Welcome to the box. You are receiving the tips from my box podcast, transmitting from the Digi Dungeon Studio somewhere in Washington State.
SPEAKER_01:Moving to a new city can often be difficult. Hell! I bouncing around the radio dial for years before I got this gig. Seems like I hit every shithole town from Eugene, Oregon to fall in our last city, Florida. But I was never dumb enough to call it a shithole in front of the locals. That's just stupid. Those locals can make your life so much easier if you just let them. When you're the FNG, no decent drug dealer is gonna trust you. So you gotta have some local ties help reach those wheels. Being friends with the locals can get you invites to the parties and keep you from being tossed out of strip clubs when your hands travel out of bounds. This story is about an FNG who seeks help from a local after picking up a friendly paranormal entity.
SPEAKER_02:Today's triggers include bad manners, childhood hunger, paranormal babysitting, and another shameless plug for Jordan A.
SPEAKER_01:Thomas's debut audiobook, Coronation! Win in Rome! Do as the Romans do. Your new home is fresh, but only to you. If fitting in and making friends is something you can't conceive, do the community a service.
SPEAKER_02:Pack up your ass and leave. Just another Tuesday night in the Pacific Northwest. It was a night after Valentine's Day. So the diner I cooked at was dead. Only one cat in the place, seated in a booth, nursing a cup of coffee. I'm sure he would have been won off an hour ago if he hadn't been so clean and polished looking. His perfect tan either came from a salon or he imported it from somewhere other than here. I watched him for a bit from the window that separates the kitchen from the front of the house. He looked concerned, like a deep concern. I assumed he was going through a breakup or something. Probably a post-Valentine's Day thing. Anyway, I wasn't about to hang out all night for one sad sack. He took the news relatively well. When I told him we were closing up, he just stared up from his coffee to the rain-beaded window inside. I hate this fucking city. Hey, Deweych his own. I guess. He got up and left and closed up the shop quick. The city was dead. People weren't out that night, unless they had to be. And I was fixing to get home to some comfort myself. I locked the doors and armed the system. Turned to go to my car, and I see this dude running, not walking, running toward me. I'm like, dude's a crackhead, yo. And I try to shuffle away and not look at him, but he cries out, please help me. And those are the magic words, right? Like it's hard to ignore, though I want to, because like everyone knows those words means your life is about to get a hell of a lot more complicated than it was like two seconds ago. So I turn, and this wafy looking cat dressed way too stylish for this city, like trendy nice. He's dressed to be noticed and evaluated. This dude pulls up in front of me and starts babbling like I can't process it. I'm used to information coming fast, but he's like, I just moved to this godforsaken place and I'm not crazy.
SPEAKER_03:I swear I'm not crazy, but this little boy appeared in the mirror of my bathroom while I was moisturizing, and he looks so emaciated. Did you know what that word? Emmaciated? Like he hasn't eaten and he's dressed like he's from the 1930s. Like like one of those newsy kids.
SPEAKER_02:So I'll admit to being a little taken aback, he won't leave me alone. Have you called the police? What do you think they would say? So I'm like, I gotta catch a bus, yo. Now I own a car in the parking lot next to the restaurant, but I really don't need this freak go from wherever he comes from, knowing about my license plate and shit. So I'm gonna try and bluff. It don't work. Homeboy followed all the damn way to the bus stop, bitching about his job and how he had to move up here to get it. Dude said he hadn't been to sleep in like days, and he walked around his job expecting a newsy-looking boy to appear at any minute. I got to the bus that led to I don't know where, and I told him straight, Look, bro, I'm sorry you're having a hard time adjusting to your new surroundings, but likely this shit is in your damn head, and if it's not, I don't want any part of it. And I got on that damn bus to really sell the point. I didn't have a bus pass or any cash. I didn't have shit. And I tried to stall for time, hoping the freaky would wander off, but he didn't. And the bus driver was giving me the side eye. I tried to appeal to him for a second before I glanced up at the seat behind him, and my heart went cold. A dirty, little noosies looking kid in all ass clothes, looking hungry as a motherfucker, was staring me down. The rest of the world went silent as he spoke.
SPEAKER_03:My tummy hurts.
SPEAKER_02:Yo, I eased out the bus and back onto the street. The noosey-looking kid climbed over to the opposite seat and stared at me through the window as the door closed and the bus pulled away. I stood and I tracked that bus until it disappeared from sight, absolutely stunned at what you saw it, didn't you? I jerked awake and I saw the tan transplant right up in my grill, staring at me like he was bluffing at poker. You saw it. I didn't know what to say, except go away. I started walking away until something hit me. I turned and I started back toward him. You passed that off on me. I never seen that until you came around and now I saw it. You pinned it on me, like those movies. You take that evil back with you from wherever you from. I stood right up to him and tagged him on his arm. Tag, you're it. Hey, newsy-looking hunger kid. Direct your attention back to the original host. You can't do that. You ain't never said shit about no tag backs. Now take your evil and leave this place.
SPEAKER_03:Oh, like this place is so great. It rains non-stop. It's cold and dark, and nobody talks to anybody.
SPEAKER_02:You're like my best friend already, and you're all so proud of the crap you got here, but it's so shitty compared to where I'm from. Well, take your shiny lacquered ass back to where you're from and keep that little starving kid as a souvenir. I'm out. I turned away from him and ran right into the starving newsy kid standing right behind me. I dropped back, not knowing what to say or do. Looking over at the transplant, he looked just as freaked out. My tummy hurts. Get some Pepto, kid! I yelled as I broke away. I wasn't having any more of this. I hauled ass back to my car, jumped in, and fired the old fourth focus up. It was cold and clammy inside, which is usual, but something felt off. The smell wasn't right. I drove the car to work that afternoon, but it smelled like it had been sitting for years. The windows fogged up instantly after I turned the defrosters on. I cursed as I tried to clean the windshield with my hand. My tummy hurts. I reared back, spotted the newsy kid in the passenger seat, staring at me, and fell out the driver's side onto the wet ass fold of the parking lot. I looked over to where the transplant was standing, alone. Our eyes met and that motherfucker dipped. Oh hell no! I got back to my feet as fast as I could and yelled out, hey! Dude vacated! I rushed back into my car and shredded out after him. Didn't even care about the creepy kid next to me. Whipping out into traffic, not giving a damn about the right-of-way. That whiny$200 moisturizer Coachella motherfucker wasn't about to roll into my town, drop his burden on me. I cut down the nearest alley, guessing he'd take the quickest route out of sight. Guessed right. Spotted the fleeing transplant running down the alley as fast as his loafers would let him. I hit my high beans to let him know I had him and put the pedal down. One brief look down at the specter beside me. He was staring at me. My tummy hurts. Shut up, kid. Dude slowed down as I got up on him. I rolled down my window and yelled, Why you ditch me with the kid? You ditched me first, remember? He ain't my kid! He's not my kid either. Get your ass in the car! A minute later, we're rolling through a block thick with homeless camps and graffiti with the transplant in the back and the creepy newsy kid riding shotgun. I look up into the rear view to see the disgusted look on Transplant's face. I look down at Newzy. You from here? You homeless? Any of this shit look familiar to you?
SPEAKER_03:Disgusting.
SPEAKER_02:Yo, there's homeless and graffiti in every major city in America. Not mine. What, you born in Disney World? Where exactly are you from? My tummy hurts. Shut up. You said he appeared in your apartment. Where's that at? I don't want to take him back there. He might be a neighbor kid. I look up and catch transplant's skeptical look in the rear view. Look, he first appeared there, that's where we need to be. 5150 Dover Street. My apartment is on the top floor. Of course it is. It was a short jump to his apartment. A pristine downtown high-rise that I couldn't afford to look at. While I parked on the street in front of the building, Transplant handed me a card and told me to go to the parking garage. I'm not walking through the lobby with you two. You embarrassed by your son? I joked. No, just you in that dirty chef's coat. I looked down at myself and I saw he had a point. We hit the parking garage where my little red Ford Focus stood out amongst the BMWs, Mercedes, and the Lexus. I parked and Transplant and I got out. We waited a moment before looking back in for the newsie. He was gone. The passenger seat was just empty. Well, I guess that settles that and I will be on my way. Transplant grabbed my shoulder, which I did not appreciate one bit. If you leave me and he returns to you, he's yours. Don't come back here. I removed his hand for him. He's home, bro. You live with him. Yo, maybe somebody killed someone in this building a long time ago.
SPEAKER_03:It's a brand new building. I'm the first to live in my penthouse. Well what was here before? I don't know. A shittier building, probably.
SPEAKER_02:Then the elevator doorbell rang, pulling our attention across the parking garage to the two stainless steel elevator doors, each with a digital arrow. One pointing up, one pointing down. Neither door opened, and the elevator bell rang again. Could be anybody. I started toward the elevators. It's not. I should have left. Seriously. Curiosity got the better of me in that moment.
SPEAKER_03:I knew I should have stayed home. They say it was beautiful here. They said fresh air, clean water, active nightlife.$10,000 a month, and I get a place with a paranormal entity.
SPEAKER_02:Like the elevator door was stuck.
SPEAKER_03:I can't bring Momsy out for a visit with this thing hanging around. Hey, whatever your name is, I'll give you$10,000 if you get rid of whatever that thing is.
SPEAKER_02:Dude, do I look like a Ghostbuster to you? Homeboy was wearing on my last nerve, but I figured I could leave at any time, and I really wanted to see what has happened with the elevator door. We stood in front of the up elevator. The one that was stuck. The rain was getting to be as great as a transplant's babbling. I pressed the up button and the door slid open, revealing the creepy-looking newsie kid standing exactly in the middle of the elevator with a vacant expression. My tummy hurts. Just then the down elevator opened, and we felt a slight vacuum pull. The transplant stepped in front of the down elevator and peered inside. There's nothing. It's just a void.
SPEAKER_03:My tummy hurts.
SPEAKER_02:I stepped behind the transplant and looked into the down elevator. It was a void of nothingness. There didn't appear to be a drop of any sort. We were at the bottom of the shaft, and there was no cable or elevator box or nothing. I sounded off. Yo, maybe if you feed the kid something, there's a dick's not too far. Cheeseburger or something. He scoffed at the idea. Maybe if you had an in and out or a white castle it'd be worth it. But all they have here is the shitty ass dicks. I kicked him into the down elevator before he could finish. I don't know why. I heard him scream as the elevator door shut. I looked back over to the up elevator, and the newsy kid was suddenly flush with color and smiling with a healthy glow. He let out a small burp. This wonderful sense of peace came over me as I walked back to my shitty poor focus that was leaking oil on this beautiful new building's parking garage. There was a vacancy on the top floor of this building, and I knew there was a waiting list full of transplants dying to fill it.
SPEAKER_01:So you see how the life as the FNG can go so terribly bad if you let it.
SPEAKER_02:For instance, if your buddy snuck into a cult compound during an orgy, don't say my buddy did it. Say you did it. And then make up some salacious details to make it even more interesting for your new neighbors. Number two, pretend to be interested.
SPEAKER_01:This can be difficult when your new neighbor comes over carrying a stack of Watchtower magazines.
SPEAKER_02:But hey, every interaction is an opportunity.
SPEAKER_01:When your cultist neighbor tells you the end is near, just go along and say, yes, it is. And Journey Thomas's pre-apocalyptic vampire classic Coronation explains exactly how it will look.
SPEAKER_02:Then your neighbor gives you a copy of Watchtower for free. You tell him that Coronation is available on any platform that carries audiobooks and he doesn't even have to kill trees to get it. Number three. Say something nice about your new home. When you're at your new neighbor's garage saleslash lingerie party, be sure to mention how the hum of the power lines above your house help you sleep at night. They'll appreciate you noticing the unique benefits their town has to offer. That's our show!
SPEAKER_01:Buy Jordan Thomas' audiobook and tell your friends at Fat Camp to send their new photos to Marjorie Taylor Green. They'll know what I'm talking about. Until next time, don't open the box.
SPEAKER_02: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 the 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. Poke 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 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. I hope I'm wrong about his meaning. A flash of a human form at 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 rearview 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 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. What does that have to do with me? I inquire. You are going to fight them, he informs me. A mob of Mongol 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 studding 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 blets 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 wanna 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 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, 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. Help your fellow humans survive this gooe 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 helped. 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. They seem to be migrating toward your village.