Tales of the Otherworld

Greetings, listeners! Gather to your radio near, as tales of horror you soon shall hear! Yes, it is once again time for Tales of the Otherworld! Some of you may have thought that, since our sponsor, Gary’s Footwear, left us last week, that the show would be caput, as so many characters in our stories seem to end up. Not so, dear listener! We have found a new sponsor, and we relish the thought of continuing for ages more, ever spewing dark auras from your living room radio. Now come, sit! We have an incredible tale for you tonight…

The tale of the Hillside Cemetery!

The hand of death draws back the black curtain of the night sky, dear listeners, and we zoom in on our little blue marble from high above. Down, and down, and down still do we go, faster and faster, ever closer to the small town of Corpus, Ohio. Onward we fly, our eyes as cameras for the film of the mind, through dusty streets and dirty old cars, past abandoned and overgrown lots, past the poor fellow down under the bridge that time forgot long ago, and past the Taco Bill on Davis Street that sells Taco Bill’s exciting new “La Questa Villa Supreme” deal, which includes two bean burritos and a large bean milkshake for only $4.99!

Yes, we press on past these dark portents to find a small white car sputtering and wheezing as it climbs the hill which shadows Mt. Sancimonia Cemetery. The tombstones leer through the battered and weather-worn iron fence as the small sedan bumbles by, seemingly oblivious to the malice pooling in this garden of hate. With a final cough, the car rolls to a stop outside an old house with peeling paint, all along at the top of the hill.

A man steps out of the car. He is dressed for the winter chill, in a dark green vest around his chest, and a woolen tossle cap perched precariously on his head, seemingly ready to fall off at any moment.

“C’mon, boy”, he shouts, and a dog, one male golden retriever, jumps out of the car. The man laughs at seeing his canine companion’s boundless energy, and pats him affectionately on the back.

“Oh no, Krang!” he grins, “you’ve got Taco Bill’s Spicy Beef Enchilada Supreme remnants on your mouth!” He wipes off the dog’s face with a towel. “I can’t believe you wasted such a hearty and delicious meal!”

The dog, to his discredit, does not seem to understand, and lolls his tongue out, staring at his master with wide, expectant eyes. The man stands up, and begins walking towards the door, fishing through his pockets. He appears to be searching for something, and has obvious difficulty finding it. At last, he chuckles to himself, and removes his hat from his head, fishing out a small brass key from a hidden pocket.

“Ah,” he says with a knowing glance down at his pet, “Gramps would have rolled over in his grave if I’d lost the key he left to me in his will, after his sudden death under mysterious circumstances. I really would have been in for it then! Thank goodness I got that letter.”

With a leap belying a healthy supply of youthful vigor, the man sprang up the steps to the front door two at a time, coming to a halt in front of the large, imposing black door that barred his entry. The paint on the door was chipped and worn, much like the siding on the house itself.

“This place needs a clean-up”, the man thought. “If only this house were as clean and tidy as the kitchen down at my local Taco Bill. They always serve the finest of food in clean and sterile condition, ready to eat at home or on the go!”

His stomach rumbled as he turned the key in the lock. Or was that the door itself? With a loud, grinding squeal, the door swung open inch by inch, revealing a dank and musty anteroom. A pair of french doors led him into what he supposed was the living room, and the man took his first look around.

An old leather chair sat in the center of the room, covered in cobwebs and dead insects. It faced an old and ill-used fireplace. Atop the fireplace’s mantle was an old portrait of a man in a top hat with an angry look upon his face. His eyes shone with fury, his expression one of such irritation that one might have assumed he had just lost ten thousand dollars on what he had been assured was a “sure bet.”

“Boy,” the man said, “Gramps sure knew how to sit for a portrait. He doesn’t look happy at all! And this room, eh?” he said, taking a few steps towards the chair, “this has to get cleaned up on the double. What a mess! Heck, this is messier than a Taco Ben’s Nacho Grande Biblioteca Andes wrap with waaaaaay too much sauce on it! Gosh!”

The man stretches, yawning, and continues to look around the old house for a bed, or somewhere he can lay down.

“Boy,” he said, “I sure am tired. Eight hours of driving really takes it out of you, eh?”

There was the soft sound of a click, and a light comes on in the room at the end of a dark hallway, unbidden. The man, startled, began to walk towards the light. His furry friend, sensing tension, kept right behind him.

“H-hello? Is someone there?”

He stalked closer to the open door, attempting to raise up enough morale to just peek inside. Carefully, slowly, he peered into the room to find… A bed. Made and ready for him, pillows nicely fluffed.

“Oh wow!” said the man, “Just what I needed! Time for a nap!”

He turned off the lights of the musty room and tucked himself in, snug as the lettuce in Taco Bill’s Hamburger Speciale Picante wrap, which pairs excellently with a fountain soda. Try one today! Before he even had time to count sheep, the man fell asleep, there in the old bed. Slowly, slowly, unbidden from above, a hand descends. A hand clutching… A knife! And the knife… It plunges! Down, down, and down again!

There are screams, but the only ones to catch them are the residents of the cemetery outside. And… well, dear listeners, they tell no tales.

Let us flash forward an hour or two. We see an old man, sitting at an old writing desk, covered in letters, writing away with a manic grin on his face. He pushes a coupon for Taco Bill’s buy one get one free Nacho Picanto Mondo Rosso Sierra meal out of the way, and puts a pen to his lips, pensively.

“Let’s see,” he says, “who to send a letter to next? Maybe… Ooh, how about I pose as an uncle who died in a car accident. Yes, yes that might work!”

He throws back his head, and laughs, cold humorless laughter. In his right hand… a bloody knife.

Oh, goodness me, dear listeners, that appears to be all the time we have this fine day. I hope you’ve enjoyed this fantastical tale of the mysterious and dangerous. Tune in next week, dear listeners, for another tale of suspense and intrigue! And a hearty thank-you to our good friends at Jack In The Box for sponsoring this episode of Tales of the Otherworld! Goodbye!

This story was Somthing I originally posted on an Awful website a few weeks ago.