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CABINET OF HENRI GAMUL

ANNIVERSARY

CURIOSITY PEDDLER: WEEP AND MOAN

COLD READS

HANGMAN'S DOZEN THEME

TRAILER WE WHO ARE HIS FOLLOWERS

HANGMAN'S DOZEN EP. 1

HANGMAN'S DOZEN EP. 2: THE DROWNED MAN

THE SWARM from THE BOOK OF WEIRD

THE HUNGRY FACE from THE BOOK OF WEIRD

AUDIO DRAMA: ATOMIC PLAYBOY

ELIXIR

SUNDOWNERS EP 2 SAM HILL DIED HERE

BLACKOUT CITY: DEATH RAIN

ELECTRIC CHAIR 37

RADIO PLAY: SEEING RED

HORROR ADDICTS 113

Sunday, September 4, 2011

TWO OF A KIND copyright 2011 m.s.






They were sitting in Smokey's having coffee, not saying word, staring at each other like staring at their own reflection. Jeff and Kyle had grown up twenty miles from each other, different parents, different friends, owning the same face. They were dressed similar, blue suits, white ties. Jeff had gold cufflinks, a present from the Insurance company for most sales in a year,  that was the only difference.

“I guess I should break the ice,” Kyle said after a lengthy silence.

Jeff smiled. “ I guess you should,” He took a sip of his coffee and waited. When Kyle didn't continues, Jeff held his hand up, asking kyle to continue.

Kyle laughed, shrugged. “It was a little strange when you called.”

“It was stranger when I passed you on the sidewalk two weeks ago. It's not everyday you see someone with your FACE attached to their body.”








Their waitress showed up again, arms folded. “Can I get you two anything else?” She looked unhappy, even though there was a forced smile on her face. Actually it was a strain. She looked as if she'd lived a hard life, but Kyle didn't want to jump to conclusions. He still thought maybe she'd been a junkie at one time.

“I do believe I would like a piece of cherry pie,” Jeff spoke up.

The top of the waitresses head opened up like the trunk of a car. Out of the pitch black inside, two hands rose up holding a pen and a notepad, immediately wrote down Jeff's order. “How about you, doll?” She said to kyle.

“Oh...sure. Cherry pie is fine.” He nodded.

The hands wrote down the order and disappeared in the in the dark corners of her mind. The top of her head closed slowly. “Okay. Two cherry pie slices coming up,” She said as her salt shaker shape body walked away.









Kyle spied a group of Mimes sitting at a table across from them. They all sported fur coats and rings on every finger. One Mime had a steak knife cleaning his fingernails, while the another was cleaning his .45. The conversation from the group turned very loud and intense regarding their “stable” of women that earn their living on the streets.

Kyle looked away. Jeff tapped the table with a finger. “Have you been listening to me?” He said.

“Oh! Yes,” Kyle cleared his voice. “You, uh, said your Father was a pharmacist?”

“Yeah,” Jeff sipped his coffee. “My mother drove a bus. What did your Father do?”

“He owns Newspaper companies. Print is dead is sacrilegious to him.”

“And your Mother?”

“Mothers.”





The salt and pepper shakers levitated and floated around their heads.


“Oh,” Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“My Father was married four times. This last one has lasted ten years, she's only six years older than me.”

Jeff snickered. Soon the waitress brought the slices of pie. She set the plates down gingerly, waddled away.

“What do you do?” Kyle took a bite of his pie, chewed, then made a sour face. He put his fork down and pushed his plate away.


“I'm a salesman.” Jeff broke off huge chunks of pie with his fork.
He was pleased with his pie and it showed in the enthusiastic way he was eating.






“What is it you sell?” Kyle so wanted a cigarette, but would not risk being shot on sight by a policeman if he lit up in a restaurant.




In the corner of the restaurant, in a booth, a woman and a wolf were making love very loudly.



“Body parts,” Jeff said nonchalantly. “You know, mostly kidneys, arms, livers. The occasional brain, but I don't think those transplants really work.”

“Yes,” Kyle sighed. “I suppose they don't.”

“What about you?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on. A person has to do something.”



Kyle shook his head. “Not me.”

“How do you live? You need---”

“Money. I live off my Father. He has plenty. And I found out recently, that if you have influence, you can do whatever you want.”


Outside on the street, a gang of headless thugs chased a man down and tore him to pieces. They took the pieces of flesh and stapled it to the restaurant’s door, wrote graffiti with his blood.





“What do you mean by that?” Jeff had a sheepish smile on his face.

The wall's began to breathe in and out, leaving a low moan as mood music.





“Well. I was driving through a sleepy desert town at two in the morning last year and I swerved into someones yard, a ratty place, full of old tires stacked to heaven and broken down cars everywhere. I swerved and killed a young boy. I wrote a check out to the parents for ten thousand dollars. Then I called the family lawyer and he called the town mayor and the family was moved out of their home that they'd lived in for twenty years. The place was condemned. Bulldozed over, and land sold for a shopping center.”


“That wasn't very nice. They got to keep the money though.”

“No,” Kyle said, “I had the father arrested for forgery.”


“You are a rotten bastard.” Jeff proclaimed.

“So I am told very often.” Kyle admitted.

“Well, I must be off. Meeting my girl outside.” Jeff stood, looked out the restaurant’s window. A woman and her Siamese twin attached at the shoulder was waving at him. Jeff waved back.






“Is that her?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff nodded. “Maybe I'll see you around.”

“More often than you know,” Kyle replied. Jeff turned and was out the door. He took his girl's arm and headed down the street. Kyle began to laugh, everyone in the restaurant joined in.

Kyle closed his eyes. When he reopened them he was alone, leaning against the wall of his white room, trying to get comfortable in his straight jacket.


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