Lunatics Radio Hour
The history of horror and the horror of history.
Lunatics Radio Hour
Lunatics Library 49 - Friday The 13th Inspired Horror Stories
This week Abby and Alan present four modern day horror stories, all in some ways inspired by or adjacent to the Friday the 13th film franchise.
Belly Bees was written by Sam Logan and narrated by Kate Rotunda. Follow Sam at samloganwrites.com.
No Signal was written by Warren Benedetto and narrated by Mike Macera. Follow Warren at https://warrenbenedetto.com.
The Lake was written by Jay D. Falcetti and narrated by Sara Luke. Follow Jay at @jdfalcetti and Sara at @saraluke25 on Instagram.
Aluminum Canoes was written by Zachary Taylor and narrated by Peter Papazoglou.
Get Lunatics Merch here. Join the discussion on Discord. Check out Abby's book Horror Stories. Available in eBook and paperback. Music by Michaela Papa, Alan Kudan & Jordan Moser. Poster Art by Pilar Keprta @pilar.kep.
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Hello, everybody, and welcome back to the conclusion of our epic four-part series, all diving into the history of Friday the 13th. I'm Abby Branker, sitting here with Alan Kudan.
SPEAKER_03:Hello.
SPEAKER_02:And today we have four haunting, Friday the 13th inspired horror stories to share with you.
SPEAKER_07:Instead of haunting, dare I say campy?
SPEAKER_02:Campy, yes.
SPEAKER_07:Because you know, summer camp.
SPEAKER_02:Oh, yes.
SPEAKER_07:Yeah, it's a joke.
SPEAKER_02:Plus Jason is pretty campy.
SPEAKER_07:Sometimes.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah. A lot of the time.
SPEAKER_07:Most of the time.
SPEAKER_02:Do you think Friday the 13th is the campiest slasher franchise?
SPEAKER_07:With franchises like Chucky and Scream that either are made to be incredibly silly and campy, or leprechauns. You know, like these are just silly, goofy movies that were never ever supposed to be taken seriously. Whereas Friday the 13th is kind of a roller coaster where some are very serious, some are incredibly silly.
SPEAKER_02:It's kind of the fun of it.
SPEAKER_07:Yeah, but you know, unlike Halloween, when it gets too silly, they reboot the franchise and make it like dark and gritty all over again. Yeah. Which honestly rarely works. I love when franchises get more and more off the rails. And when they do a reboot, it should be for the right reasons, where it's many years later, technology has advanced, they keep it true to the source material, but make it for a bit more of a modern audience. You know, maybe there's some problematic things that didn't age well and they wanna they want to redo it for you know uh uh to today's audience. I mean, as we talked about in uh the last one, the Friday the 13th reboot did not do that.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah.
SPEAKER_07:But that's okay. Not not everything has to.
SPEAKER_02:Fair enough. But we are here today to round out our series by featuring four modern day Friday the 13th inspired stories. And as always, these kind of uh vary in degree of adjacency to Friday the 13th, but let's see what we pull from some of them as we go.
SPEAKER_07:I want to preface this and that these are not fr these are not Friday the 13th fanfiction as much as I wanted it to be. I mean, I I wrote my romanticy with you know Jason and Michael, but that's not being featured today.
SPEAKER_02:It's too explicit.
SPEAKER_07:That's true. But these are a camp summer teenslasher, adjacent.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, I think that's mostly right. There's some wild cards in there, but that's mostly the theme. Yeah. We'll we'll kind of leave something up to the imagination. I also just don't we always I just also want to say I'll give a content warning ahead of particularly dark ones, but just keep in mind these are modern-day horror stories. They are graphic to varying degrees. They, you know, some of them go there, and we will call that out before we play the tapes. So to kick things off, we are featuring a story from Sam Logan, and this is his first time being featured on the Lunatics Radio Hour podcast. As promised, I do want to say that this story contains body horror, drowning, menstruation, and bigotry. But without further ado, let's take a listen.
SPEAKER_01:No one invited me to the pool party, but I arrived anyway with a beehive belly full of bees. I had no intention of swimming, so I left my bathing suit at home. Anyway, the only bikini I rocked was Bikini Kill. All the main players were there, the Henderson twins, Mallory and Melody, along with the dregs of Cascade Valley High School, who were my torturers, tormentors, and terrorizers over the past four years. Yeah, yeah, who wants to hear another sad story of a bullied girl in high school? Well, sit the fuck down and get comfortable because you're gonna want to hear this. I rode my bike across town and took the paved paths that connected our little shopping district on Main Street to the surrounding sprawl of the neighborhoods. Stashing my bike in the patch of trees behind the Henderson's house, I crouched at the edge of the foliage and remained hidden. I wore black pants, black chucks, and a black minor threat t-shirt of their yellow album cover. Sardonic wardrobe for my plans tonight, both in threat level and color scheme. A dusty pink dusk lingered in the summer evening. The graduation party had moved into the no adults phase. The twins' parents were the kind to buy alcohol for everyone so long as no one drove home. This wasn't the first party where my invitation got lost in the mail. Classmates splashed about in assembly-lined beers to one another from several coolers. I was almost sorry to ruin their perfect night. Almost. My obsession with bees began when I was 10 years old. I stepped on a bumblebee in the clover patch of our backyard. A painful pin prick shot into my heel. The sensation dulled for a bit but came roaring back several minutes later when anaphylactic shock set in. Raised fire engine red hives bloomed across my pale skin. Throat tightened and breast became ragged. My mom was generally prepared for any common childhood illness or injury. She shot my thigh full of epinephrine with an auto injector pen. The summertime memory brought back the scent of freshly cut grass and bone-dry dirt. The bumblebee's venoms flowed into my veins long after I fully recovered. A hot tingle like the sizzle of a low-grade electrical current carried through my circulatory system. It never quite dissipated. I hardly noticed the slight vibrating of my bones until I helped my dad in the yard the following summer. The bone whirring intensified as we approached a beehive in a tree hollow. The bodies of the bees buzzed inside the hive. It was like they spoke to me. At first, the intonations and changing frequencies meshed into a blurred soundscape that buried into my eardrums. It was like a secret code, garbled at first until it clicked and comprehension came all at once. It took me a while, but I learned how to communicate with them. Eventually, our minds melded into a single hive like the cybernetic Borg in Star Trek The Next Generation. My dad loved that show. I got my first period the day after I turned 12 years old. Despite my mom having the talk with me, I still felt like something wasn't right. My body felt bloated with bees. I don't know how they got in there, but I could feel them moving inside me. My suspicions were confirmed when I found a dead bee in the blood-soaked sanitary pad. The bees told me I needed to release them from their unnatural captivity. Riding my bike into the woods on the perimeter of town, I opened my mouth wide. They sensed their path to freedom and then a massive swarm escaped up and out from my belly. Their little legs crawled up my esophagus and their beating wings strummed my trachea as they flew from darkness and into the light of day. But they didn't fly away and abandon me. They hovered and waited for my instruction, imprinted on me like ducklings to their mother. I commanded them to go forth into the world, yet to return to me when I called, and so they did. And once a month I made the periodic pilgrimage to birth my beautiful bees. I spent the dog days of the next several summers performing field experiments and testing hypotheses about my abilities. I knew all about the scientific method from biology class, my favorite course. Subjecting myself to gradual exposures of insect repellents, I developed armor against my adversarial aerosols. Refining my knowledge and expanding my abilities, I learned how to command them. Every bee species I had encountered was absorbed into our hive mind. Did you know there are over 20,000 species of bees? Incredible. My body changed, and not in the typical adolescent changes that you might be thinking about. I mean, those happened too, but so did other things. I developed one hell of a sweet tooth donuts, MMs, ice cream. It was beyond a craving and more like a drive for survival. My skin sprouted a layer of blonde peach fuzz. The wispy covering was subtle enough that no one else seemed to notice. Or maybe no one looked at me closely enough. I didn't sprout wings or anything like that, but my DNA changed. That's not just a guess either. I stayed after school one day and visited the biolab. I stuck myself with a sterilized safety pin until a drop of bright red blood dripped onto a microscope slide. Cells shaped like honeycombs stared back at me through the eyepiece lens, sick. I never considered wielding my power over the bees for nefarious purposes until I saw my girl in seventh grade, a coming-of-age story centered on the pre-adolescent boy and girl. Spoiler alert, come on, the movie came out in 1991. Macaulay Culkin, the boy, died from anaphylactic shock after bees attacked him when he returned to the willow tree where he and Anna Klumsky, the girl, shared their first kiss. Oh, the waterworks flowed. It was the first movie I cried watching. Big, heaving sobs all by myself in the living room while my parents slept upstairs. I learned two very important things about myself that night. First, I was most definitely not normal. I wanted to kiss Anna Klumsky with every fiber of my angst-filled middle school girl body and soul. Okay, I was queer. There, I said it. I didn't fully understand what this meant at the time, but I had a vague sense of it. Second, my dominion over bees could be used to protect me if I ever got into a sticky situation. It all started when the Henderson twins caught me making out with Amanda in a graffitied stall in the girls' bathroom on the second floor of our high school. So engrossed in our own tongue flicking, we neglected to hear their incessant chatter at the mirror fixing their stupid faces. Mallory kicked the stall door off its hinges. Well look what we got here, Melody said. A couple of dykes caught in the wild, Mallory teased. Mostly annoyed with her arbitrary use of the derogatory term, I grabbed Amanda's hand and pushed past them. Mallory stuck her leg out and my foot caught it before I had the chance to react. I went down hard. Fuck off, losers. I peeled myself off the grimy floor with what little dignity I had left. We escaped, but the damage was basically done. Word traveled fast in our rural Idaho town near the Oregon border. Despite support of parents, our classmates were ruthless in their mockery. Amanda stopped talking to me and somehow managed to reinsert herself into a middle-tier social clique. I wasn't so lucky. Doomed to the outermost fringes of high school society. The celebratory pool party synced up with precise timing to when my next batch of brood bees were ready for release. I also brought along some friends, the millions of bees in our hive mind. Some of them would die after stinging, while others would survive. They were willing to sacrifice their lives in service of their keeper. Papery wings flapped and rustled tree leaves, the buzzing bludgeoned my eardrums, but I didn't mind. I stepped out from the cover of trees and slow walked like Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers until I reached the Henderson's unfenced backyard. Where were all my slow walking slasher girlies at anyway? Women slashers never have that iconic strut. Missed opportunity. Standing with my arms out to my side in a mock crucifixion, hoping to scare the bee Jesus out of the partygoers, hundreds of bees crawled along my body and swarmed into a massive cloud above me, darkening the sky further and casting the inground pool into a black shadow. I waited for my cue. What the fuck? Molly screamed above the splashing and laughing. Get out of here, lesbo freak, Mallory yelled from the diving board. All seven classmates stared in silence as they took in the full scene. I didn't say a word. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of an afterschool special sob story about how they hurt my feelings. A sly smile curled upward on my face, then changed into a gaping maw that released my belly full of bees. They escaped in a frenzied fury. Bitches get stingers. The dark maelstrom of winged warriors descended upon their prey. They swarmed my other classmates, first making sure the twins witnessed the fate they were about to experience. Sure, each of them were stung several times, but we also left them alone after they collapsed the ground and writhed in pain. The twins tried to run, but we overwhelmed them before they had the chance to get off the concrete pool deck. Stingers sunk into their skin. Wisely, they jumped into the pool for cover, but our swarm had several species in it, including African honeybees. These bees are known for stalking their prey. They waited patiently until the twins came up for a breath of air, then stung again. A smathering of dead bees lithered the pool deck. Were the Henderson twins worthy of final girl status? Could they muster the fortitude to fight back and stop me? Nope. Maybe it was because they were twins. Has there ever been two final girls? I don't think so. The twins would not make history tonight. I didn't press my luck and stay any longer. I wasn't worried about getting caught. Who would believe the story anyway? I slow walked it back to the patch of trees, hopped on my bike, and rode off into the sunset. Was it worth it? I don't know, man. Maybe? I mean, I didn't know the Henderson twins were allergic to bees. So yeah, I regret it. But hey, my teenage brain wasn't fully formed, so what do you want from me? Apparently they went into anaphylactic shock while in the pool and drowned. Our classmates were helpless towards the twins, passed out in the grass of the Henderson's backyard. They got off relatively easy. Messed up, but at least they lived, I guess. What do you want me to say? That my righteous revenge felt good and I lived happily ever after? Not quite. I felt guilty. They didn't deserve to die. But not guilty enough to turn myself in or anything stupid like that. I was still different. I didn't fit in. Not in any high school social circle, nor my rural town filled with people that I cared deeply about, but everywhere. Kids like me were abandoned a long time ago. All of us who didn't fit into a neat mold of expectations all always struggle. But I hope getting out of this town will give me a chance to start over. Begin a new life, find my people, build a hive.
SPEAKER_02:I love this story. I love Kate's narration of this story. There's so much to talk about, but Alan, tell this is your first time listening, so tell me what you think.
SPEAKER_07:I hate to say it. This is my favorite story in a long time.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah. Really good.
SPEAKER_07:It's a great story. Killer narration.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, Kate knocked it out of the park.
SPEAKER_07:I honestly had no idea it was Kate.
SPEAKER_02:Our friend Kate, who's going to be featured in some upcoming episodes. So keep your ears tuned if you liked what you heard.
SPEAKER_07:Kate has been a longtime collaborator on Lunatics. She she helms our um RD department.
SPEAKER_02:She does a lot of research. She writes a lot of articles for us online. Definitely head to lunaticsproject.com. You can look up all the articles written by Kate. She has such incredibly interesting topics that she writes about. I'm such a fan of her.
SPEAKER_07:Regardless of Kate's incredible talent. Belly Bees slaps.
SPEAKER_02:Belly Bee slaps, yeah.
SPEAKER_07:So fun. It's half ginger snaps, half carry in with a lot of bees.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah.
SPEAKER_07:It's kind of cool.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, it is. It is. That's a really good way to characterize it.
SPEAKER_07:Yeah. Why is it though that so many like because they it's it's kind of self-aware talking about slasher villains, especially like when they're, you know, women, they they just it it it's not even remotely the same. You know, women antagonists are treated so differently than male. I'm trying to think of like a female slasher.
SPEAKER_02:Slasher specific- I mean uh Pamela Voorhees.
SPEAKER_07:Sure, but that's like that's a misdirection. Yes, slasher.
SPEAKER_02:I mean she's a female slasher.
SPEAKER_07:She's a female slasher, but the whole point is you don't think it's a woman the whole time.
SPEAKER_02:How are you characterizing slasher? Like she has to have a melee weapon? It's just I don't know, like Jennifer from Jennifer's body is a sure hands-on. Like I think of Carrie as kind of like, you know, it's telekinetic, so she's not like she doesn't have the you know, the act of doing something with her hands to physically kill someone, but Jennifer does.
SPEAKER_07:Yeah, I guess Jennifer's body would be the closest. It's so tricky though, because like when you think slasher villain, yeah, it's a big dude that does the slow walk, that he's like this unstoppable juggernaut.
SPEAKER_03:Yeah.
SPEAKER_07:No matter what, no matter what you do, you can't you you you just have to run from this guy. Uh, and you just you don't typically see that with women being the antagonist, which is interesting. I think it's a really interesting thing to explore. The in this story touched on it though, there was like a a correlation between like her having her period for the first time and like her manifesting bees.
SPEAKER_02:It's kind of like this like a classic idea of what a poltergeist is. Like, there's a there's a theory in some paranormal circles that we talked about this in the Enfield poltergeist episode from many years ago. There's some actual theories that okay, if you have a poltergeist activity in a house, maybe it's just the energy from like kids and I think especially girls going through puberty. Like that energy is so intense that it cranks into something paranormal. And that's kind of what this reminds me of a little bit.
SPEAKER_07:That is 100% written by a man.
SPEAKER_02:I think you bought into that theory pretty hard during that episode.
SPEAKER_07:There's no way, that's crazy.
SPEAKER_02:Let's talk a little bit about Sam. Sam Logan emerged in 1984 from the depths of the Chesapeake Bay off the Maryland shore. He made it to Oregon, where he is a university professor in kinesiology and teaches courses about punk and body horror.
SPEAKER_07:I'm sorry, what is kinesiology?
SPEAKER_02:I only actually know this because of all my dance friends. Kinesiology, I believe, is the study of the human body and movement. Cool. I remember like all my college friends had to take kinesiology classes who are dance majors.
SPEAKER_07:That's fun.
SPEAKER_02:Sam lives with his partner, Kiddo, and Dune the Dog. He has stories in Mouthfeel Fiction, Punk Noir magazine, Divinations magazine, Major Seventh magazine, Underbelly Press, and Wall Strait, among others. You can check out SamloganRights.com, and of course, we will link that in the description of this episode. Sam and Kate, thank you so much. This was such a fun way to kick off this episode.
SPEAKER_07:I know we're supposed to move on, but I don't want to because I love the story.
SPEAKER_02:Tell us what you have to say.
SPEAKER_07:Using insects to kill is just pretty cool. It's pretty badass. Uh it's it's something I think that was like underexplored. Like, I don't know, the only thing that comes to mind is Candyman.
SPEAKER_02:Or the mummy, the Brandon Fraser mummy, those little scarabs that would go in the city. Sure, yeah.
SPEAKER_07:Exactly. Like killing with insects is freaking cool. I don't like it.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, because you have like a visceral reaction to it.
SPEAKER_07:And then I I I really thought about ginger snaps while listening to this story because your antagonist, protagonist, anti-hero, whatever you want to call them, is smart and relatable. And you they make intelligent decisions that you don't typically associate with like the the the slasher villain.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, totally.
SPEAKER_07:And I don't know. It's it was just fun. It was a really great story.
SPEAKER_02:It was super fun. I totally agree. And that's to bring it back, why I love the Friday the 13th franchise so much. It's fun. I feel like it's not, I've said this a million times on the series, but it's not as scary as other slasher franchises, but I enjoyed watching each movie so much. And to me, this story has that same energy.
SPEAKER_07:I mean, yeah, it's not as terrifying as Leprechaun.
SPEAKER_02:True. True. I mean, Leprechaun got me the first time. You start looking around corners a little bit, you know?
SPEAKER_07:Looking, yeah, looking around the bottoms of corners.
SPEAKER_02:That's right. I'm so excited to play you guys this next story. This is from a pairing as old as time. Wine and cheese, jelly and peanut butter.
SPEAKER_07:Jelly and it's peanut butter and jelly. Who says it like that? You freaking weirdo.
SPEAKER_02:And Mike Macera and Warren Benedetto.
SPEAKER_07:Okay, here we go.
SPEAKER_02:Let's roll the tape.
SPEAKER_06:No signal. Ridden by Warren Benedetto. Red by Mike Mastero.
SPEAKER_05:Gravel crunched under the tires of John's rust scarred dodge pickup as he sped down the dirt driveway and skidded to a stop in front of Matt's trailer home. The early morning air was already hissing with humidity. It was thunderstorm weather. They'd be lucky if they made it to lunchtime without getting doused. John pinched the front of his dark blue coverall and flapped it against his chest, creating a breeze to cool his sweat slick skin. Come on. He looked at his watch, then bawled up a fist and thumped it against the center of the steering wheel. The truck's horn gave a sharp leap. He called out the open window. Yo, Matt, let's go. The trailer home's flimsy screen door flew open, its torn screen flapping in its frame. Matt's wife, Vanessa, stormed out onto the porch. Her hair was a tussled rat's nest. The belt of her terry cloth bathrobe was knotted too loosely, offering a glimpse of the underside of one sagging breast. Dark purple rings encircled her eyes. The fuck, John, she hissed. You're gonna wake the baby. As if on cue, the distinctive wail of a hungry newborn rose within the trailer. Vanessa sagged against the railing, defeated. Shit. I just got her to sleep. Sorry, Ness. Gotta hurry if we're gonna beat the storm. You almost ready? I'm here, I'm here. Matt slipped past Vanessa and ducked out of the trailer, zipping his coverall with one hand while lugging a large toolbox with the other. At six foot four he towered over his diminutive wife. She looked up at him with a pained expression. Please don't be gone too long. Matt leaned down and planted a kiss on his wife's cheek. I won't. He bounded down the steps, slung his toolbox into the back of the pickup, then climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. Vanessa motioned for him to lower the window, ducking to see him in the truck as the glass slid down. Text me before you go up. We'll do. And when you get down, Matt gave her a tight smile. Sure. Okay. Vanessa shifted her gaze to John. Take good care of him. Always. So where are we heading? Matt asked as John steered the truck down the two lane highway. Dense forests lined both sides of the road. They passed a blue information sign. Next gas twenty three miles. Guess. John pulled a work tablet from the truck's center console and handed it to Matt. No! Matt said in disbelief as he took the tablet and turned it on. Again? A map view filled the screen. It showed all the cell towers in the area, along with the signal radius of each. At the center of the map was a single tower icon with no radius around it, indicating a signal-free dead zone in the middle of the forest. What the hell is wrong with that thing? I wish I knew. Someone's gotta be fucking with it. Or it's cursed. Or that, Matt agreed. He tucked the tablet back into the console. You check the news? John shook his head. I don't wanna know. Matt picked up his phone and began scrolling. After a moment he stopped, his eyes scanning as he read. He cursed under his breath. John's heart sank, but the words confirmed what he already suspected. How many? Two more. Girls? A girl and a guy. Hikers. And the phones? Same thing. He began reading from the article. As with the previous victims, multiple attempts to call for help failed to go through due to lack of cellular service in the area. He stopped reading. This is so fucked. He made a disgusted noise, then rolled down the window and spat into the wind. They drove in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. His tone was unusually subdued. It's not our fault, right? John furrowed his brow. What's not? You know. He held up his phone displaying the news article about the murders. Of course not. Cause maybe they'd still be alive. Bro, it's not our fault. That's crazy. If they could have gotten a signal, if they could have called for help and the axe-wielding maniac chasing them through the woods? Is that our fault too? No. Exactly. John glanced at his friend. Matt looked like he was on the verge of tears. In almost ten years, John had never seen the guy get so emotional. Even when he broke his ankle during La Crosse playoff senior year, he had remained stoic. You okay? John asked. Yeah. Matt took a ragged breath. I guess this whole thing just hits different now that we have Bella. I can't imagine losing a kid like that. It's just he coughed, then wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Fuck, sorry. Hey, no need to apologize, uh I get it. Matt peered through the windshield at the tall needle thin cell tower, protruding high above the tree line in the distance. Let's fix the thing for good this time, okay? John put on his blinker and pulled off the main highway onto a dirt service road. A sign warned that they were entering a restricted area, property of American Cellular Corp. The truck's worn suspension bounced and creaked over the uneven surface as it drove deeper into the woods. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the base of a five hundred foot tall cell tower. Alright, John said as he put the truck in park. Let's do this. The two men jumped out of the truck and began strapping on their climbing gear. Repairing cell towers was a dangerous job. The most dangerous job in America, according to Buzzfeed. The amount of climbing the job required depended on the type of tower. Some had to be scaled right from the ground level. Others had elevators that ran most of the way up, only requiring a climb of forty or fifty feet to reach the top. The tower they were repairing today was one of the latter. Unfortunately, the tower was also the epicenter of an enormous active crime scene that spanned several square miles of the surrounding forest. Over the last few months, a series of brutal murders had taken place in an area roughly analogous to the cell phone dead zone on John's job map. Every time the cell signal went down, there was another murder. Or maybe it was the other way around. Nobody really knew. But since the tower was in John's assigned region, he and Matt were the ones on the hook to fix it whenever it went down. John tightened the chest strap on his climbing harness, then clipped the safety lines onto the harness's metal rings. Nearby, Matt loaded a selection of tools from his toolbox into a large canvas tool bag hanging from his belt. He held up a roll of black electrical tape. Extra tape? John lifted his hand as Matt tossed him the roll. Thanks. He caught the roll, then dropped it into his own tool bag. Did you text Vanessa? Oh shit, almost forgot. He dug his phone out and began typing, then stopped and gave an ironic chuckle. No service. He tossed his useless phone onto the tailgate. Just gonna be pissed. Then let's make it quick. John unlocked the tower's elevator door. The folding grate clanked and squealed in protest as John slid it open and stepped inside. The elevator itself was nothing but a metal cage about the size of a small bathroom stall, with an unadorned electrical box containing two large red buttons, one for up, one for down. Matt stepped into the elevator after him, closed the gate, then turned to face John. It was a tight fit. Their bodies were mere inches apart. Matt drew back his lips. Anything in my teeth? You've got a pube right here. John pointed between his own front teeth. Oh, right. It's from your mom. Matt ran his tongue across his teeth and showed them again. How about now? Better. John punched the up button. The elevator rattled and groaned as it slowly lifted off the ground. And away we go. The ride to the top of the tower was quiet, except for the rhythmic clank and whirr of the elevator as it ascended. Little by little the world below shrunk to miniature size. Given the remote location of the tower, the landscape was mostly treetops and rock formations. Its most noticeable feature was a sapphire blue lake not too far from where John had parked his truck. After ninety seconds or so, the elevator arrived at its apex, about two thirds of the way from the top of the tower. Matt opened the gate and stepped onto a small metal platform, then moved aside to allow John to exit past him. They had agreed that John would climb point since he had the most experience with the model of cellular antenna used by this particular tower. Matt would climb behind him, passing him tools and providing an extra pair of hands as needed. Once out of the elevator, John began the tedious hand over hand climb up the ladder to the top of the tower. Every few runks he had to connect one of his safety lines to the tower's frame, then reach down and disconnect the one he had previously connected. Doing it that way ensured that he always had a safety line attached in case he fell. About fifteen feet below, Matt repeated the same process with his own safety lines. As John climbed, an unusual splash of color down by the lake, bright yellow and gold, caught his eye. He squinted into the wind, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The color was in the shape of a rectangle. On top of it was an amorphous, multi-limbed pile of human flesh and hair. And the pile was moving. John chuckled as he realized what he was seeing. The pile of flesh was people, two of them. It was a couple, having sex next to the lake on what looked like a Los Angeles Lakers beach town. The girl was on top, cowgirl style, which explained the confusing jumble of limbs. John whistled down at Matt. Hey, what's up? Check it out. John pointed down at the figures by the lake. It took a few seconds before Matt saw what John was pointing at. He started laughing. John began laughing too. Good times, right? Man, I wish I was them right now. I suddenly a blood curdling scream echoed through the valley. John's heart leapt into his throat. What the hell? He looked back down at the splash of color by the lake. The towel was still there, but the couple was gone. You hear that? Matt asked. Yeah. John's eyes scanned the landscape, trying to pinpoint where the people had gone. After a moment, he spotted the girl sprinting barefoot along the lake's edge. He traced his gaze along the lake until he spotted her boyfriend running a few yards behind her. Immediately following him was a man in full camouflage hunting gear and a floppy boonie hat. The man had a long wooden object clutched in his hands, light colored wood, a few feet long. A baseball bat? No, an axe. John watched in mute horror as the man swung the axe and brought it down squarely between the boyfriend's shoulder blades. The boyfriend stumbled and fell, his head striking the rocky ground and knocking him unconscious. The man with the axe straddled the guy's motionless body, yanked the weapon from his back, then raised it high in the air and brought it down again and again and again. The blood spilling from the boyfriend's body looked like a puddle of crude oil against a dark grey rock. Jesus Christ, Matt exclaimed. Are you seeing this? A surge of bile raced up the back of John's throat media. Muting his reply. Yeah. He choked. After a minute or so, the killer finished hacking at the boyfriend. The guy's head and upper body had been pulverized into a bloody pulp. One of his arms was detached from his body. It looked like a piece of crooked white driftwood that had washed up nearby. The killer balanced the handle of the axe against his shoulder and gazed down at his kill for a moment. Then he strode off into the trees at a calculated pace. John swallowed again, trying to regain his voice. Where's the girl? I I don't know, Matt replied. I lost track of her. We've got to help her, Matt detached his safety line. Wait, John started, but Matt was already rapidly descending the ladder back towards the elevator. John's stomach nodded as he watched Matt speed down the rungs, his untethered safety line swinging in the wind. One slip, one missed step, and he would plummet to his death. Slow down, John called. As Matt made it to the platform, a desperate cry echoed through the forest directly below them. Help, the girl called. Please, someone, help us. A flock of small birds exploded from the trees at the base of the tower. The girl stumbled from the woods and into the clearing where John's truck was parked. She's down there, John called to Matt. Hey, he shouted to the girl. He waved, trying to draw her attention up the tower. Hey, Matt joined in the chorus. Hey, up here. Hey. Hello? The girl looked around frantically, trying to pinpoint where the voices were coming from. She didn't look up. Instead, she ran to John's truck and tried to open the passenger side door. It was locked. She sprinted around to the driver's side and tried that door. Locked. She pounded on the window in frustration, then stood on her tiptoes and looked into the bed of the pickup. She spotted the toolbox and Matt's phone. It was still on the tailgate, where he had left it after trying to text Vanessa. With a squeal of hope, the girl ran around to the back of the pickup, grabbed the phone, and tapped in three numbers nine one. John's heart sank as he realized what was about to happen. Call failed. The girl wailed with frustration. Come on, come on. She whimpered as she tried dialing again. Again the call failed. Come on, she screamed. Connect, goddammit. She tried a third time, failed again. Your key, Matt shouted to John. What? Throw me your key. What are you gonna do? I'm going down, he indicated the elevator. I'll take it to help her. I'll come with you. John began to detach his own safety lines. There's no time. If I don't go now, this girl is gonna die, and I'm not gonna let that happen. Now throw me the key. John knew Matt was right. The killer could be mere seconds away. Time was of the essence. With one hand still clinging to the tower, he dug his fingers into his chest pocket and pulled out the truck's key fob. He hung as low as he could from the rung where he was tied and dropped the key to Matt. Matt looked up to John with the key gripped in his fist. I'll be back. Then he swung into the elevator, closed the cage, and began the grinding, clanking descent to the ground. As the elevator disappeared down the tower, John considered what to do in the meantime. It was hard to fathom continuing the job after just seeing a guy get axe murdered, but the antenna would have to be repaired at some point. The sooner he fixed it, the sooner they could call for help. He was about to start climbing again when a scream of terror drew his attention back to the ground. The girl was standing in the bed of the pickup truck, a hammer from the toolbox held out defensively in front of her. John followed her gaze to see the killer emerging from the woods at the edge of the clearing, the bloody axe weighing heavily in his hands. Get away from me, the girl shrieked. The killer rested the axe handle on his shoulder and calmly approached the truck. The girl swung the hammer feebly in his direction. Leave me alone! The killer lunged at the girl. She screamed, then hurtled over the side of the truck bed and onto the ground. The killer began circling the vehicle towards her. The girl scrambled to her feet and fled along the side of the pickup in the opposite direction. The killer changed directions. The girl did too, keeping the body of the truck between herself and the killer. From his bird's eye view, John watched the killer faint towards the front of the truck. As the girl took the bait and moved towards the back, the killer dropped to his belly and slid underneath the vehicle. The girl froze, confused, unsure of which direction the killer had gone. John yelled as loud as he could. Hey! This time the girl seemed to hear him. She looked up at the tower. John pointed frantically at the ground. He's under the truck. What? The girl screamed. He's under the truck. The girl's eyes went wide as she realized what John was saying, but it was too late. The killer's axe swung out from under the truck and sliced through the girl's Achilles tendon, severing her foot at the ankle. The girl wailed in agony and fell to the ground, blood spurting from her injured leg. As the girl writhed in pain, the killer slid out from under the truck, dusted the dirt from his pants, then bent down and picked up his axe. Regaining her faculties for a moment, the girl managed to roll onto her backside, propelling herself away from the killer with her one good foot. A thick trail of bright red blood stained the pale dirt as it poured from her wound, filling the rut left by her dragging stump. Hey, dickhead, Matt's voice rang out from below, followed by the clattering of the elevator gate slamming open. Leave her alone. The killer spun the axe in a full circle like a batter, loosening his wrist before and at bat, then pivoted towards the tower. He cocked his head curiously. Yeah, that's right, Matt growled. Bring it on, motherfucker. The killer headed for Matt's position, disappearing from John's view as he passed under the tower. John leaned away from the ladder as far as his reach would allow, but he was unable to see what was happening on the ground directly below. He listened helplessly to the metallic bangs and crashes echoing up the tower, clearly the sounds of a brutal struggle between Matt and the killer. Hoping for some hint of what was happening, he shifted his gaze to the girl to see how she was reacting. Unfortunately, she wasn't. She was slumped on the ground, unconscious. Suddenly, the racket stopped. Everything fell eerily silent. The only sound John could hear was the wail of the wind and the rise and fall of his breathing. Matt? he shouted. Matt, you okay? There was no answer. Matt, he yelled again. Nothing. After a few seconds of excruciating silence, a metallic rattle echoed up from the ground, followed by the wind of an electric motor starting to turn. John's breath caught in his throat. The elevator was coming back up. John looked down at the platform thirty feet below him, then up at the top of the tower, about thirty feet above. It didn't matter which way he climbed, either direction he went he was trapped. With one shaking hand he reached into the tool bag attached to his belt to assess what he might use to defend himself. He had some screwdrivers, an adjustable wrench, a ratchet kit, a few specialized electronics for testing the antenna, and the spare roll of tape that Matt had tossed him when they were suiting up. John drew out the roll of tape and turned it over in his hand. An idea formed in his mind. The elevator continued its ascent as John prepared to make his last stand. The tower might be a trap, but it could also be an advantage. The killer couldn't hold an axe and climb the ladder at the same time. He would need his hands free to grip the rungs. That leveled the playing field a little bit and gave John a fighting chance. If he could draw the killer up the tower, he could jump off the ladder, using his falling momentum to grab the killer and yank him off the rungs. The safety lines would halt John's descent while the killer plummeted to his death. And if that didn't work, there was always plan B, brutal hand-to-hand combat. Just as John finished winding the last of the spare roll of tape around his hand, the elevator slowed to a halt. It had arrived. John double checked his safety lines one last time. He tightened his grip on the ladder, took a deep breath, and prepared to meet his fate. The elevator gate rattled open. John could see the outline of the killer's boony hat through the slotted roof of the elevator, along with a glimpse of the axe wooden handle. He tensed as a camouflage clad figure emerged into the light and fell backwards, crashing flat onto the metal platform outside the elevator. It was the killer, dead, his eyes wide open, his face slicked with blood, his axe buried in the middle of his forehead. Matt stepped out of the elevator and onto the platform next to the killer's body. He looked up at John. Dude, what the fuck are you doing? John glazed down at Matt, his mouth agape. His friend's face was battered and beaten, with a torrent of blood streaming down his cheek from a gash over his eyebrow. His nose was squashed sideways, his lip was split, his eye was swollen shut, he looked like hell, but he was alive. And he was laughing. What? John said, unsure of what his friend found so funny about the situation. What are you fucking wolverine now? John looked at his hand. In his shock at seeing his friend return alive, he had completely forgotten what he had done to prepare for his encounter with the killer. Weaponizing his fist by using Matt's extra tape to attach screwdrivers to the back of his hand, one behind each finger. He had intended to fashion a weapon he could use while still having his fingers free to grip the ladder, but it ended up looking like a discount hardware store version of Wolverine's famous Adamantium clause. It was Plan B, John said. That made Matt laugh even harder. After a few seconds, John joined in. They laughed until tears streamed down their faces. Then John climbed down the ladder and embraced his friend. After a quiet moment they separated. John looked down at the killer's body. What do we do with him? Fuck him. Leave him up here for the vultures. John stepped into the elevator. Matt followed, then closed the gate. As they began their descent, Matt spoke again. Anything in my teeth? He drew back his busted lip. One of his front teeth was missing. You've got a little something right here. John pointed at his own front tooth using one of the screwdrivers tapped to his hand. Matt ran his tongue across his teeth, then showed them again. The tooth was still missing. How about now? Better. Much better.
SPEAKER_02:I mean, as usual, Warren is such an epic writer. Like writes in such a large way. I don't know, even though the story is quite con I've said this every fucking time. Even though the story is quite contained, he creates such a rich world. I loved seeing kind of the beginning of the story where you meet the guys in the trailer park and they're why like it just adds so much texture to it. I thought this was a brilliant, fantastic showing from Warren as usual.
SPEAKER_07:I love any story with a very contained setting. It it's one of my big pet peeves, especially when you are listening to a story, when the the setting is too all over the place. It's one of the reasons why I can't do Stephen King.
SPEAKER_03:Yeah, fair.
SPEAKER_07:Uh, because he jumps between so many different locations, so many side stories that all come together in this like neat little bow at the end. But it's not for me.
SPEAKER_02:Sure.
SPEAKER_07:I want everything to take place on a ship, you know?
SPEAKER_02:So just you mean like physically contained.
SPEAKER_07:Physically contained.
SPEAKER_02:Geographically contained.
SPEAKER_07:Geographically contained. In this case, it's a cell tower. They are on the tower and everything that they can see from the cell tower. Do I remember the characters' names? No. Do I need to? No. Because like I know who we are who we are with. There's two guys on this tower and all the bullshit happening down below. Watch out for all that stuff. It's coming up to get you.
SPEAKER_02:I mean, it's also quite horrifying. This idea of being stuck somewhere. Like I like how he introduces limitations into this story. Again, I think that's what that's where like the friction point and the fear come about. You're stuck as someone who's see witnessing something from afar. And then when it comes up, there's these like clear limitations he sets very early on, no self-service, right? Boom, boom, boom. And then you're in this, not only are you geographically contained, but you have these limitations. And so you know the rules of play really quickly.
SPEAKER_07:Also, what a cool mechanic. Um, you know, where well he's he's literally a a mechanic. What first off, what a cool mechanic of you can't call for help because cell service is down. Okay. You know, that's a we've seen that one before, but you are the cell repair guy.
SPEAKER_03:Yeah.
SPEAKER_07:And like if you want to call for help, you can repair the tower. I think that was just kind of neat. Because like at one point, it's like, well, you know, this this tower has to get repaired at some point. I mean, I know people are getting murdered, but you know, I'm a professional.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, it felt like a fresh version of that limitation.
SPEAKER_07:Yeah, but it's like, okay, I I get it. If you do this, then you can call for help. I thought that was really cool.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, yeah. So the story was read for us by our friend Mike Macera, who, as I'm sure you know, is one half of Beach Therapy. So check out Beach Therapy anywhere you listen to music. And the story was written by Warren Benedetto. Warren writes dark fiction about horrible people, horrible places, and horrible things. For more information, visit warrenbenedetto.com and follow Warren Benedetto on X and Instagram. And of course, we will link all of the places that you can discover our amazing narrators and writers in the description of this episode so that you can keep your eye on them. All right, we have two more stories. In this next one, I'm really excited because it's been a long time since we have featured the narration of our dear friend Sarah Luke, one of the original Lunatics collaborators on this podcast. So without further ado, let's roll the tape.
SPEAKER_04:Flora stood at the edge of her dock, peering into the inky black lake. Chameleon Lake, she'd call it, because of how it stole the color of the sky above. Tonight the stars glimmered in their reflection. Even though she knew it'd be true, she glanced up to see if in fact her lake was still a face stealer. It was. Her toes gently curled over the edge of the wooden plank she stood on. She whispered her desires to the lake, a tradition she held for as long as she knew how to speak. When she was done, she slowly turned and walked back on the dock to her tiny cabin perched on the edge. The soft lapping of the water, singing insects, and occasional bubbling of the fish below were melodic. A gentle lull that was peaceful. Flora relished that peace. The quiet. Opening her door, she glanced over her shoulder, taking in the serene night. Tilting her nose up, she inhaled the sweet scent of pine sap and moss that surrounded her. Closing the door behind her, she continued moving in the dark of her home back to her room. Pulling down the comforter in her bed, Flora lay down softly on her side, her right ear pressed into her plush pillow. When the only sound Flora could hear was her pounding heart, she drifted off to sleep. The shore around the lake grew quiet, as if on command, the waving water stilled. Suddenly, bubbling near the edge of the shore started and quickly grew to a roar. Under the starlight, splashing water sounded with a slick wet slap hitting the soft granny sand. Slap, slap, slap. A glistening beast drug itself from the bottom of the lake to the base of Flora's home. The beast was as dark as the wooded night, shimmering, hairless. The beast continued to drag itself without using its legs, which were trailing in the water. Heaving, panting, the beast didn't bother hiding itself. Nothing would come for it. Back in the single room cabin, the steady boom, boom, boom of Flora's heart continued to echo in her ear. When the beast's back legs were free of the water, it howled into the night. The raw sound brought an unsettling chill. A serene smile softly set on Flora's face. She was dreaming happily. Another howl broke through the night. The beast's ears perked up in interest. A challenger to the beast of the lake had made itself known. A primal growl threatens in the tree line. The beast shakes its back legs, bones snapping into place. Its hollow eyes traced over ancient and familiar surroundings. Without warning, the beast pounced silently. Blood seeped around the teeth, muscle on the tongue, spirit in the stomach. That'll be twelve eighteen. Flora's monotone voice hung between her and a bright-eyed woman who was quick to pull out a debit card. Tap when it's ready, Flora responded without looking at the customer. It's supposed to be a beautiful evening, the woman encouraged small talk, her tone like a gardener speaking to a dying flower. Ignoring her, Flora continued the monotony of her job. Receipt? Flora held out the paper receipt, and the woman shook her head no. Flora crumbled it swiftly and tossed it into the bin under the counter. Have a good day. Do you know anything about Lake Christian Head? The woman hesitantly asked. What about it? Flora twitched in an unnoticable second. Her breath quickened slightly. That was her lake, Lake Chameleon. My husband and I are camping by the water's edge, turning down mile marker um sixty three, I think. The woman turned her head towards her truck, her husband hanging up the gas nozzle. You can't camp there. Flora's palms started to sweat, thinking to herself. She should warn them, shouldn't she? It'd be the right thing to do, wouldn't it? We know it's not an official campground, but my husband received a tip that it's rarely traveled, so it'll be just us. She smiled nervously. He doesn't want to run into anyone. Enjoys the quiet and being left alone. It's not a campground for a reason. The woman shifted back slightly, surprised by Florence's annoyance. The animals are wild and territorial. You guys go out there? Flora nodded her head down the road. You'll regret it. Aware she had the woman's rapt attention, Flora held her stare, whispering a warning. They say at night under the moon, a beast emerges from the lake. Hungry from its slumber, it devours what it sees. A chime rang throughout the store. The woman jumped. Hand to her chest, she turned back to her husband, who was half in and out, repeatingly setting off the alerting chime of a customer. Ready? This lady says we shouldn't camp where we planned. Wild animals. The woman's tense smile at her husband evoked an eye roll. Flora tilted her head watching the exchange. This woman reminded her of a small rabbit, and her husband, a fox. There'll be wild animals at any campground, he lowered his voice. You shouldn't tell people our plans anyway, Lily. I meant what I said. Flora leaned over the counter, not caring to speak over the fourth chime. Do not go out there, especially tonight under the full moon. Relax, lady. The husband held his hand up. He inched inside the store. Lily's shoulders relaxed when the chiming stopped. Lily, let's go. She nervously glanced at Flora, then left the store with her husband. Fresh anxiety burrowed into Flora's stomach. She wanted to go home. What's your problem? Greg, Flora's boss, turned the corner from his office. Flora moved quickly away from the register to avoid being trapped with him behind the counter. She could feel his eyes sliding up and down her body, reminding her of grease slowly dripping down a tilted pan. She shuddered internally, thinking about what would happen if she were here after hours in the dead of the night. Nothing, she mumbled, heading to the stock room. Greg watched her walk away, thinking things he shouldn't, but weighing if he should. The rest of Flora's day was uneventful, but her insides radiated the opposite. She was a not filled mess, thinking about the couple that'll be camping by her lake. Could they have changed their minds? Would they? By the time she got home, the sun was setting and her skin was ablaze. Sweat slid down her forehead and trailed around her eyes. She swiped it away only to feel another beaded drop. Stripping down into shorts and a tank top, Flora kept her tradition and made her way to the end of her dock. The early stars were caught in the imitation web. Flora whispered her desires to the lake and walked to the back of her cabin. Panting, Flora doubled over, her hands against her knees, perched her up. A soft breeze tickled the nape of her neck. The wooded area went still, frozen under the rise of the full moon. When the lake ensnared the full moon's image, Flora killed over, grunting in agony, her skin on fire, blood pumping furiously, throbbing in her head. She was choking, gasping for air. She couldn't expand her throat. On all fours, she gripped the ground, her fingernails tearing in the dirt. Thick red blood replaced them. The sound of logs snapping in a fire filled the air. Her body was morphing. It started in her legs, tremors coursed up her back, then her arms. She was on the verge of passing out, still unable to breathe in the sweet air she craved. Flora toppled to her side. The skin around her jaggedly tore open, the sinews snapping around her breaking bones. Flora's dark brown hair shed with her copper skin. An animal started to take shape where Flora once laid. A wheezing inhale, followed by a feral growl, emitted from the broken mass. The change continued. Flora's face was excruciatingly itchy. She clawed away at it. With each strip of her face, the incessant itch lessened until Flora no longer recognized the word. Fangs pushed her human teeth out, each one falling with a soft pat on the ground, like pento beans on the linoleum floor. The blood spray around the dropped teeth was reminiscent of the Milky Way shimmering around the planets. Steam wafted from the wolf's risen body. Rich brown matted fur replaced the exposed muscle. A snout with pointed sharp teeth bit out at the smells in the air. Ears alert, piercing distrustful yellow eyes scanned the area. Fearing what was released, creatures of the night quieted in their underground burrows. Flora was no more. The wolf was evermore. Reveling in the accomplished transformation, the wolf howled up at the moon, endlessly thankful because without it, the wolf could not be free. A scent of ash caught the wolf's attention, shaking out the blood of its former self. The wolf sprang into the forest. Did you hear that? Lily gripped the edge of her blanket, glancing down at the dying fire. She was trembling, but not because of the frigid night. We're outside, Lil, we're gonna hear animals. Her husband shook his head as he continued to clean up from their meal. It was too close for comfort, Bill. I'm kind of scared. Lily's heavy breathing was the only noise that could be heard since the Hal broke up their conversation. That damn gas station worker got in your head. We've camped a million times. We've had a good day, haven't we? Bill looked up at his wife incredulously. Yeah, Lily whispered, unable to argue that point. The picturesque lake was right out of a dream. It reflected everything it caught. Lily could spend the rest of her life here during the day. But as soon as the sun set, she couldn't ignore the inherent wrongness she felt within her bones. Where did the bugs chirping go? A crackling fire suddenly seemed like a bad idea, drawing unwanted attention. A rustle in the trees caused Lily to jerk up out of her campchair. That animal is too close, she hissed to Bill. He tried not to let it show, but he agreed. Bill stopped what he was doing and turned his face to where they had heard the noise. I brought my gun, his voice gravely serious. Lily swallowed, but not reassured. Keep it close. Lily stood, wanting to pretend she was okay. She started stretching the stiffness in her body away. Twisting her torso from right to left, she caught a glimpse of her husband. Then she felt as if she shouldn't move again. An eerie sensation befell her. Her muscles screamed against her intentions to face Bill. Don't move. Don't move. Don't move, whispered to her through the wind, a gift from the night. You o a snarl interwoven with Bill's yelp shattered the air behind her. Bill continued to scream until it was only gurgles. Unable to twitch, let alone run, Lily slowly turned her head. Silent tears ran down her horror-stricken face as she watched a large, dark brown wolf rip into her husband. As if it had sensed her watching, the wolf unnaturally snapped its head up. Lily gasped when she saw its bright sunflower yellow eyes. The beauty against the gore stole Lily's attention, just as the lake was stilling the scene of her husband's death. When Lily's ability to move returned to her, she took a single step back. The wolf noted the movement and took a graceful step forward. Soft thudding came from the other side of Bill's truck. Help! Lily's desperation was a prayer to the gods and whatever was on the other side. The wolf lifted its head to the new scent. Baring its teeth, it turned its attention away from Lily. Watching as the wolf carelessly stepped over her husband's mangled body, Lily weighed the odds of reaching her husband and the keys versus running into the forest. The beast behind the truck revealed itself. Lily's face contorted in terror. It was another wolf. Dread filled her like lead. They were nearly identical, but the one that recently appeared didn't have eyes, only a hollow blackness. A damp warmth that turned chilly covered the front of Lily's leggings. She tried to scream, to do anything, but it was pointless. She knew she was going to die. The wolves circled each other. When one snapped, the other responded in kind. Panting, Lily's heart was trying to escape her chest. The wolves moved further from Bill's lifeless body. Lily found a wall to try and get away. She darted to him, the yellow eyed wolf turned to her and growled. It pounced, but the second jumped into it from the side. Lily crouched next to Bill's corpse to try and avoid being tackled. At the sight of his exposed esophagus, Lily fainted. Sunlight poured into an open window dancing across Lily's face. Startled awake, she leapt up, falling into a coffee table. The crashing noise made her wince. Her knee throbbed where it caught the corner, and she scrimmed herself raw at the remembrance of the last thing she saw. You're okay, a steady voice came from behind her, silencing Lily's sobs. Where am I? Lily choked out, hyperventilating. Lily recognized the woman from the gas station. It did nothing to calm her. My cabin, Flora was leaning casually against the entryway into the only hallway in her intimate home. When Lily didn't respond, Flora tilted her head and scratched just above her eyebrow. Nodding in the silence, almost mockingly so, Flora went to the cabinets across from where Lily was standing. Where am I? Where am I? My cabin. Flora didn't face to turn Lily, pulling down a mug and ground coffee. Where's or how's Bill? Lily bit her bottom lip as a flash of his dead eyes came to the front of her mind. When Lily closed her eyes, she saw the blood soaked yellow grasses swaying around him. Bill's dead, Flora said bluntly. Lily blinked. The words slashed into her. No. Lily started, then forced herself to say, The wolves? The beast? Lily inhaled, shivering under the memory of the night. The wolves are gone. Flora drugged the coffee maker out, pushing the filter into the top. She plugged the cord into the wall outlet. How? Lily's feet went numb. She sat before she fell. I told you both not to come here. Flora's cold voice blanketed the cabin. She moved with ease, without worry. Didn't she realize a man had been killed? Anger swelled within Lily. You didn't tell us we could die, she shouted. What do you think devoured meant? Besides, you could die right now. Lily sat straighter at Flora's words. I mean either of us could drop dead. It's the risk of life. But at the end of the day, I told you both not to go and you chose to ignore me. I have to get to him. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe he's searching for me right now. Lily jumped up, antsy. She started pacing, flexing her hands. He's gone. We should probably call the rangers. Flora hesitated. I should call. The wolves. Lily couldn't keep her mind from going back to them. One of them was injured. It had no eyes. I think it tried to help me. Lily recalled how it jumped into the other. The inhumane squills and ferocious snarls rang around her mind, morphing into Bill's life pleading screams. Lily squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to block out the haunting sound. It's not injured, it's a reflection. That's the beast. Flora sighed as she spoke. A reflection? Lily's chest hurt. She continued pacing, a wounded person trapped inside. Of me, my desires. Of you? The color drained from Lily's face, her mouth dried. It's a reflection. The opposite. Flora scoffed as she slowly turned to meet Lily's eyes. I desire death, destruction. Unnaturally one could say. Flora spoke casually, shrugged one of her shoulders. I've chosen to release my desires into the lake. It catches what I say. Manifest them, I suppose. The coffee had finished brewing. Flora poured herself a cup, keeping her back to Lily. Opening a sugar jar, Flora scooped up a spoonful and stirred it in. Manifest? Lily could barely whisper. The opposite of wanting death is wanting life. The beast of the lake is tied to me. Lily glanced at the door. Nervous? Flora spoke. Fun, cup in hand, narrowing her eyes on Lily. Unable to speak, Lily watched as Flora blew in her coffee. I'm a bad wolf because I'm a bad person. Flora sipped from her mug. The beast hunts for need, whereas I hunt for want. She set the mug down. The last thing Lily saw was a flash of yellow. Then nothing more. Hakmatz etnips Ugnat et no eclesum Hit et Janoa de Pis Dub Epilogue. Flora stood over two unrecognizable bodies, a phone delicately pressed to her face. There's an abandoned truck and an illegal campsite, and two well Flora grinned before continuing. Well they look large enough to be human, one likely male, the other probably female. Shrugging, Flora didn't know what else she could offer. After all, she told them not to come here. And they did anyway. A static laden explicative response and a question came from the ranger on the call. Flora nudged and exposed kneecap with her toes. A mountain lion, maybe a wolf got to him. Just out walking the perimeter of the lake. Thought I heard some coyotes fighting in the middle of the night. Was probably whatever caused this, she continued. The ranger questioned Flora. She rolled her eyes annoyed. He asked if she got any kind of help out to her location. Why do you think I called you? Before hanging up, the ranger said they were on their way, and Flora conveyed she was happy to stay and help with however she was needed.
SPEAKER_02:So this story was written by Jay D. Falsetti, and it's her first time being featured as a writer on Lunatics Radio Hour, so let's tell you a little bit about her. Jay is a biracial indigenous writer based in Washington, where she lives with her family. Her short stories have appeared in various online magazines. She writes fantasy, horror, science fiction, and literary fiction. You can connect with her and discovered her published work on Instagram at JD Falsetti, and we will of course link that. And you can follow our amazing friend and narrator Sarah Luke at Instagram at Sarah Luke S-A-R-A, Luke25, and we will of course link that as well. But okay, Alan, tell us what you thought about this story because you do love a werewolf story.
SPEAKER_07:I I I do love a good a good werewolf story. The fact that this was had to do with indigenous stories, was authenticity with the mythos and everything. It was kind of cool.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, it was super cool. I liked the twist of, I don't know, I liked having the perspective of the character turning into the creature and the wolf. And I don't know, there were it again, similar to Warren's story, it was somewhat contained, even though it could certainly be part of a bigger piece, I would say. And I loved experiencing that sort of plot twist with the characters. I also just thought the description of the in the story was stunningly gorgeous. Jay did such an incredible job at like weaving these really visceral, beautiful scenes the way she describes the lake and different parts of the world that the story takes place in. So even though it was a horror story, I also left it being like, wow, so much of that was really beautiful. It was about humanity. It had a lot of different layers to it. All right, Alan, we have one more story.
SPEAKER_07:What is it?
SPEAKER_02:This is also, is this are all of these, besides Warren, all of these writers are new today. This is by Zachary Taylor, another new contributor to Lunatics Radio Hour.
SPEAKER_07:The president?
SPEAKER_02:So without further ado, let's roll the final tape.
SPEAKER_06:Aluminum canoes.
unknown:Read by Zachary Taylor.
SPEAKER_06:Read by Pierre Babazavu.
SPEAKER_00:Camp Summer Star, 1974. James Redden turned saucer white. The other canoe rolled more harshly than he had expected, catapulting three boys into the tepid lake water. Two flailed like human-colored campfires above the crisp lake's face, while the third went under after the canoe bobbed and hammered back down on the back of the boy's head. Camp Cusada, 1975. James Wren sat around a campfire with nine other boys, one camp counselor. The counselor passed around a flashlight, the designated speaking totem. The holder of the flashlight had to tell their scariest story while lighting their face from beneath the chin. The counselor started the ritual, spoke of a Native American ghost that would kill those young boys that disrespected the land upon which the camp was built. Convenient. One of the boys told a story about a lake-dwelling siren that would tempt you down to the shore with her wily ways, which were more or less sexual in nature, though from the sound of it, mostly more. Another told of an evil thing that lived in the woods here, some kind of albino Bigfoot that ate camp-aged boys because they tasted better than the girls in the sister camp across the valley. James didn't have to tell a story. When he put the light to his chin, he spoke of the icy terror that filled his veins as his friend he had just confessed to loving the day before sank to the bottom of the lake, tracing his downward path with a mellifluous stream of blood that flowed from the base of his skull. It was deemed an accident, and it was, but James still saw the boy in his dreams bloated and wrapped in pondweed as he regurgitated his drowned lungs into James Wrenz's mouth as if to kiss him to death. The boys became statues. They sat silently as they listened to James' story. After a long silence, the counselor grabbed the light back from James, rough enough to startle the boy. A graveyard simple joke that turned graveyard deadly. Turned the other canoe over. It was a dare to impress the lead counselor, the only girl at the camp, who never noticed any of the campers. All the boys were supposed to laugh after. James knew his friend would understand. The counselor started to speak about the campfire, and how things around the fire were sacred. He said something about how he didn't want the boys from Cabin D talking to the other counselors about what happened here tonight, just like last night. Whatever that meant. He said the others shouldn't share James' story and that it was a stupid accident. The counselor complained that it didn't count as a spooky story anyway. James sat embarrassed, staring down into the fire. Stupid idea to talk about that. The boy next to him scooted a few inches away, signaling to the others he had nothing to do with it. A rustle from the brush nearby startled the boy at the campfire. What the fuck was that? he squealed. The counselor chastised the boy for his language and gave the signal to the Cabin D boys that it was time to put the fire out and get to bed. Before one of the boys from Cabin D could throw the water bucket across the flames, another cried out in terror. By the time anyone could turn to see what caused the boy's cry, the counselor had fallen to his knees in front of the fire, wheezing like his throat was full of cotton. His eyes filled with red arteries bursting their way toward his pupils, his head turned great purple at his bulging temples. The boys didn't know where to turn or what to do, all except one. James sat silently, still staring into the fire as the panic ensued. He looked over to a thick patch of supplejack and remained unsurprised as a bloated, pawnweed constricted figure pushed its way through the brush into the light of the fire. The thing was hunched over and heaving, struggling for breath of its own, when a boy other than James noticed the beast. In unison the boys screamed. The creature lurched up and drew a deep breath, like a soft scream. It was purple of skin and green of veins, and it grabbed the kneeling counselor, collapsing on his mouth. It vomited blackish green pond scum into the man's throat. The boys fled into the woods in every direction, wailing as they ran, all except one. All except James Wren, who sat on his tree trunk and silently watched the lacastrine finger empty its lungs into the wriggling camp counselor. As the man slowly drowned on the deposits of the pond, James started his shoes dangling from the trunk. He let himself breathe a sigh of relief and based in a rare moment of internal serenity. James thought, I always knew you'd come back for me.
SPEAKER_02:Aluminum Canoes was narrated by our friend Peter Papaziclu, and I want to read a little bit from Zachary Taylor, the writer, to introduce him because again he's new to the show. Wish I were pensive. Tend to be Maudlin, writer of anything that makes me think of my place in the world. I've written poetry, screenplays, and short stories all on topics that would make my parents regret me. Thank God they gave me a common name. He also has an upcoming project that's prospectively titled A Field for Artemis. So we will keep our eyes peeled for that. Okay, Alan, tell us what you thought of aluminum canoes.
SPEAKER_07:Uh I I like that we're ending with this because this is the most Friday the thirteenth-esque story we have.
SPEAKER_02:Totally, yes.
SPEAKER_07:Mostly because there's violence on canoes.
SPEAKER_02:In a camp lake. Yes. Yeah. No, I mean I thought it was a really fresh version. I don't know. It is again very short and contained, which we love, and brought us into this world. Like you you see the lore over the years, which I also think is something that feels very Friday the 13th. And kind of this revisitation of trauma from previous summers. I loved the I don't know, just kind of the way that it all came out around the fire. It felt very campfire tales.
SPEAKER_07:And it's just like, I don't know, there's something kind of fucked up about vomiting into people's mouths.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, I would say that's not great.
SPEAKER_07:That's that's new to me. I'm trying to think of when I've seen that before, and I I got nothing.
SPEAKER_02:I'm sure there's horror movies where that happens.
SPEAKER_07:Filling someone else with vomit. Vomit, not and not just like uh I'm sick at a party accidental kiss, but like I'm gonna kill you by doing this. That's fucking crazy.
SPEAKER_02:It's pretty evil, I guess.
SPEAKER_07:Hell yeah. It's pretty rock and roll.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah. And thank you so much to Peter and to Zachary for their work for rounding out this this series here.
SPEAKER_07:Great job, Peter. Great job, Zachary.
SPEAKER_02:As always, thank you guys so much for being here. We had a lot of fun putting this together. Sorry that this series came out so sporadically. As we said last episode, our wedding got in the way. But here we are, we're back, really excited for 2026. And we have some really cool episodes coming up and already pre planned for you. So we promise to be more consistent. Love you guys. Talk to you soon.
SPEAKER_07:Bye.
SPEAKER_02:Bye.
