Welcome to the box. You are receiving the box puppet transmitted from the Diddy Dungeon Studio, Summer, Washington State. Weirdness. I don't like it. It's weird. But for some reason, horror fans seem to dig it. So, that's where we're at in this first season. We're at the weird part. So today we bring you, contrary to my wishes, which always seem to fall on deaf ears, two weird tales, neither of which I like. They're just creepy. I like my horror to be regular. Like a couple hot babes in the shower together? Well, a dark killer with a machete sneaks up. You know, come to think of it, I hate that shit too. How come when you got two hot chicks showering together, some asshole in a mask has to come up and turn them into hamburger? What kind of a sicko can jack off to that? Buck horror, I told you all I wasn't caught up for this. Whatever. Don't forget to buy Jordan A. Thompson's debut audiobook, Coronation! It's about manfighters and self-creation. Buy it on this platform or any others that aren't owned by Bezos. And subscribe, share it if you like. This first story is about a guy. He's weird. Doing weird shit. Today's triggers include, but are not limited to weirdness, worms, and a bad Tom Waits impersonation. Stick around for the second story.
SPEAKER_02:This one is called The Man and the Black Plague Mask. What's he doing in that window? He's just sitting there in front of his pain glass living room window, staring out. He has this bizarre leather plague doctor mask on. The kind with the weird goggles and bird's beak. And he's just sitting there every evening at twilight. Ever since he moved into our quiet neighborhood. None of us neighbors go to see him. We know two families next to him are scared to death. Their kids don't even go out anymore. And all he does is sit there. I'm right across from him, and I watch him through the curtains. I've called the police before, but it's not illegal to be weird. The cop went over and knocked on the door anyway. I asked him what happened, and he just kept walking. Walking back to his car, looking like his mama just died. What's he waiting for? He just sits there. I've never seen groceries delivered, and he's never been out. Maybe he's waiting for someone. Maybe he's waiting for me. I pull open the curtains for the first time in weeks. Maybe I'll stare back into him. I take my seat, ready to give this clown a taste of his own medicine. Eye contact. Gotta make eye contact. Let him know that he isn't. There's worms.
SPEAKER_01:Worms. Worms are coming up from his lawn and crawling out onto the sidewalk. Seventy five degrees and sunny. That's mass suicide.
SPEAKER_02:Ah, this is not natural. The worms are crawling out of my lawn in the neighbor's lawn.
SPEAKER_01:They're everywhere. Worms. Worms. Worms just pulling up from their safe dirt to die on the summer sidewalk.
SPEAKER_02:I'm going over there. This can't continue. We can't keep going on like this. I have to go to work in the morning. I have to go to church. I can't remember the last time I went to work. Am I on vacation? If I'm on vacation, why haven't I gone to church? I always go to church. I'm an elder. I'm an elder in my church. I don't know. I want to go to work in the morning. And I don't want a bunch of worms blocking my driveway. I'm out the door. The streets are empty, except for the worms drying in the heat of the day. Who's gonna clean up this mess? He's going to. I'm going to put a broom in his hand and watch him as he sweeps up the crispy carcasses he created. I knock, but nobody answers. Coward. Coward! Answer the door. Answer the damn door. I'm going in.
SPEAKER_01:I'm going in because it's my neighborhood. It's his house, but it's my neighborhood. I'm in.
SPEAKER_02:I'm in his house. It's empty. Empty. I crossed through the kitchen to the living room, expecting him. But he's not there. He's gone. The house is empty. Like it's on the market type of empty. Did he run away? The coward ran away. Huh. He knew what was coming. Didn't want to face it. I don't blame him. His stool is still here. I take a seat. I don't see any sign of food or drink or any sign of habitation. This is where he sat, staring right into my window. And there he is in my house. In my living room, staring back at me.
SPEAKER_01:He's in my house. That piece of shit is in my house with my family. My family. Household bed. No, there's never been a family.
SPEAKER_02:No pet. Just me working every day. Going to church. Working at the lab. Going to church. Working at the lab. Going to church. How long has it been since I've been to the lab? How long has it been since I've been to church? He's just staring at me. This can't go on. This has to lead to something. It has to come to a head. There's there's dead worms everywhere. What does he want? I'm out the door into the street. The street I let fireworks on and passed out Halloween candy and celebrated every season like it was my last. But I didn't do that. I just went to work every day in church. Kids didn't trick or treat me. They didn't know me. Not sure they ever said hi to me. Where are all the kids anyway? They used to play out in the street. It's probably all these damn worms scaring them off. I'll fix it. I'll get rid of these worms and run this creep off. Kids can come back. Maybe I'll buy a basketball hoop and play with them a little. I can probably still shoot. Let them know their neighbor. The guy who works in the lab. The guy doing all that research. Important stuff that I can't talk about at the lab and at church. They don't need to know the details. Just that it's important. Maybe one of them was an aunt that's single and wants to be my wife and come to church with me. I cross over into my driveway. What the hell was I doing? I was getting rid of that freak. The freak with the beak. I walk over to my car. Fifty-seven Chevy Bel Air. The envy of the neighborhood. The envy of the neighbors I don't know. Got a gun in my glove box. Smith and Wesson 38 Special. The fear of the neighborhood. The fear of the neighbors I don't know. And I haven't seen in a long time. When was the last time I saw anyone out? And where are all these damn worms coming from? I lean over to unlock the car and rear back suddenly. He's in the car, staring back at me. I pull on the door but it stays locked. He's not in the car. He's a reflection in the window. I reach up and touch my face, feeling around the mask I'm wearing. How long has it been here? Why am I wearing it? And why can't I get to my gun? I step back toward my front door. The door I walked out of not that long ago. How long ago was it? Where is everyone? What did I do? I remember being at the lab and the church. I made this mask at the church is not an ordinary plague mask. That's the secret to all of this. What happened at the lab? Why was I so important? Am I important? Or just a schmuck with no family who works all the time and goes to church? I'm an important schmuck. I have to be. If I weren't, there wouldn't be people in white suits closing in on me from both sides of the street. I used to wear suits like that. What did I do? I was working on research, and they wouldn't tell me why. There was no reason given. Just make it happen. It was my job. It was my duty. But my duty was to my church. It was to God, and God wanted to start over on earth. I'm not going with the men in suits. I'm going to heaven to be with my Lord. I'm going where I belong, and everyone will remember my name as the one who freed them. I step out into the middle of the road. White suits fifty yards away. I unbuckle my mask to breathe in that poison that I release.
SPEAKER_00:Well, I don't know who's left to talk to after that one. But thanks for making it this far. Moving on quickly to the next weird tale. But first, let me remind you that the guy who wrote the last one also wrote a 10-hour audiobook called Coronation. And I now have to try to sell it to you in between that last one and this next strange story that takes us out to the furthest reaches of the Alaskan wilderness where some dipshit went willingly. Today's triggers include drowning, freezing to death, and implied sex with a teenage minor. So if you want a great audiobook, by coronation by Jordan A. Thomas. If you want to be freaked out, stay tuned for Jordan A. Thomas's Tundra Tale.
SPEAKER_02:He calls Tannin. I can feel it. Everything is getting fuzzy as I step into the water of the Tanana outside my little cabin in the middle of the woods outside of Fairbanks, Alaska. It should be cold. Too cold to stand. But I moved in and don't feel a thing. I know my name is still Winston. I remember waking up this morning. I remember opening my eyes and seeing that little dead native girl staring at me through the tiny window, waiting for me the way she had been for over a week. I closed my eyes and pretend she wasn't there. Then I woke up with her kissing me. She was too young to be messing with. But I messed with her anyway because I wanted to. I didn't want anyone to find out. She didn't say much, just I love you. I love you over and over again until she finally drove me crazy. I wasn't crazy before. It was her that made me that way, and she had just said anything else, been any kind of company, any conversation at all, but nothing, just I love you. In this hopeless, dependent voice, the way a leper would cry out to their savior. But she wasn't a leper. And I wasn't her savior. I was I am a predator, a murderer, guilty of a crime too vile to be forgiven. And so I sink myself into this river up to my knees to take my Arctic baptism as pieces of ego begin dropping out of my memory and I become one with the Tanana. One with Alaska, the land that lured me in and is now devouring me. She is an agent of this land. She is the land she preyed upon my weakness and made me into a killer. She her name was always she or her because I never learned any other name. Just I love you. I love you over and over again until wait I've thought that thought already. I'm just repeating myself. Who was Winston before he came here? I don't remember. But he wasn't from Alaska. Winston survived the winter at the top of the world and should be rejoicing with the coming of spring, the thawing and breakup of the river. I'm up to my thighs, and I shouldn't be able to stand the cold. Winston I need to remember my name Winston. Winston picked up the girl off the highway, brought her back to the cabin just before the first snowfall. Winston had his pleasure with her and didn't mind her silence at first, but more snow came, and the temperature dropped, and she never asked to go away, never wanted to leave. Winston tried to drive her away, but Winston was inexperienced with cars in the Arctic and didn't know that the plug-in hanging out of the grill of his truck was to keep the engine oil from freezing. So Winston couldn't drive her away, couldn't ditch her and run. That's all Winston wanted to do, but now he was stuck with her and all she would say was I love you. Winston was still saying he wasn't a murderer yet. Winston had crossed the line of good taste. He had crossed the line of the law, maybe, but he hadn't committed the unforgivable sin. Not until he heard her say I love you with her head looking down and holding her belly, and she looked so happy. She was so happy in that cabin with me. Trapped Trapped Plenty of provisions, heating oil, water, food. Winston wasn't happy though, and he saw her holding her belly while standing nude in front of a little mirror. I love you. And then he crossed the line. And Winston is crossing the line now, lowering his genitals into the freezing spring thaw water of the great river. They will freeze now and never harm anyone again. Who am I thinking about? Who am I thinking about? Who am I thinking about? What was the killer's name? The killer. The killer, the one who killed that little girl. What was his name? What's his name? Sounds snotty. Like a rich boy, he was a rich boy. The killer was a rich boy. The killer was a rich boy who came to Alaska to prove he could, and the killer got an opportunity. Was given an opportunity, and he took it. The killer had the opportunity to stop the madness, but he didn't. The killer could have opened the door. The killer could have opened the door. Winston could have opened the door. Let the girl back in the cabin. The killer could have heard her cries of agony as the frigid cold destroyed her, but somehow he wasn't human anymore. Or ever. I'm not sure. He knew the age of consent in all fifty states. The killer did. What was his name? He thought it was funny. Didn't know the capitals, but knew how young he could go without getting in trouble. The killer. Winnie Winston. He sat on the opposite side of the cabin door on Christmas Eve in his warm cabin. And he listened to that little girl die. That little girl and her baby. Unforgivable. Unforgiving as the Tanana. Unforgiving as Alaska. He sat and listened to her cry for hours after the last I love you fell off her frozen lips. And the killer woke up Christmas morning to bright sunshine. The Tanana covers the killer's heart as he sinks in a little further. A frozen heart is nothing new. The temperature on Christmas Day read negative thirty four degrees on the thermometer. Alaskans like to keep thermometers around to amuse themselves. The killer wasn't human anymore. He waited until after midnight so as not to ruin Christmas, and then he stepped outside to find her, blue and naked, hugging the support beam on the porch, eyes open, her only comfort as she left this world. The killer felt sick. He had crossed the line. If anyone found out, if anyone found out, I don't know if prison would have been worse. And now the killer is up to his neck. He has to be dead already. That's what this is, is death. Nobody can survive water this cold. It was colder when he put her in. He had to break the ice with an axe in the middle of the river to make a hole big enough to fit her. And he pushed her frozen little body into the river that's now consuming him. He wouldn't have to worry until spring, and hopefully she would just wash away, never to be found, devoured by scavengers, returned to the land as if she never existed. But she was the land. She was the Tananaw. She was Alaska, and she is consuming him now. She made it out of the river come spring, resurrected with the rest of nature that lies dormant under the snow blanket, and she stood at his window and waited for him. Waited for her killer to join her in frozen matrimony. For days her and the killer stared at each other through the window of that cabin without saying a word. No more I love you. Just a celestial level of patience. As if it were only a matter of time before their two stars would collide. There is no me anymore. There is only the Tanana. If I'm breathing, it's water I'm inhaling. These last flickers of thought blur as I take in the last vision of the world above the river. It's her. She's on the front porch, watching me sink, paying my tribute to her. What I owe. My debt to Alaska. She's beautiful again, full of health and glow, like she never froze under the ice for four months. Nothing like the water-rotted lips that kissed mine this morning while I was asleep in bed. Don't know how she got in, don't know how she escaped the river, but her lips pressed against mine, and I felt a cold that I could never imagine. A cold that told me that I would never be warm again. A cold as deep as the reaches of space. She stood back and watched as I rose from my sleeping position and began my trek towards my ultimate destiny. No control left, just me obeying the call of the river. Her image flickers in my mind, and she is an old woman, naked and gray, standing on the porch as my eyes fall under the water of my sweet home.
SPEAKER_00:Okay, that's that. Thanks for making it through. We're back to normal in the next episode. And don't it? Check out this sample chapter from Jordan A. Thomas' debut audiobook, Coronation. Try to act normal and don't open the box. Keegan, chapter 18. I know all about cars, but I've never experienced one until now. The heavy equipment we use 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. Polk 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 cigarellos makes me hold my breath for long periods while Polk 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. 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. 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. Polk chatters nonstop for an hour. The calf muscles in my leg begin to cramp up from the nervous contractions I'm making. We can see maybe twenty feet in front of us. Anything appearing in the road becomes instant death, but Polk seems unfazed by it all. He keeps talking and talking. I rode solo for a long time until I met my wife, Trudy Mayflower, the love of my life. We were both trying to collect a bounty on Adam Silverspike. He was a famous first generation ghoulie, older than the Bible. Silverspike 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. 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 rap 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. 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 a gas pedal down without a second thought to the person he just hit. I look up in the rear view mirror and watches 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. Vampires? I asked. 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. What does that have to do with me? I inquire. You are going to fight them, he informs me. 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 on the tires and thudding of bodies hitting the side of the van create an unnatural rhythm. Polk hangs onto the steering wheel as the body veer us 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. You wanna 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 blurred out as a once attractive woman in tattered clothes bears 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. 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. Whatcha 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. 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. 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. Working. Haven't felt like this since I can't remember. Got a task, kill vamps, apply my systematic method of obliteration upon their punk asses. I'm squatting heads off the undead like it's a new dance craze. 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 counterswing. 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, Polk 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. Polk 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 gooey epidemic. Epidemic? No one believed these things existed until a year ago. A couple of online videos surface 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 justifiable 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. Silence. Seems like a full minute. Disappointing, poked 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 gonna 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 kinda help. How did you know where to take me to fight the vampires? Poke takes a long drag off his cigarello 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. He seems to be migrating toward your village.