Showing posts with label Channel Ab3. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Channel Ab3. Show all posts

Friday, November 15, 2024

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: What Rough Beast


by

Al Bruno III

(This story originally appeared in Eden Studios Terra Primate and appears here courtesy of the publisher)




Everyone thought she had gone home hours ago, no one noticed her car parked behind a dumpster near the back of the complex. She hid herself in a cramped room with high shelves stacked with petri dishes, latex gloves and medical equipment. Alone there she waited, waited for the late shift to end and the custodial staff to finish their rounds.


Bored and terrified all at once Dr. Linda Harrison went over her memories one by one, examining them like samples suspended in formaldehyde.


It had begun for her five years ago, a young professor of primatology fresh out of school and swimming in debt. She had no family, and had been to busy for anything more than academic pursuits. The Balock Corporation's offer had been too lucrative to resist, she'd have her student and car loans paid off in two years if she was frugal enough. All she knew going in is that she would be working as a consultant for a team of cardiologists, urologists and geneticists.


She wasn't naive, she knew it wasn't the Goodall institute she was going to work for. These were ethically nebulous medical experiments involving primates, but she rationalized it she told herself that these weren't real apes these were livestock bred for only one purpose.


Of course it wasn't that simple, nothing in life ever is.


The apes had been genetically engineered with human DNA. The goal was to create a resource for transplants. Apes with blood types and cellular structures so close to human as to be a nearly universal match. It would mean an end to waiting lists and organ rejections.


To Linda it seemed so noble, yet so farfetched.


Most of the apes died on the operating table or as a result of flawed theories and experiments. Only one was kept alive, a control subject they had given the strange-sounding nickname of Jermyn. They monitored him to see if the altered apes would suffer any long-term problems.


A noise roused Linda from her thoughts, she pressed her ear to the door and listened. She recognized the voices of the security guards as they made their leisurely way up the halls. They were talking about sports, those two always talked about sports.


She waited a little while longer then she headed out, moving as quietly as she could. She used her passkey once to enter the secure wing and a second time to enter the wing that held the animal pens.


For some reason the memory of her first day of work flashed across her mind. She had to force her way through a gauntlet of animal rights protesters. They held up signs that proclaimed ‘A rat is a cat is a dog is an ape is a boy’ and went out of their way to sneer and spit on her.


Perhaps she should have taken that as an omen.


Since she was mainly on hand to maintain the apes and answer the other scientist's questions Linda tried to spend a little time each day observing Baylock Inc.’s new creations. She made notes and field reports. The altered primates were taller and more bipedal in stature than their ordinary kin. They were bright, imitative but prone to sudden outbursts of violence.


During her time there she had seen two of the ape keepers gravely injured and there had been uncountable near misses. Linda knew to keep well away from the cages, especially when she was alone.


But it was when she was alone that Jermyn made contact.


At first she had thought there was someone else in the room, and then she had thought that someone was playing an elaborate prank. It wasn’t until the ape called her name for a third time that she realized what was really happening and that realization left her shaking.


The memory of the encounter was still enough to make her knees weak as she made her way down the hallway. Perhaps fear was making her weak as well. This was more than just quitting her job, she was sacrificing her career- her future. The Baylock Corporation might never reveal what she had done but here tonight but they would use their every influence within the halls of government and academia to ruin her.


Very well, She thought as she entered the darkened hallway that contained the ape pens, ruin me then.


She flicked on the lights, momentarily blinding herself, when her eyes sight cleared she found herself staring at row after row of empty cages. Her heart caught a beat at the realization that they had already begun liquidating the test subjects. What if she was too late?


The pen at the far end, the largest one belonged to the control subject. It had a tire swing, climbing bars and toys. She ran down the short hall calling his name. When his gruff voice answered her back she almost groaned with relief.



The massive silverback paced before his cage, running his thick dark hands along the reinforced bars. She knew he was tense, she knew he hadn't been sure she'd come back for him.


The truth was even she hadn't been sure until a few hours ago


"Lin-da." He said again.


Once Jermyn had spoken to her events began to move quickly. She analyzed the ape under the guise of a 'behavior / neurological survey' in addition to her other work. Alone, always alone she performed her test sand examinations. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between herself and the ape that no one else on the research team should know about this. The solitude and late nights didn’t bother her, she had little else to look forward to.


Over time the testing became teaching. The ape's communication and reasoning skills grew by leaps and bounds, although his reading skills were never quite as strong as his ability to learn the spoken language. There was something about the nature of the printed word that he found mercurial and frustrating. Linda found it equally disconcerting to realize that as she was studying this creature he was in turn studying her. He appropriated her slang and gestures; here asked her questions about the world outside the research center's opaque windows.


There was something very trusting and knowing in the way that he looked at her. Sometimes he let her stoke his rich dark fur, sometimes she let him gently stroke her cheek. It amazed her that a hand so powerful could be so tender.


It took a year of study and notes before she was ready to reveal her findings. The reaction was nothing like she had expected. The project's director, a loathsome little company mouthpiece named Evans, seemed horrified and immediately began talking about legal and moral complications. He ordered the project shut down, the research team sent on to other endeavors, it's specimens catalogued and destroyed.


And that was what brought her here in the middle of the night with a stolen keyring in her hand.


"Lin-da" Jermyn said again, an edge of pleading had crept into his voice. “Hu-rry.”


Hurry she did, rushing down the hallway to meet him. Nervous and shaking she had to fumble thought each key on the ring twice before she found the right one. By the time the pen's reinforced door swung open both woman and beast were on the verge of hyperventilation.


"Professor Harris?"


She froze, recognizing the voice of the older security guard, and if he was there, could his partner be far behind?


Roaring with defiance Jermyn dropped to all fours.


"I don't think-" The younger security guard started to say.


Jermyn bounded past her, she fell back striking her head on the metal bars. Sparks flashed before her eyes rendering the chaos before her in strobe- like fashion. The guards had been armed in preparation for a moment like this but they never had a chance. Screams and the snap of bones echoed off the empty pens.


The abruptness of the attack left Linda speechless. She watched Jermyn methodically undress the older security guard. The corpse's neck jiggled and twisted with every twist and tug.


The dark blue uniform was too small in the arms and too tight in the chest- the shoes were a lost cause. It was a poor excuse for a disguise but when the ape buttoned the jacket he issued a grunt that could only be self-satisfaction.


All he's ever been is naked. She thought, He's spent his whole life in that cage watching us pass by him fully dressed and acting like a bunch of second rate gods. How could he have ever known anything more than envy?


For the first time the realization that for all his words and poise Jermyn was still a wild animal struck her.


And what was it that wild animals did?


Adapt and survive. Adapt and survive.


What have I done? Oh God what have I done?


Straightening up to his full height Jermyn approached her, his smile was gruff. He offered his hand and said, "We must leave."


Her confidence broke and she tried to scramble into the pen. He caught the door as she tried to swing it shut. "Lin-da? Don’t be af-raid.”


When he lifted her up she flailed and screamed but there was no one alive to hear. The ape held her tightly, pressing her against his soft fur. He whispered her name over and over again until she had calmed, until she had returned to her senses


Slowly, tentatively Linda reached up to stroke Jermyn's face. He leaned in and nuzzled her cheek. She could have pulled away now but instead she sank deeper into his embrace. They needed to get away from here, her car was waiting, and their future was waiting. A future she hadn't understood before this very moment.


"You damned ape." She sobbed with anticipation as Jermyn's heavy hands ran down the curves of her form, "You damned dirty ape."

 

 


 


Thursday, March 16, 2023

Just your standard everyday teaser...


You are about to enter a world of wit and weirdness as Channel Ab3 begins sharing weekly selections of my strange fiction and questionable biography.

 

Who am I?

 

My name is Al Bruno III and I have been writing horror and humor for almost 40 years. My work has been featured in All Flesh Must Be Eaten rulebooks of Eden Studios and the NoSleep Podcast.

 

Some stories will make you laugh, some will make you cry, others will make you wonder where my parents went wrong.

 

Be here on October 31st 2023 when Channel Ab3 goes live!

 

 

 

 


Check out this episode!

Monday, July 18, 2022

Channel Ab3 Episode Twenty-Three- "A Story of Dracula, the Wolfman, and Frankenstein"

 

"Frankenstein's monster, Count Dracula, and the Werewolf all meet under unusual and bizarre circumstances in this masterpiece of terror and suspense. Power Records is proud to present this magnificently illustrated original tale. Heightening the intense dramatic portrayal are sound effects and music that will keep you on the edge of your chair. This package is designed to be read and played -- and treasured for years to come."

'A Story of Dracula, the Wolfman, and Frankenstein’ was originally released by Peter Pan Industries as part of the Power Records Imprint.



When she's not reading credits she sells real estate with Keller Williams...so if you know anyone looking to buy a home, sell a home or invest in real estate, remember her – The Real Thing In Real Estate.



Reviews really help more people find the show, please consider giving us one at the podcast service of your choice.

They’re pay what you want and mostly proofread.


Thanks for listening!


Tuesday, July 5, 2022

MY FICTION: Lamour Looks Something Like You

by

Al Bruno III 

 

 

The bed was too small, the room was too warm and her clothes were too tight but in a matter of moments one of those problems would be solved for her. Kate felt his hands snake up along her back and take hold of the zipper on the back of her black dress.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this! He was half her age, half her age and beautiful. He still lived with his parents but he was undressing her like an old pro.

The dress fell away and Kate felt a flush of uncertainty, these weren’t the perky breasts of a college hottie, these weren’t the hips of a girl flush with the promise of youth. Her shape was still lovely enough to catch a man’s eye but she knew her body had been marked by the passage of time; there were stretch marks and a tattoo that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

What would she do if he flinched away from the sight of her? She would die, she would just die.

He didn’t look away and a little smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, an appreciative smile. Then he was pulling her close and closer still.

There was stubble on his chin, his breath smelled like gum and his kisses were like candy. His name was

Robbie. He was a valet and he had flirted with her as she dropped off her car and headed into the grand old hotel for the wedding reception. She was sure he gave the eye to all the middle aged broads that crossed his path, but he’d walked off the job to be with her hadn't he? Walked off the job with a breezy laugh of “They won't fire me.”

What was it her old friend Debbie had said about cougars and cubs? Debbie was always one for smutty little remarks. She’d even made them when she was in hospice, trying to make the orderlies blush while she’s still had the strength to speak.

What would Debbie say if she could see her now?

Robbie had stripped Kate down to her plain cotton underwear. The panties of a woman with no expectations. His touch skirted the old scar that marked the place where the doctors had gone in to remove her cancerous womb. Did he know what that scar meant? Or was he too busy kissing just below her navel and working his way down?

In spite of everything Kate giggled when those kisses reached their goal and he made himself busy. No one had done that in a while!

Or with such thoroughness.

It had been the wedding of a daughter of an old acquaintance, someone she had lost touch with since college and then found again thanks to the dubious miracle of Facebook. Kate decided to go on a whim, thinking it might be fun to see her old home town again. To see what had changed and what hadn’t. Maybe she would even rekindle an old friendship or two.

She had avoided the actual ceremony however, wedding ceremonies left a bad taste in her mouth. She had been burned twice and that was enough, the only thing more expensive than her weddings had been her divorces.

Now it was her turn to undress him. The terrain of his body was familiar but there were surprises. A pierced nipple, washboard abs and he was more than a handful in all the right places; and he was ready to go! No purple pills and pregnant pauses here.

Pregnant.

There was a word she didn’t like crossing her mind. Especially considering what she had lost at such a young age, even more so when she realized who else was at the reception.

Of course she should have guessed. Hadn’t the invitation come from an old and mutual friend? Kate was civil enough when Scott her old fiancee called out her name and told her it was long time no see. He hugged her in a way that showed he still didn’t have the slightest idea how much he had hurt her way back when.

He had smiled and told her she hadn’t changed a bit. He bragged that he was the manager of this hotel and he had charged the bride’s family half price for the affair. Then he had introduced his wife and offered to show her his wallet full of kids. The need for those kids was the reason he had left her within months after the hysterectomy.

It was a clumsy move but she had excused herself by pretending her cell phone was on vibrate and there was an important call coming in. She made a show of talking

to someone that wasn't there and made as dignified a run for the exit as she could.

She hadn’t even known that she was crying until the handsome valet had asked her if she was all right. This was not the distracted concern of a well- trained employee but the tentative reaching out of a would-be friend. Ordinarily she would never have gone off with some stranger but Kate already felt like she knew him.

It had been good to have someone to talk to, better than good, they found a booth in a little diner and talked for hours.

Then he brought her home sneaking her into the house like they were a pair of horny teenagers. With the door closed behind them there hadn’t been the need for small talk.

And now here she was holding him while he made love to her, running her nails along his wide back until he shivered. When she climaxed she cried out blissfully, carelessly.

That cry brought Robbie's parents running into the room. Covering herself quickly Kate said the only thing she could think of, “Hi Scott, long time no see!"


 

Channel Ab3 Episode Twenty-Two- "Lamour Looks Something Like You" and "Bears Repeating"

"The bed was too small, the room was too warm and her clothes were too tight..."

‘Lamour Looks Something Like You’ was written by Al Bruno III

‘Bears Repeating’ was written by Al Bruno III




When she's not reading credits she sells real estate with Keller Williams...so if you know anyone looking to buy a home, sell a home or invest in real estate, remember her – The Real Thing In Real Estate.



Reviews really help more people find the show, please consider giving us one at the podcast service of your choice.

They’re pay what you want and mostly proofread.
Follow the link in the show notes to get one.

Thanks for listening!

Tuesday, June 21, 2022

Channel Ab3 Episode Twenty-One- "Oh Whistle and I'll Come to You My Lad"


  
"The Professor was young, neat, and precise in speech."

All Librivox recordings are in the public domain



Comments? Questions? Email us at Ab3@channelAb3.com or follow us on Twitter @ChannelAb3.

Please consider supporting the podcast via recurring donations of either 99 cents, 4.99 or 9.99 a month via the link on our Anchor FM site.

Reviews really help more people find the show, please consider giving us one at the podcast service of your choice.


Thanks for listening!

Monday, June 6, 2022

MY FICTION: The Night Blogger: Demon In Lace


by
Al Bruno III
 
May 10th …Cyrus Finkle never learned the essential cliches we live by- 'forgive and forget', 'if you cant say something nice don't say anything', 'patience is a virtue' and of course, 'never hit REPLY ALL'. Cyrus was one of those guys that treated life as a series of entitlements and equations – he got into a good college so he expected to get a good job, he made a lot of money so he expected women to flock to him, he became a high-paid member of the local Republican Party so he expected the path to public office to be an easy one.

And who knows? Maybe he might have gotten all the things he felt he deserved someday. If only he hadn't forwarded those racist emails about the President to everyone he knew and a lot of people he didn't. Like I said, 'never hit REPLY ALL’.

That stuff might fly in the red states, Hell it might even get you elected, but the NY Republican party has always had a  troublesome shred of dignity. The long and short of it is that Cyrus found himself out of a job faster than you could say 'Tea Party'.  So much for 'if you cant say something nice don't say anything'.

People who find themselves suddenly unemployed have many options; updating their resumes, applying for welfare or moving back in with their parents. Cyrus Finkle didn't bother with any of that, he was an 'outside the box' kind of guy so he decided that revenge against those who had wronged him via demonic summoning was the way to go. 'Forgive and forget'? Not a chance.

Who knows where he obtained that PDF file of that blasphemous elder scroll? Who knows where he found a bone from a saint and the tears of a jackal? I mean let's be honest here, even Amazon.com has its limits. Long story short, he locked himself in his apartment- number 233 in the Parkwood Towers- and, once he'd properly defiled himself, he began the dark chant to summon Druagga the Possessor, thrall of Moloch.

When the chant was completed all Cyrus Finkle had to do was wait, and he did wait for almost forty-five minutes before starting the chant over again. He performed the chant multiple times within the next twenty four hours. Trust me on this, I have statements from the annoyed and terrified neighbors to prove it. After twenty four hours Cyrus Finkle fell silent, fell being the operative word because he'd hung himself using a rough noose fashioned out of the silk draperies.

Poor Cyrus, if only he'd read that PDF file more carefully, if only he’d known that ‘patience is a virtue’...


*

...I was still a little sore from my one-sided slugfest at Locust Park and I was trying to distract myself from the charges of necrophilia said slugfest had resulted in. The lawyer Mrs. Vincenzo hired wanted me to take a plea deal but damnit I want to world to know I was beaten up by a dead man not beaten off by one.

My investigations led me from Delmar to Albany, from the state capitol to a dive bar with a failed health inspection proudly displayed on the wall. Finally my search led me back to Parkwood Towers, to apartment 231. I knocked on the door and the now familiar face of Johnny Dennis answered. “Brian Foster?” he said, “I didn't think I'd see you again.”

How do I describe Johnny Dennis? 'Pretentious meth-head trend-chasing sociopath’ covers all the bases. Despite those drawbacks he manages to hold down a job and mix with polite society. In fact the sonofabitch thrives in it.

Now what does that say about polite society I ask you?

“A few more questions have come up,” I shouldered past him into the apartment, “I need a little more of your time.”

An annoyed look crossed his features but he closed the door and ushered me into his living room, “After you left I found your blog.”

“Oh?”

“You think your some kind of a Ghostbuster or something?” he said with a snort.

“No proton packs here,” I faked a chuckle, “Maybe a few silver bullets and holy water, but only on special occasions.”

He offered me a seat but I decided to keep standing. On one wall there was a reproduction of Van Gogh's 'Portrait of Dr. Gachet'. A fairly obscure example of the artist's work, just the thing to tickle the fancy of a post-modern middle class Bohemian.

Damn hipsters, ruining straw fedoras for everybody.

“I don't think I can tell you much more. I started to smell something foul. I knocked on Cyrus' door, it was unlocked so I went in and found him hanging there. He'd tied the drapes to a ceiling fan. I pulled him down but he'd been dead for days.” Johnny shrugged, “Actually I am surprised the fan held his weight. These apartments are so damn cheap.”

“Are you sure you didn't see anything odd while you were in there?” I asked, “Black candles, ancient scrolls or worrisome stains?”

“No,” he looked at me like I was crazy, “are you just here to waste my time Brian?”

I wandered over the the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. It was unlocked. “Did you see his enemies list?”

“Enemies list?”

“It's all in the police report,” I pulled out a ragged sheet of paper and handed it to him, “Before the end he wrote down the names of everyone he felt wronged him.”

He didn't bother to read it, he didn't even give it a cursory glance, “Am I on here?”

“Do you think you should be?”  I asked. “Don't worry your not, but just about everyone else he ever met is. Even his fifth grade teacher.”

And that was completely true. I bet Cyrus' nipples were sore from nursing all those grudges. I went on to explain to  Johnny Dennis that a good portion of that enemies list had died recently in all sorts of ways; strangulation, suffocation, falling down a flight of stairs. “It's really quite bizarre,” I concluded.

“And what?” He said, “You think I'm killing people for him? I barely knew the guy!”

“True,” I said with a raised finger, “but you were the one that found the body and the police report also states that some things were missing from the apartment.”

That got him angry, “I think you should leave.”

“You're probably right but I want to read this list of stolen items to you first. Let me know if anything sounds familiar.”

“Look asshole I'm not going to-”

I began, “One laptop, one iPhone, a complete collection of Radiohead's discography and  the very set of draperies Cyrus Finkle used to kill himself. Quite the eclectic mix.”

Now confusion was in his eyes, and maybe a little twitch of fear, “I didn't steal his drapes.”

“Well maybe,” with my right hand I pulled my smartphone from my jacket pocket and took aim, “his drapes stole you.”

There was a long pause.

“Come on…” I said, “show yourself.”

There was a wet, gurgling sound. Johnny Dennis’s mouth snapped wide open and his eyes rolled back to the whites but his posture didn’t change at all, he just trembled ever so slightly. His torso hitched once, twice and then a tendril of yellowed fabric wormed its way from between his lips.

It was slick with bile, some parts were twisted and knotted, other parts were frayed and each lose thread made skittering motions in the air like the legs of an upended millipede. It was a parasite, a parasite made from fabric and a curse.

I can’t imagine Cyrus Finkle or Druagga the Possessor had ever expected things to turn out like this. I reached into my other jacket pocket and pulled out a flask. The top popped open easily.

“Hear me Druagga!” I cried, “The supplicant is dead, you have no purpose any longer.”

Johnny Dennis toppled over. His face had turned purple and he was convulsing. I suspected he was for all intents and purposes already dead but I had to try and do the right thing and save the poor bastard.

I liberally splashed the contents of the flask over the unclean spirit and its hipster host. Then I muttered the exorcism rite I had committed to memory just this morning.

The only response I got was a scream of outrage, a scream of outrage that had come from neither man or demon but from somewhere very near them both.

Was that the way it worked? Was the true essence of Druagga somewhere nearby playing puppeteer? I didn’t know then and I don’t know now.

The scream was replaced by a wet sound, a tearing noise. The full length of the drapery pulled itself free. Long ugly bits of the poor bastard’s digestive track were dragged out along with it but by then Johnny Dennis was too dead to notice.

The thing darted cobra-like towards me. I had to throw myself across the dining room table to get away. I gave the holy water and exorcism rite one more try but the demon’s only response was to bloom outwards, uncurling, taking a shape that mocked and mimicked the proportions of a genie; human on the top, squiggly on the bottom. I tried to throw myself back the other way over the dining room table but wasn’t fast enough.

The lacy fingers that wrapped around my throat stank of intestinal juices and brimstone. I kicked and pulled but it held me fast. I tried to find some kind of hold on its bile-slickened body but I couldn’t. When I gasped for air it hooked one puke-tasting hand onto my lower jaw and pulled my mouth open as wide as it could go.

The tail end of the thing slid up my body heading for my face. I knew then that it was going to force itself down my esophagus and into my waiting stomach. I was to be its next host.

Oh HELL NO! I thought.

It dove in, it didn’t get all the way down my gullet but it got deep enough that I’m afraid I’ll never be able to taste anything good again.

Because luckily, at that moment, my fingers found purchase in the moist, tattered fabric. Once I had a grip on the thing I pulled it away and flung it across the room. It smacked against the wall.

Then I ran, somehow I ran and got sick over myself at the same time. I got onto the balcony and closed the glass sliding door just as it righted itself and lunged after me…


*


…there is no doubt in my mind that my story has left you with a lot of questions. I’ll try to answer them all in no particular order.

Where did I get my information? A blogger can’t reveal all his sources but I can tell you that I owe it all to my network of contacts, hours of research and the realization that someone high up in local law enforcement uses ‘Password11’ for their password.

How did I get away? Thankfully Druagga, Thrall of Moloch, had even less patience than the man that had summoned him and gave up after about ten minutes of trying to get through the sliding glass door I was desperately holding closed. I’m sure the fact I was not one of the people on its hit list helped save my incredibly bruised ass. After one final thump on the door it slithered back into Johnny Dennis’s body. You never get used to seeing a dead man stand up and walk away but every time is a little different. Like this time for instance; the way Druagga/Johnny paused to lock the balcony door before disappearing into the night was fairly unique.

I screwed up my bad knee and broke my iPhone climbing down from the second floor balcony but at least I got clear of Parkwood Towers before the police showed up to investigate the commotion.

Why didn’t my exorcism work? I don’t know. Maybe Father Vincent of St. Casmir’s church does a really bad job of blessing water or maybe I do a really bad job of memorizing exorcism rites. Then again maybe Druagga the Possessor, a being with a history far older than the Catholic Church, isn’t really a demon at all. It’s at times like this I really miss Jasper.

Actually I miss Jasper most of the time. If you’re reading this please call, even if it’s just to tell me you think I’m an idiot.

Enough of that. I need to wrap this up so I am going to conclude with a warning.

If any of you readers out there ever managed to piss off Cyrus Finkle at some point in your life be careful. Watch out for men that shamble like something out of a George Romero movie. Learn how to draw the Sign of Ninazu and carry around a bit of charcoal with you at all times.

Most importantly of all be aware of every room you enter, examine the decor carefully because if the drapes clash with the rug it just might be curtains for you.