Scratch's Urban Legends
From the mind of KD Webster.
He's been around for many years. He's gone by many names. The last go 'round was Star of the Morning. But nowadays he just wants to be known as dear ole Scratch. Scratch is here, and he wants to make a deal. That is, as long as you sign on the dotted line. Ah...but what if you fail to honor your end of the contract? And what happens when you don't read the fine print? Scratch's Urban Legends, a horror anthology series.
Beware the man in the purple suit, because this is most definitely not the devil you know.
Scratch's Urban Legends
S1:E4 Aunt Mabel
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Be careful if you remain in the woods after sundown. You might get touched by Aunt Mabel. For episode questions and comments, email KD & Pandora at KD@kdwebster.com
Hi, I'm Pandora. I know. It's been a while. I promise I'm not playing hard to get. I missed you. Did you miss me? It's okay if you did. No one has to know. I won't tell if you won't. Tell you what. Why don't you email me? We'll get caught up. KD at kdwebster.com. I'll be getting my own form of contact soon. Then we will really have a bit of privacy. But for now, welcome back to Scratch's Urban Legends. Scratch, trust me, this is not the devil you know. Chapter Four Aunt Mabel. But sad is the tale of Miss Mabel Foster. No tears will save her, no deal she can barter. Cover your face and sing your sorrow. She made up excuses to cover the fact. She went back on her deal with dear old Scratch. So wherever you are, whatever you do, pray it's not Aunt Mabel talking to you.
SPEAKER_06When I was but a young boy on the Yee High, there was talk about an urban legend. One told in bits and fragments, but the gist was this. You might get touched by Aunt Mabel. There was even a nursery rhyme to go with it, and there were different variations. One version had her in an unknown portion of Black Forest, another in a hidden part of Rifle Mountain. But most would place her near or around Denver. Of course, this was decades upon decades ago. Before Martha and I had the boys and Jackson and George each blessed us with grandkids to enjoy on most weekends. No, at that time my young mind thought the whole thing was such a ridiculous notion. Seriously, this long lived hag of a woman that only certain people can see, and those happen to be individuals who happen to be out in the woods after dark? It didn't make sense. So just before I turned thirteen, I decided to ask Gramps if indeed the stories were true. After all, he was Gramps, and every grandpa knew everything about everything. Plus, I remembered from my pop that Gramps grew up near a bunch of woods. So of course, that was all I could think about. That and the Aunt Mabel urban legend. We were spending the weekend over grandpa's. Grandma had passed away the year previous, and Pop felt the occasional visit would help ease the loneliness. Mom couldn't make it on account of some things needed tending, so it was a weekend of just us men folk. I always enjoyed our visits, because it gave me a chance to spend time and play with the neighbors two houses over, Billy and his sister Jamie. Both were about my age, give or take. I think Jamie may have been a year or so older. I always enjoyed playing with Billy, but it was a treat seeing Jamie. I was in that girls are cute in an ugly and annoying sort of way, phase. What did I know about hormones? It was a hot Saturday. I'd spent most of the day playing with Billy and Jamie and two other kids whose names I don't rightly remember now. I came back home dirty with dusty kneecaps and sweaty with bits of leaves and twigs stuck in my hair and on my clothes. Pop made me get straight to the tub and wash myself clean. As I scrubbed up, I decided this would be the very hour I would ask Gramps about Aunt Mabel. That evening I'd found Gramps on the porch. It was that period late in the day where the sky takes on a dark orange tone as it recedes beyond the mountain range. The golden hour, my pop used to call it. Gramps had one of those houses where the front porch had a banister and mesh screening all around. Perfect for looking out. Perfect for keeping out, too. Insects and strangers. A swinging bench seat, rocking chair, and two stationary seats in front of what would pass for an oak coffee table by today's standards. The house sat back a ways from the road, which very seldom had a car drive pass. There was more foot traffic than vehicular movement. Yet a gravel walk dividing a perfectly manicured lawn. Sharp pointed pine slats fenced us from the open road and the neighbors on either side. Across the street lined a thick grove of trees. They stretched north and south as far as my wide blue eyes could see. In the setting sun, they looked like old but strong soldiers, keeping guard over what lies beyond. As usual, Gramps sat in his rocking chair, puffing on that cherry wood pipe of his and sipping from a cold glass of sweet tea. I always saw Gramps as a gruff but warm man, a lean, masculine figure with short gray hair, dark, black, bushy eyebrows, and a thick mustache that nearbout covered his top lip. He had a deep, rugged, monotone voice that sounded like it belonged as a voiceover for truck commercials that targeted blue collar workers. When I asked him to tell me what he knew about the tale, he gave me a sideways look. The smile he had worn just seconds prior slowly faded. He averted his eyes from me and into the tree line across the road, as if halfway expecting something to emerge from the ever-growing sun setting shadows. I tried to follow his line of sight, trying to see what he saw, but my eyes found nothing. Only trees and shadows. He took another pull of his pipe, closed his eyes as a ring of sweet hickory smoke puffed from his lips, slowly expanding until it collapsed into wispy tendrils. He kept his eyes closed a few seconds longer. Then they opened, and he reached for his glass of tea. This is how I remember the story, as Gramps told me.
SPEAKER_04Okay, so legend has it that Mabel Foster was walking through the woods in the winter of 46. It was cold that year, but no snow had fallen yet. Colorado is funny that way, you know. Mabel Foster had no husband, no kids, just a sister who had two boys of her own. The oldest was Jason, age 12, and the youngest was Jonathan, age 10. Father passed away when Jonathan was barely nine. Jonathan was a frail of a kid, but resilient in the way kids had to be in those days. After surviving a bad case of the flu, he would go for walks daily, good weather or bad. Ate his fruits and veggies every meal. He said he would never let himself get weak again.
SPEAKER_00And he loved his Aunt Mabel.
SPEAKER_04It was said Miss Foster had some type of deformity. Stories differ as to what kind. Some said she had blisters and boils on her neck that never went away. Others stated she had a hump on her back, like that poor man from Notre Dame. Some said she was inflicted with a skin condition that rashed in broad daylight. Some said this, some said that. But no one could say for a certainty. But they all agreed she wore a charcoal gray cloak with a long hood. She was also a short lady. Barely five feet, if even that.
SPEAKER_00Well, it's up to you to believe.
SPEAKER_04Mabel Foster was walking through the edge of Arapahoe National Forest, just outside Denver, on the Peak's wilderness side bordering Boulder. Now keep in mind this was the forties. Things looked a lot different back then. Things were a lot different back then. On that day, and at that time, it was near dusk, just before sunset. Kinda sorta the way it is now. It was cold, but a silent type of cold. The wind blew, but barely. Just enough for you to know it was there. There was the motion of small rodents moving around, birds going about their business. The ones that hadn't planned on migrating south, that is, pretty much nothing more than that. Now Mabel was always in the woods, sometimes spending whole entire days and evenings, at times camping consecutive nights in the forest. She once told her sister that nature wasn't judgmental, didn't care how she looked, that the woods was where she belonged. As she walked, she happened across a man leaning against a tree, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune. Mabel didn't know the name of the tune, but she had heard it before, though not in the woods. This was a tall and slender man, dark hair with a pencil thin mustache. What he was wearing struck Mabel as so out of place, a royal purple zoot suit with a purple fedora. She didn't know the attire was called a zoot suit. She didn't know the hat was a fedora. There were a lot of things Mabel Foster did not know. The tune the man whistled was so clear, as if from a flute straight from that Pied Piper story. One retelling claims she heard the whistling before she even saw the dapper dressed man.
SPEAKER_02Uh, Mister, you lost Why, yes, ma'am.
SPEAKER_06I do believe I am. I came all the way from Denver, you see. Course it's not all the way by way of one of them automobiles, mind you. But by foot? Well, these here fancy shoes are made for dancing, not walking.
SPEAKER_04He performed a little jig, as if he were listening to a big band jam, only he could hear. But to Mabel, it felt like she could hear it too. Anyway, I'd be much obliged if you could point me in the right direction out of here. A blast of cold air blew through Mabel's cloak. She shifted a bit, assuming it was just the wintry wind.
SPEAKER_02I can point you, but you be doing a lot of walking.
SPEAKER_05Oh, no worries. I do believe I'll manage. Why, I once spent forty days and forty nights in a wilderness, trying to get a man to Well, that's neither here nor there at this particular juncture.
SPEAKER_02Well, the direction you're facing is north. Turn to your right. That'll put you going east. Keep walking east apiece, about for twenty minutes. Gonna come to a creek. Go cross the creek. Go for five more minutes and turn left by the yellow tree. After that, keep walking straight until you see signs for Boulder and Denver. The straight walking will be for miles and miles, though, and keep an eye out for stray cats and bears and such. Hope you got some type of weapon to defend yourself with. You look like an easy prey for both man and beast.
SPEAKER_06Now don't you worry about that, nun. I always have a trick or two up my sleeve. He bowed low and dramatically.
SPEAKER_04I thank you kindly, ma'am. It was then that curiosity got the better of Ms. Foster.
SPEAKER_02How'd you get this far in, mister? Walking and dressed all soft like that.
SPEAKER_04The fancy dressed man turned to her with a grin that looked like the cat that ate the canary. Oh, I came to meet a woman out here.
SPEAKER_05Offer her a deal.
SPEAKER_02What kind of deal?
SPEAKER_05Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.
SPEAKER_02Try me, mister.
SPEAKER_04The man circled Mabel, staring her up and down, one hand in his pants pocket, the other hand lightly touching his chin.
SPEAKER_06What if I told you I could look at you and know your deepest desire and then make it come true?
SPEAKER_02I'd say that's a bunch of bullshit.
SPEAKER_05Hey, hey, no need for French talk.
SPEAKER_02Excuse in my French, mister. Uh, you never told me your name.
SPEAKER_05Why don't you just call me Scratch?
SPEAKER_02Uh, Mr Scratch. My name's Mabel. Mabel Foster.
SPEAKER_05Scratch. Just dear old Scratch. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.
SPEAKER_06Well, Mabel Foster, in the short time we've been conversing, I've already taken your measure. You desire to be known and not be shunned. To be talked to and not be talked about. To touch and be touched. I take it by your silence that I'm right on the money.
SPEAKER_02And you would make this happen?
SPEAKER_04Oh yes, ma'am. I most certainly could.
SPEAKER_02Could?
SPEAKER_04Scratch flashed that cat eight canary smile again and removed a folded piece of paper from his zootsuit pocket.
SPEAKER_06Well, before could becomes would, we should make an agreement. Get it all legally binding and whatnot. Gramps paused and dumped his cherry wood pipe over into the ash bucket he kept near the rocking chair. Once again, he peered into the distance, focusing on the dark trees. As before, I followed his gaze but didn't see a thing.
SPEAKER_04Now boy, you have to realize, back then, most families didn't place a high value on books and letters. Mabel Foster only got as high as the sixth grade with her education. So when she got to reading the contract, half the stuff in it she didn't understand.
SPEAKER_06I caught what Gramps was referring to, given how life was back in the forties. Recovering from the Great Depression was hard and slow going for all of America. Colorado was no exception. So it was natural to assume that Ms. Foster could only read every other sentence on that paper. Oh, it's nothing really. Just stuff about services rendered in exchange for a portion of your essence to be given at a later date.
SPEAKER_02Essence?
SPEAKER_06You know, essence, soul, spirit. Not like anybody knows what it really is, anyway. Right? And speaking of anyway. Anyway, I have this lovely writing utensil for you to sign your John Hancock on that dotted line at the bottom.
SPEAKER_02My hand my what?
SPEAKER_06Your name, Mabel Foster.
SPEAKER_02But I don't know how to write my name. I used to, but it's been so long I forgot how.
SPEAKER_06Oh, no worries. A nice big X will do quite nicely. Yes, quite nicely indeed.
SPEAKER_02Done. So, what now?
SPEAKER_06Sorry, that tune is stuck in my head. So I noticed you have a big knife underneath that what? Cloak? Robe? You a hunter, Mabel?
SPEAKER_02Yeah, I guess.
SPEAKER_06Then this should be easy. Okay, so a piece back there's an open clearing. That clearing has this big circle made of dead branches and logs and whatnot. Bunch of fallen leaves and stuff. You know the place?
SPEAKER_02Yeah, I was just there early this morning.
SPEAKER_06So sometime tomorrow, all you gotta do is put yourself in that circle and wait. And the first living thing that walks in it, such as, but not limited to, squirrels, rabbits, birds. Bugs don't count though. Anyway, it walks into that circle, you kill it. And just consider it a sacrifice. A sacrifice to dear old Scratch. Can you imagine? No harm, no foul. Unless it's a bird, then it would be a fowl, technically. Technically a human would count, but what are the chances, right? Bigger chance of rabbit. You eat rabbits, right, Mabel? Mabel Foster? Bunny rabbits? Why do they say bunny rabbit? Why not just either say bunny or rabbit? But okay, rabbits. You eat rabbits?
SPEAKER_02Uh yeah?
SPEAKER_06Well, kill it and keep it. Anyway, the moment you do, the respect and love you crave so much is all yours. As a bonus, your skin will get all healed, and you can touch and be touched.
SPEAKER_02Uh-huh. Wait, what do you get out of all this?
SPEAKER_06Well, you gave me directions out of the woods, Mabel. And I just like seeing people get their heart's desire. The essence is its own reward.
SPEAKER_04He folded the piece of paper into a neat square and placed it back into his suit pocket.
SPEAKER_06It's getting near about dark. I best be out of here. Other places to get to, people to see, deals to make, and whatnot. I'll see you around, Miss Foster.
SPEAKER_04One has to wonder if Mabel wanted to say something, wanted to say a lot of things. But I can imagine she found her words failing her. She watched the fancy man in the zoot suit disappear into the distance. The tune you whistled, trailing behind him.
SPEAKER_06Gramps shook his glass that now had nothing in it but clinking ice.
SPEAKER_04Hmm, looks like I'm a bit low. Why don't you run inside and get me a refill? Pour yourself a glass while you're at it. I'll finish the tale when you come back.
SPEAKER_06Excitedly I grabbed his glass, swung open the screen door, and ran through the house to the back of the kitchen. Pa was in the kitchen washing dishes from dinner earlier. He turned his head at the sound of my young feet running down the hallway from the living room to the kitchen. Whoa there, slow down. What has you in a rush? I started pouring from the pitcher on the kitchen table. There was just enough sun brewed tea left for two glasses. I told him I wanted to hurry so Gramps can get back to telling his story. But then a thought hit me. I asked my father why Gramps keeps looking off into the woods like he was expecting someone to walk out. Or something. My father turned his full body towards me, drying his hands on the dish towel. He looked down at me for an uncomfortable few seconds that seemed to stretch on and on. His lips would form like he wanted to tell me something, but his eyes were thinking better of it. Finally, he simply tussled the top of my hair and sighed. I think that should be for him to say. As Pa returned to washing dishes, arms elbow deep in the sink, he asked what story I was listening to Gramp spin this time around. I said the tale of Aunt Mabel. Then I grabbed the two glasses and wheeled back down the hallway to the screen door. Oh, okay. Well, you two continue to have a nice wait, what? I didn't turn around to acknowledge my pa. I wanted to get back to hear the rest. I was always amazed at my grandfather's ability to tell a story. His deadpan style and matter of fact delivery. It made me feel like I was there. Right there in the olden times. I shouldn't have been surprised, though. At his age he had certainly seen a lot and done more than that. Still, he had always been a man of few words, the strong and silent type, so that night was a special treat for me. I hustled back out the front screen door to see him coming up the porch steps, his eyes on the rocking chair. I didn't ask why he had left the porch. Part of me had a feeling it had something to do with whatever he was watching in the woods across the street. Ready? I nodded with enthusiasm. He sat back down, took a sip of the sweet tea, then gave me a wink of approval. There was a strange silence that lasted for a few seconds. Then Gramps angled towards me, resting his weight on the arm of the rocking chair.
SPEAKER_04You see, son, you need to understand. Mabel Foster only half believed everything the man in the purple zootsuit said. But since she had already planned on going rabbit hunting tomorrow afternoon anyway, she figured she had nothing to lose. The next day, Mabel stood motionless in that circle made of logs and branches and dead leaves. She was unmoving for five, maybe ten, full minutes. Then, popping its head from an underbrush cover, a plump and brown rabbit. Still, Mabel didn't move. After all, rabbits being the skittish sort, one jerky move could scare it away. She watched as it sniffed the air, took a few steps, sniffed the air again, moving ever closer to the circle. Mabel mentally felt the location of her buckskin knife. By her estimate, the furry meal was less than ten feet directly in front of her. If she could time it just right, the moment it crossed over into the circle, she would lunge and grab it, and slice the throat in one smooth move. Or even hurl the blade with a quick flick of the wrist. No harm, no foul. She was so still that to the rabbit, she must have been like a tree stump or a pile of rocks. It was about a foot away now from crossing over into the circle.
SPEAKER_00Steady. Steady.
SPEAKER_03Mabel! Aunt Mabel! No, not Johnny. No, no, no.
SPEAKER_04The rabbit bolted in the direction from whence it came. In horror, Mabel cocked her head up to see her youngest nephew, Jonathan, running towards her from up the trail.
SPEAKER_01Johnny, no, go back!
SPEAKER_04She waved her arms wildly. But Jonathan must have taken it to mean something else.
SPEAKER_03Here I come, Aunt Mabel.
SPEAKER_04He ran as fast as his young legs would carry, crashing through bushes and underbrush, twigs and dead branches snapping as he ran to his auntie. Mabel tried to jump up and down before he got to her, tried to warn him off, but she had been in one position for so long, her legs had gotten stiff. By the time she had gotten her legs to coordinate, it was too late. Jonathan jumped over one of the branches and crashed into what he thought was his Aunt Mabel's welcoming arms.
SPEAKER_03No, no, no. Aunt Mabel, Mama said come home. Some fancy dressed man in a purple suit at the house. Maybe might be some doctor or other. Say he got some ointment and Salve might help you. Mama say he a charmer. Whatever that means.
SPEAKER_04Mabel wanted to yell, to scream, to shout at him. But what good would that do? She looked to the sky and let out a breath. Like a slowly deflating balloon.
SPEAKER_02Okay. Tell you, Mama, I'll be there soon. But you run back home. You hurry now, okay?
SPEAKER_03K, see you in a bit.
SPEAKER_04And just like that, he zipped back the way he came, down the worn path through the woods. Mabel closed her eyes and inhaled several deep breaths. She returned to the same position she was before. Maybe that rabbit might come back if she remained motionless. Or a squirrel if she waited long enough. Silence and stillness would be the key. She waited.
SPEAKER_00And she waited.
SPEAKER_06You see, the thing is, people are always so quick to sign. They never read the fine print.
SPEAKER_01No, no, no.
SPEAKER_06The what if clause. What if I fail on my end of the deal?
SPEAKER_04There he was, Scratch, leaning with one leg up against a tree, wearing the same purple zoot suit and fedora from the day before. Well, that constitutes what we call a breach of contract.
SPEAKER_05Terms and conditions don't just apply. They will be applied.
SPEAKER_02Th there was a rabbit. I almost had him. He almost crossed over. I can try again. I can get him. I just need boy, Mabel.
SPEAKER_05The boy crossed over. He would have done quite nicely, and you would have gotten what you desired.
SPEAKER_04A terrified Mabel Foster watched as a young boy emerged from behind a stout tree. He moved as if sleepwalking, aimless, almost stumbling. His eyes were open, but they resonated as vacant, empty, soulless.
SPEAKER_01Johnny, Johnny!
SPEAKER_04But it was as if her nephew no longer noticed her. She tried to run to him, but she couldn't get past the circle of dead branches and logs.
SPEAKER_01Johnny, please, it's your Aunt Mabel.
SPEAKER_06Oh, he can't hear you anymore, Aunt Mabel. You or anyone else for that matter. He only hears me now.
SPEAKER_04The boy walked in the fancy man's direction, oblivious to anything else, including his tearful Aunt Mabel. Johnny, is it?
SPEAKER_06Well, come along, little Johnny.
SPEAKER_04Scratch started walking away, the boy close behind. But then Scratch stopped and turned to look at a sobbing Mabel. Oh, but this does give me an idea.
SPEAKER_05Tell you what, you want to be talked to, you will. You want to be known? You will.
SPEAKER_06Talk to and be known, but only by the derelict, the mad, the insane. They will talk to you because they will be the only ones who will be able to hear and see you. And as for anyone you come in contact with? Physical contact? Well, that person will instantly lose their mind. No longer a functioning use to their society, but they will always be willing to talk to you, Mabel Foster. Why? Because a deal is a deal. I keep my promises, and no one welches on a deal with dear old Scratch.
SPEAKER_04Mabel swiped at the tears flooding her. She called out to Johnny, kept calling until the boy disappeared into the woods with the fancy man in the royal purple zootsuit.
SPEAKER_06Gramps grew silent and gazed off into the distance, staring in the direction of the trees. Again.
SPEAKER_04Well, I think that'll be enough for tonight.
SPEAKER_06I slowly nodded my head. His eyes. I couldn't place it then. After all, it would be many years later before I would understand the look of loss. Back then, though, in that moment, I didn't know what to say.
SPEAKER_04You go on. Try to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning.
SPEAKER_06Run along now. Maybe it was the way my grandfather ended the story. Or maybe it was because it was already past my bedtime, but I was more than ready to crawl under the covers and sleep as soon as I could, so daylight would come quickly. Located toward the front of the house, my bedroom window was positioned facing the front lawn, but back aways from the sitting area of the porch. Made for good eavesdropping on what some thought were private conversations without being seen. The sleep angel had already been whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and I knew I was seconds away from sleep. So what came next? I wasn't completely sure that I heard what I may have. The sounds of heavy footfalls carried from the kitchen down the hallway, heading outside onto the porch, a match being lit, followed by the scent of hickory, and something strong and sweet that somehow wafted into my room, further lulling me toward slumber.
SPEAKER_04So and Mabel? Yep. And what'd you tell him? Just enough of the truth to keep it an urban legend. The rest, well, some things are better left unsaid. Damn it all to hell, boy. All these years. I still see it like it was yesterday. Pop. I can't let it go, son. I was there. I was playing in the woods when I heard that whistle out of nowhere. I saw Mabel go talk to the man. I hid behind a tree and saw and heard everything. Every goddamn thing. I coulda and shoulda ran home and told Mama, but I didn't. Even later that night, over dinner, I could have said something, something anything. Nothing. I could have even dismantled that circle of dead wood. But I didn't. So many things I could have done, but I didn't. Coulda shoulda goddamn woulda. Next day I followed Mabel to the woods, watched her walk into that circle, hid, and watched. Oh in that damn circle? Johnny and I made it some days previous. I was so busy watching Mabel, I didn't see Johnny running down the trail until it was too late. When he called to her, I tried to yell out, but something caught in my throat. I couldn't say a word. Couldn't even cough it loose. And that whistling. It was different from the day before. Same but different. Different in a way I can't explain. But listen to this. Because this is the part that kept me up at night. That still keeps me up at night. Just before he and Jonathan started walking away, Scratch turned. Turned in my direction. He looked at me with that devilish grin, locked eyes with me. He knew I was there. He knew the whole goddamn time. And you know what he said? See you around, Jimmy. Those four words got in my head, took root in my mental, stayed with me for many years. The bastard knew my name. Aunt Mabel was gone after that. The family never heard from her. A week later, Mama got put in an institution. The strain of her baby boy's disappearance overwhelmed her. Her mind broke. She said she couldn't stop hearing voices, kept talking to people that weren't there. I moved in with Uncle Marty till I was old enough to join the army. Three weeks after Mama got sent away, there was a report. Authorities found a young man in the woods. He said he was lost in the woods for two days, said he ran out of food. That he survived off mushrooms in the company of some short old lady wearing a hooded cloak. Even as they carried him to the hospital, he said this lady was in the transport with him. I never told Mama or Uncle Marty what happened that day. Kept it all to myself. The guilt stayed on me, continues to ride my shoulders. Aunt Mabel may be an urban legend, but all legends sprout from seeds of truth. And every monster was considered normal to someone at some point. Sometimes I swear I still hear that cursed whistling, faintly, as if far away, an echo being carried on the wind, through the leaves of the trees, calling out to me, reminding me of what I could have done, but didn't do.
SPEAKER_06So you think he's still out there? Jonathan, even after all this time.
SPEAKER_04Somewhere with that monster. Aunt Mabel or Scratch. Pick one.
SPEAKER_06It had been many years since that summer night. Winters had come and gone. Pa and Gramps have long since passed on to their reward. But I still think about that story from time to time. Whenever I see the homeless talking to themselves, or a person having a conversation with open air, or laughing at a joke only they could hear. Or had they too made a deal with dear old Scratch.
SPEAKER_02This has been a KD Webster production, created, written, and produced by KD Webster. All rights reserved. Unless otherwise specified, all music and sound effects from Pixie Bay. Scratches Urban Legends. Always read the fine print. Terms and conditions will be applied.