What you getting at, sir? I don't want to know the answer. He reaches over and grabs Sassy off the dashboard with a wild gleam in his eyes and a giddy chuckle in his speech. Kick or die, buckwheat.
Speaker 2:I see him hit the electric window controls on the driver's side console. Stop, Don't, Are you crazy? The window retracts and I'm stabbing vampires before it's halfway down. Why are you doing this? I yell. I'm terrified. For the first time in my life, survival is in question. Shut up and kick. He claps back, no choice. Right foot back to my chest. As I pivot in my seat and kick the door with everything I've got, the door flies open.
Speaker 2:I'm out of the van and striking faster than a bad memory. Nothing else matters at this moment In my zone. Practicing my religion matters at this moment In my zone, Practicing my religion, Working. Haven't felt like this since I can't remember. Gotta task, Kill vamps. Apply my systematic method of obliteration upon their punk asses. I'm swatting heads off the undead like it's a new dance craze.
Speaker 2:I glance back at Poke on the opposite side of the van. He's got his boomerang in his hand and he's fighting off the monsters as if born to do so. I'm not scared. This feels like home. I spear a skinny vamp with an afro through the heart as he dives off the top of the van and toss him into a crowd of bloodsuckers surrounding me, before slashing the necks of two vamps behind me on the counter swing. A quick pivot sees my blade across the top of a charging vamp's forehead. The top of his head comes off, but the damn thing still stands Over at the van. Poke hangs back in the driver's seat smoking his cigarillo, watching me fight. Okay, kid, quit showing off and get in the van. As he pulls away, I skip out of the diving grab of a vamp in a biker jacket and slash my way past a hissing soccer mom Diving into the passenger seat in full stride before chest kicking the old man who dove in after me.
Speaker 2:Poke hits the gas and mows down a line of bloodsuckers. He looks over at me with the most serious expression. You know. You have a moral obligation to use your fighting skills to help your fellow humans survive this ghouly epidemic Epidemic. No one believed these things existed until a year ago. A couple of online videos surfaced here and there. Unexplained murders in the thousands sweep the nation and it has become quite apparent to the people of the world. My life's work was always just viable and important. I do believe myself a chosen one of sorts and I would like to extend the invitation to you to join me. He nudges the steering wheel to clip a vamp with the corner of the van. I don't owe anybody anything. I reply.
Speaker 2:Silence Seems like a full minute Disappointing. Poke deadpans. You can make a buttload of money. He gestures to the head of the village sentinel, perched on the console between us. This guy is rare. He'll fetch a couple grand easy. I'm going to take you to Provo. You'll see how bad it is. If you want to collect this bounty with me, I'll be happy to give you a cut. You kind of helped. How did you know where to take me to fight the vampires? Poke takes a long drag off his cigarillo and thinks well before he speaks. The thought process shows in his face. He's weighing all the angles to decide whether it's a good idea to tell me or not. They seem to be migrating toward your village.