Into The Unknown 95 - Halloween 2018 - Track Listing

https://www.mixcloud.com/jeff-hickmott/into-the-unknown-95-halloween-2018/


Graveyard's Full - The Growlers
http://thegrowlers.com/home/

The Blue Wrath - I Monster
http://www.imonstermusic.com/

Wicked Anabella - Kinks
http://thekinks.info/

They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back from the Dead!! Ahhhh! - Sufjan Stevens
https://sufjan.com/

No Eyes (Halloween Short Story) by Charlie Hickmott

Monster Mash - Bad Manners
https://twitter.com/BadManners40yr
https://www.facebook.com/badmannersofficial/

Beelzedub - Orbital
https://orbitalofficial.com/

A Permanent Answer (Halloween Short Story) by Michael Noble

The Headless Horseman (A Jazzy Halloween) - Bing Crosby
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bing_Crosby

Sinister Stomp - Bobby (Boris) Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bobby_Pickett

The Devil Went Down To Georgia - Natalie Stovall
http://www.nataliestovall.com/

Dracula - Desmond Dekker & The Aces
http://www.desmonddekker.com/

South Of Heaven (Slayer cover) - Driving Mrs Satan
https://drivingmrssatan.com/

Moon (Halloween Short Story) by Jeff Hickmott

Are You Ready For Freddy? - Fat Boys feat. Robert Englund
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fat_Boys

Vampire (Dracula version) - Peter Tosh
http://petertosh.com/
https://twitter.com/petertosh

Jack The Ripper - Screaming Lord Sutch
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Screaming_Lord_Sutch
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Official_Monster_Raving_Loony_Party
http://www.loonyparty.com/

Season Of The Witch - Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper & Steve Stills
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Bloomfield
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al_Kooper
http://www.alkooper.com/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Stills
http://www.stephenstills.com/

The Path (Halloween Short Story) by Catherine Legg

Spooky Scary Skeletons - Andrew Gold
https://www.andrewgold.com/

The Ghost Of Stephen Foster - Squirrel Nut Zippers
https://twitter.com/snzippers
http://www.snzippers.com/

Pumpkin - Starlight Mints
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Starlight_Mints
https://www.starlightmints.com/
https://twitter.com/themints

Mr Ghost Goes To Town - The 5 Jones Boys
https://www.vocalgroupharmony.com/5JonesCD.htm

This Is Halloween - Broken Peach
https://twitter.com/broken_peach
http://brokenpeach.com/

Ghost Dance - Truett & George (1927)
https://adp.library.ucsb.edu/index.php/talent/detail/88731/Truett_and_George_Musical_group
Velma S. Truett and Harry George were banjo and guitar players and designers based in San Francisco. They developed their own unique instrument designs, tunings, and playing style.

Haunted House - The Upsetters
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Upsetters
https://twitter.com/ScratchLee

Voodoo Chile - Justin Johnson
http://www.justinjohnsonlive.com/

You're Dead - Norma Tanega
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norma_Tanega
https://normatanega.com/

Halloween Story Challenge: Jeff Hickmott

Moon

Nobody ever really felt the same after the moon had gone.

The moon hadn't been destroyed or spontaneously exploded. No enormous lunar anomaly. Nobody had shot a rocket at the moon.

Everyone had gone to bed as normal, and when dawn broke and the world's eyes opened, the moon was no longer up there.

The newspapers and TV networks couldn't say how an object so large could just evaporate. Nor could the major colleges and schools, or governments around the globe. What they all knew was that people would have to get used to extremes of weather, but after the poles had both melted, extreme weather was old news.

Even so, nobody really got used to the concept of a moonless Earth and all that that encompassed.

-------------------------

Jurgen wasn't one hundred percent sure that the Moon had actually gone for good. "Merely AWOL," he would tell the fellas at the pub, after a couple of jars. "Someone's taken the Moon somewhere."

"You're drunk," they would reply. "Or crazy. Who would steal the bloody Moon? And why?"

He would just shrug.

"Go home, Jurgen."

He had to accept that the theory sounded wacky, but he couldn't shake the sense that everyone else was wrong.

-------------------------------

Towards the end of March, Jurgen was on the way home after yet another drunken speech at the Coach and Horses. He was wobbly, but the effect was worsened by the lack of moonglow. Shops had pretty much sold out of torches, and those people that already had torches couldn't buy a battery for love or money.

Suddenly he began to feel unwell - not bad, just a general unpleasant ache. He took an Alka-Seltzer and went to bed, and slept half an hour here, an hour there and so forth. He woke early and felt lousy. He stepped over to the bathroom for a glance at the old face. Puffy, for sure. Paler than he thought was normal. An outbreak of spots on the left cheek, but generally okay. He carefully thought about whether to go to work. He played eeny-meeny with the empty beer cans that sat on the floor by the bed.
Damn.

Work at the call centre was dull, and generally nobody spoke to Jurgen much. They just weren't the chatty type. Today, however, between comments on the moon's whereabouts, everyone seemed to have a crack about the way he looked. He was bloated, he looked pale, and someone rudely commented that perhaps he should try Zumba.

Jurgen told the boss that he was unwell, needed to go home and wouldn't be back all week. She nodded. Jurgen guessed correctly that he wasn't her most valuable employee.

On the way home he began to feel trapped by the clothes he wore, and as soon as he got back to the flat he tore them off pronto and took to bed.

----------------------------

Several days of bed later, he was woken by a lone sunbeam that seemed to have a vendetta. Groggy, he lolled out of bed and ventured another peek at the wardrobe's full-length glass. Shocked was not a strong enough word. He could not even tell who that person was. Extremely swollen and so, so pale. A funny thought occurred and a wry look flashed across Jurgen's face for a nanosecond.
"Beyond the pale..."
Not only that, but the spots were now huge pockmarks. Craters, even.

He was now beyond bloated too. Most people would have labelled Jurgen as fat. Very fat. To tell the truth, he appeared grossly obese. He'd only worn a bathrobe all week and was unaware of how large he'd become. He tottered to the bathroom, past the front door where newspapers had collected. They all declared the same news in large font - nobody knew what had happened to the moon. "Same old story," he muttered. 

He gently stepped onto the creaky, rusty old bathroom scale that he'd had from college days.

"What the hell?" He had actually LOST poundage.

Too much. He needed to breathe. As he passed the TV on the way to the door, he caught a few of the weather presenter's words.

"...as storms worsen, experts are stuck for answers as to the whereabouts of the moon..."

He walked, or rather waddled up to the roof of the tower block. He often went up there to clear the cobwebs. The sky was overcast, full of portent. As he stood to watch the town below, Jurgen could feel the bathrobe stretch as he expanded, and suddenly, he knew what he had to do. "The moon hasn't gone, he murmured, "the moon's been replaced." There was a small breeze, but that was enough to make Jurgen sway back and forth. He removed the robe and let the breeze take hold, arms outstretched. There he was - naked, afloat on the breeze and most assuredly larger by the moment. Anyone on the ground below would have seen what appeared to be a large pale grey balloon that had a small head and feet, apparently broken free from a tether and now skyward.

Up, up, up...

At last, hours later, Jurgen came to a halt. He had become rotund, feet and hands no longer seen. Just a humongous grey, pockmarked sphere of a face.
A moon face.


He felt strange. Strangely happy. Happy because he knew that he had saved the world.



Jeff Hickmott

Halloween Story Challenge: Catherine Legg

The Path

No-one ever saw what really happened.

Moss-covered stone walls bordered the churchyard, and the narrow path lay shadowed between dark yew trees at one edge and a half-collapsed Tudor hall on the other. Sodden grass and weeds choked the entrance, and ahead there was only blackness – a stark contrast to the autumn sun that cheered the open street. Up above, tangled thorns and branches blocked the way to any casual explorer.

Unless you were a mouse.

Brown feet pattered, and a small nose quested here and there for food. Snuffle and stop, snuffle and stop. She came to where the path entrance met the lane. Paused, just for a moment. Then darted between the close-woven stems, and was gone.

A cat watched. Crouched low, ears alert. Soft rustles gave away the mouse’s progress through the grass. A few moments more, and the cat had been tempted beyond endurance; he padded forward, then followed where the mouse had led. Cat and prey were enveloped by the undergrowth.

And the sounds stopped.

………………………………………………………………………

“They get lost, you know. They won’t leave well alone.”

Matthew turned to see who had spoken. An old woman, seated on the bench across the road from the church. She looked perfectly sane, not the sort of person to address a complete stranger so oddly. A neat perm, coat and scarf carefully matched, shoes so clean they looked new.

“You want to know what’s down the path, don’t you? All the new people do. Saw you here yesterday, too.”

Matthew crossed over. “Yes, well… Can’t help but wonder. So overgrown, all those brambles and branches. Draws the eye today – that darkness, when the rest of the street’s so sunny.”

“Yes, that’s what always happens.”

“What?” He drew back, repelled by her matter-of-fact tone and steady gaze. “What always happens?”

“Bryony, her name was. Only seventeen. A few years ago – here one moment and gone the next, and they never found her. But she was seen on the street here, by the path.”

Matthew relaxed. “That’s very sad – must have been a shock to everyone. But surely…”

“A cold, sunny October day. Exactly the same. There’ve been others too.” Her pale blue eyes held Matthew’s relentlessly.

“Yes, but…”

“She went to look for her cat. They say there must have been a man who attacked her, but they never asked me. Could have told them. The path gets them because they just won’t leave well alone. But no-one ever asks me.”

“Well…” Matthew faltered helplessly. “Sorry, got to go now.” Mad after all, he thought. He retreated down the street, eyes focused ahead, away from the dark mouth of the path that went nowhere.

………………………………………………………

He checked, of course. Googled ‘Bryony’ and the name of the town, and up came the story. There was a blurred photograph of her; brown eyes, head half to camera, mouth crookedly upturned. The case was unsolved – she had never been traced.

Then he dreamt about her, a jumbled fantasy where he was her beloved and a huge black cat wove around them as they lay on a bed of fallen leaves. Then Bryony stood and took Matthew’s hand. “We must follow!” she announced, and led the way onto the path.

He woke, sweat-drenched, body a-tremble.

Later that day, he was drawn once more towards Church Street. As before, the sun streamed from a cloudless sky, although the temperature had dropped, and he walked hunched over, hands pocket-deep. He knew why he was there but would not acknowledge the fact. He would pretend that the path held no lure, that the dark, bramble-strewn entrance was of no consequence. He would be strong.

What was that?

Up ahead, towards the church?

Was that a pale cotton dress or was he just sun-dazzled? But look, there! Surely, dark curls that blew across brown eyes, not just dead leaves on gnarled branches. And that sound… Wasn’t that the happy laugh of a young woman entranced by love? Where had that come from?

And then Matthew was by the overgrown portal that seemed to suck out all the sun. He peered beyond at the unfathomable gloom. “Follow!” she had demanded. And so he took a deep breath and stepped onto the path.

……………………………………………………..

“They get lost, you know. They won’t leave well alone.”

Kelly turned, pleased that someone would talk to her. Stuck-up lot, most of them round here. She wondered whether she should have moved house after all.

What was the old woman on about? The church path? Kelly moved closer.

“There was a young man. He stood just where you are now…”

Catherine Legg

Halloween Story Challenge: Michael Noble

A Permanent Answer

Caruthers Schroederman entered through the only door of the room, the same one we came through beforehand. All of us conversed about each other's good fortune to be at the event.

"Everyone? Please ... make your way to any seat you see open and make yourselves comfortable. We'll commence shortly ..."

The man was a tall swallow of water and a clear presence of command. All of us knew controversy surrounded the man, from the suspect work management he employed on through to the shady, rumored hunches of how he got so far up the corporate ladder sans any extraneous support other than what he'd manufactured alone.

That's exactly why everyone wanted a morsel of the guy. Well ... that and the fact he never gave anyone so much as a peek of who he actually was. Never before had there been a one-on-one talk, a personal statement, a dependable expose, zero. Thus, the allure was hard to bypass when word got out about "the announcement" he was to present. Out of the blue news bureaus everywhere reported he would offer a one-off conference held at a secret locale a few days hence and << BOOM >> a request shows up at my outlet ... and for me and me alone to attend.

Fast forward to the present: He'd gathered a pretty notable assortment of correspondents and newspaper people to hear what he had to say. The room was packed - probably a couple hundred of us were present - ready for what very well could be the scoop of the season.

"All of you have been summoned here for one reason and one reason only," he began once he took the front of the room. "One of you has garnered the secret to my success. And that's unacceptable. You people have hounded me for years to get my "story." Apparently, one supposedly clever sole stumbled on what's been kept constantly out of reach from the masses. That stops here."

Schroederman began to pace slowly back toward the door at the front of the room.

"No one knows where you are currently, not your bosses, not your fellow colleagues, no one. Not even your spouses or what have you. That was a calculated move on my part. Because, shortly, all of you are about to breathe your last.

"That's because seventy-pound sharpened metal rods from above the canopy of the room where you have congregated start to descend randomly over the next hour or so at speeds you cannot hope outrun. You won't know when one appears; once a rod starts to fall you won't have a chance to dodge out of the way. The razor-sharp ends of the rod? They eventually reach you. Some sooner, some, torturously, a great deal later. Each rod can perforate your skulls and cleave you through to the exact spot where you stand or wherever you run. They may show you mercy and put you to death at once. Or ... they could tear a shoulder or separate the lower half of your leg as you flee to try and save yourselves. You won't know from one second to the next when the next rod descends or when your number comes up."


We were shocked, glued to our seats, awestruck. He reached for and opened the door and walked through. "No more meddlesome assaults about who Caruthers Schroederman purports to be or how he conducts company employment or personal concerns ... EVER!"

The door closed.


That's when we heard the sound of a metal rod descend, followed by screams ...


Michael Noble

Halloween Story Challenge: Charlie Hickmott

No Eyes

Dusk was upon us. Day had drawn to a close. The town; Portland, Oregon. One of those days when the sky opened up, and the fog obscured the Western Hemlock and Cedar trees. Surrounded by the half-darkness they looked for all the world to be trolls and ogres, ready amongst the shadows to gobble up passers-by.

My car pulled up the gravel path to the town house my roommate owned. The porch groaned under my heft. The house was old, and showed as much. As the door creaked open, darkness greeted me. My roommate preferred to keep the house dark. He told me never to, “attack the shadows,” though that seemed an odd way to word that thought.

The day at work had been long , so tea was necessary. The kettle spewed steam, and the bag steeped comfortably. The couch looked warm and cozy; below the blankets, taste of tea, ahhh. The darkness was not so bothersome now.

But a sound began to waft down from the upper floor. A sound close to a scream. Louder. Louder. Down the steps. Almost at the rear of the couch. Then, a shout! Felt the breath on my face. And suddenly he appeared.

My roommate. Blood seeped from the sockets.

For he had no eyes.



Charlie Hickmott

The Halloween Story Challenge

Hi folks! As those of you who follow my Facebook posts are probably aware, I recently offered up a challenge to anyone who wanted to participate to write a spooky, scary, suspenseful or strange short story for Halloween. To add a certain degree of difficulty, the stories were not to contain the letter I (i).  I read the three stories I received (plus one that I wrote) on my recent Halloween podcast, and I promised everyone that I would also publish the stories on this here blog. So, the next four posts on this blog will be the four tales in question, which are:

No Eyes by Charlie Hickmott

A Permanent Answer by Michael Noble

The Path by Catherine Legg

and my own story, Moon.

At Catherine's suggestion, I am making this a regular thing, and not just for Halloween! Later this week I will be issuing a Christmas challenge, details to be decided.

Happy Reading!