The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast - First Anniversary Bonus Episode

Episode Date: June 13, 2012

Today marks the first anniversary of The Nosleep Podcast! To celebrate the event we are releasing this bonus episode.There are only a few podcasts available these days that specialize is presenting the performance of horror and suspense fiction. In honor of the podcast’s anniversary, we will highlight some of the other shows that are in the fraternity of horror podcasts.The Nosleep Podcast highly recommends you check out the offerings of Pseudopod, Tales to Terrify, and Fear on Demand.This episode features a story written by authors M.F. Korn and David Mathew. It is entitled, The Secret Ingredient.A big thank you to all the fans who have made the past year so enjoyable…and frightening! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

As the sunlight fades to darkness and the frightful tales creep into your mind, it's time to give in to your fear because tonight there will be no sleep. Welcome to this special bonus edition of the No Sleep podcast. I'm the producer, David Cummings. This special episode is being released on June 13th, 2012, And that means it's the one-year anniversary of the No Sleep podcast. Yes, it was June 13, 2011, when the first episode of the Fledgling podcast was released to the sounds of this introduction. For the dark hours when you dare not close your eyes.

It's the No sleep podcast. No sleep. Featuring stories from Reddit.com's No Sleep Forum. No sleep. Join us as the sleepless hours. One year and 25 episodes later, we celebrate our first anniversary. I'd like to do something a little different for this anniversary episode. Rather than dwell on the past year in the life of the No Sleep podcast,

I thought I'd make our listeners aware of the other horror story-telling podcasts that are available on the internet. After all, it's a small fraternity of us out there. One of the oldest and most respected horror podcasts is pseudopod, which features top-notch fiction writers and professional narrators crafting outstanding horror tales. Make sure you check them out at pseudopod.org. Another great place for Outstanding Horror Fiction is the Fear on Demand podcast, found at fearondemand.com. Sidney Williams is the host and producer of the shows, and he is a member of a close-knit community of horror and suspense authors.

The stories on Fear on Demand are very high quality in terms of both writing and narration. In fact, I was in contact with Sidney a number of months ago and volunteered my services as a narrator. Sid was kind enough to include me in the show, and I had the pleasure of reading a story that will be featured in the next episode of Fear on Demand, as soon as the show marks its return in the coming weeks. I asked Sidney if I could include the story I read for his podcast on this bonus episode of the No Sleep Podcast, and he graciously gave me his permission. So it's with a friendly tip of the hat

that I thank our friends at Fear on Demand and present to you this episode's Lone Story. The story I will read for you is written by a pair of authors, M.F. Corn and David Matthew. This collaborative team have individually had over 800 published pieces of fiction and nonfiction, and 15 novels, with many of those novels making some of the year's best lists. They have also sold a collaborative novel entitled Creature Feature to Brownstone Press. Now, as I blow out the lone candle on our birthday cake and wish for another successful year of No Sleep Podcasts, Join me, won't you?

For a decidedly non-vegan meal, as we try to determine what exactly is the secret ingredients. Down Peck's Hollow Road, the old truck lurched into Meadow Park Baptist Cemetery. A huge fellow got out, cursing to himself as he almost slammed the door against his ham-fisted thumb. But the creaky door bounced back instead of clicking shut. Hey, keep it down, said the wiry guy, who was emerging from the vehicle's other side. The moon-bathed cemetery whispered through fetterings of the pecan and oak trees, sashaying in the strong night winds.

Where's the new one? said the larger man. Eddie, the retard, said it was on the west end. Over that way. The markers glowed from the moonlight, bathing them in an almost phosphorus evanescence. The big misfit and the little guy walked from the van to the west-flanking wrought-iron fence, stomping over carefully placed flowers and seraments by the plots they trod upon to get to the business of digging up a Mrs. Ellie Wascombe, just laid to rest two days ago. The men had their shovels and made use of them quite handily. Hey, Ralph, said the big man.

I seen a picture one time. These guys were digging up a body, and when they got the casket out, the lid flips up and an old woman starts screaming at them. Ralph had earned a little sweat on his brow. He mopped it away with his shirt cuff and said, Well, that ain't going to happen tonight, so don't worry about it. Christlebe frowned. I didn't say I was worried about it. I just said I'd seen it.

Keep digging. An owl was keeping time. in the distance. Leaning on his shovel for a moment, Ralph tried to find it. He was already out of breath. This was strenuous work for a man with a hole in his heart. Poorly paid, too, but at least it would get a creditor off his back for another month, once they had delivered the corpse. Christlebe set to once more. The man was indefatigable, with no interest in money. In other words, he was a perfect partner. Ralph watched him work for a few seconds. Then, bored with that, he followed the path of a battle cruiser cloud in the Pacey night sky. It seemed to get snagged on the steeple arrowing up from the

church. The cloud was punctured. A few seconds later, a few spots of rain were felt. Great, said Ralph. Chris Leeb loved the rain. When he felt the stray drops softly land on his bald spot, he started to dig with added fervor, added zeal. The rain reminded him of his childhood, of the times when he'd been allowed out of the house, which had been few and far between. Carefully, he probed the periodontal problems he'd been having with his tongue. Pain also made him work harder. Sooner started, sooner finished, thought Ralph. He helped his colleague. The dirt was sprayed all around as they dug deeper. The rain brought out the full fragrance of the earth. It wasn't pleasant. Standing on top of the coffin a half hour later, Ralph was reminded of his time as a surfboarder

in his youth before his health problems had been all too real. As ever at this point, he was nervous. The thought of the lid cracking open, planted by Christlebe, wasn't helping much either. He took a screwdriver from the kangaroo pouch that he was wearing attached to his heavy belt. It didn't fit the screws. Shine the light down here, he said to Christlebe. The rain on the wood was making an awful racket. He pried open the casket, lifted the lid, and gave the corpse a big wet kiss. Hey there, said Christlebe. That's enough. Sorry, but Ralph was suppressing a smile. hauling the corpse from the pit was like dancing with a drunken bear, but between them they managed to get the corpse in the van and the grave filled in in less than an hour. The rain pummeled the consecrated grounds of the cemetery as the van bumped its way back up Peck's Hollow Road.

Cut to the brink of a love-making climax. At approximately the same time, two people, two strangers really, were emerging from the moment. the undergrowth of a bout of pounding love-making. Having macheted their way through a 45-minute jungle, they could both see the light through the twitching branches. A few more of these, thought Cameron, and she'll be as right as rain. Kathy, on top, was galloping on Cameron's hip-bone. It felt as though she were attempting to drive him through the bucketing mattress. He was nearly out of breath, but Kathy didn't seem to be. The bed springs were braying like a group of donkeys on a beach. The CD had just finished playing, but added to the din were the obstreperous gurgles and

howls now emanating from Kathy's gullet. Bingo, thought Cameron as he felt her body clutch at his groin. As he shared the moment, as his body sneezed into hers, he released the handful of buttock that he'd been gripping for the last five minutes. His wedding ring had left a mark on her skin. Like a felled tree, Timber! Kathy collapsed to the side. They breathed like sumo wrestlers for a few seconds. Oh, la, la, said Cameron. Wow, said Kathy. Cameron could scarcely believe his luck. traveling as he did from state to state, it was frequent that he would end up for the evening in a juke joint such as the one in which he'd met this woman, the bottom of the barrel, but it was far from frequent that he would end up accompanying someone to her home.

At first he'd regarded her keenness as suspicious. It was just as well that Cameron had already had a good few bottles of suds, or he might have allowed the possibility that Kathy would end up, clothes off with a the lights down low, to be a Kenny or a Keith, more room. It was possible that he wouldn't have gone through with it, but you couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, now could you? Just to be on the safe side, he'd pose the question that often saved a lot of time. So, what's your baggage? None. He's left me for a woman who bakes muffins for a living. Yours? Kathy had asked. wife and kids, 200 miles away.

My place. Revenge Hump, thought Cameron as he peeled his skin off the moistened sheets. No problem whatever did he have with his new friend's motives. He was simply grateful for the chance to show how good he was. Do you want a cigarette? asked Kathy. I don't smoke. Could I get a drink, though? Sure. Get me one while you're at it, would you?

Naked and flat-footed, Cameron moved slowly through the darkened, unfamiliar apartment. He closed the kitchen door and torched the light. His skin, in its glare, appeared wan. He opened the fridge. More light, like an optician's penlight probe, spreading open his iris in the same way that he'd... No, don't think about more sex. Not yet. Cameron poured juice into two tall beakers, Sipping at one, he thought,

That's a guy's fridge if I'd ever seen one. The picture formed in his head quite naturally. The boorish way that Kathy's absconding spouse had ruled the roost. Cameron was hungry. He reached in to remove one of the many paper-wrapped packages on the top shelf. The bag said, Beef and counter. Cute.

He opened it up and inside was a pie, the smell of which reached directly. for his taste buds. Food was Cameron's life, food and writing. Interstate highways claimed a good deal of his time, but when he arrived at his destination, it was his job to inspect preparation conditions and to compile an inventory of meat products on offer. To write about service and handling styles, baking styles. The five-year project was to end with a PhD thesis on the triumvirate correlation between hygiene, customer expectation, and end product receptability. While compiling his notes, Cameron worked for Domaspec,

the Department of Meat and Savory Products Examination Committee. It was a thankless task, but the money was good and he was able to earn himself a good suntan. Plus, he enjoyed the traveling. His teeth clenched into the pie. Immediately, it was a similar experience to being on. on that bungee jump over the rapids. The flavor made his endorphins glow. Did he start to sweat? Even after being left in the refrigerator, the pie was immaculate. The pastry was soft but full of body. The meat, tender, rich, ripe. God damn it, he thought. This is one of the best savory products

I've ever tasted. Solomon? came Kathy's voice. He had told her his first name. That had been a mistake. You okay in there? He got lost. Be with you in a second, Cath, said Cameron. Kathy, he was corrected. God damn it, Cameron repeated, but not as a result of the rebuke. He took an armful of beef and counter bags from the fridge and laid them on the kitchenette table. Quite a spread. Ropes of sausages, more pies, scotch eggs, chump chops. hunks of beef, and leaves of ham and pink, pink meats. He heard footsteps, perhaps sensing that something was wrong and indicating that any chance of further passion had passed,

Kathy had donned a school marmish robe to explore her own abode. When she entered, Cameron had his incisors into a fresh, spicy sausage. Guiltily, he looked up. A tabletop smothered with meat and paper, juices running. down Cameron's chin. You might have asked, said Kathy. That stuff costs a fortune. Sorry, Cameron replied.

But where do I find this place? The van drove up Delling's Boulevard into the city limits, made a left on Summit Street, and turned into the rear entrance of Gaul's mini-mall, a strip mall of small businesses that, as of late, had revived the town's business life. The businesses had aerated the muniches, lungs of the once-upscale burg known to attract antique shoppers and tourists alike. Whistling

the Laurel and Hardy theme tune, Ralph got his keys off his belt and unlocked the big service entrance, a broad paint-blistered door. The odor of rotted food items wafted from the dumpster, and several tomcats made that almost hidden service drive, their home. After the blistered door creaked open, Ralph and Christlebe lugged the court wrapped in a wet bed sheet, inside, out of the downpour. The sheet was clinging to the body. Small business entrepreneur Frederick Lawrence hailed the brute's arrival. He was snacking on an onion in one hand and a self-rolled cigarette in the other,

both of which items he placed down carefully, like a waiter-laying cutlery in a snooty restaurant. I spy with my little eye, he said. something that starts with a tea. He had a soft-spoken, shrill, sing-song voice. We got this one for you, Mr. Al, said Ralph. The big guy just exhaled heartily and sneezed. Play my game, said Lawrence.

That starts with a tea, he reminded the workers. Trouble, said Christlebe. Lawrence turned to him with a pantomime sneer on his face. You can't see trouble, he said. Oh, boy, thought Ralph. Here we go again. Takers? he ventured. Of what? asked Lawrence. The body, man, Ralph snapped.

And? Lawrence was making a sign with his hands, inviting on the flow of traffic. Both Ralph and Christlebe were stumped to Lawrence's unhidden disgust. Can you say, "'Tortho?' said Lawrence. "'Torso,' said Christlebe. "'We got to get going to Greenhaven if we're going to get you our quota, Mr. L.' "'This was Ralph.'

"'Right you are, boys,' lisped the thin, gaunt man. "'We'll put her in the meat locker.' "'That'll be fine, boys.' Little Ralph eeked. "'Oh, I almost forgot. "'Eddie the retard says there are two derelict bum corpses at the city morgue, and they're getting a pauper's burial tomorrow. Both of them. Where we just came from, off Old Peck's Highway. Tell Eddie the retard he gets another bottle of gin livid from me then.

I'll see you boys later on. When you come back with that other body, don't forget to lock up. Yes, sir, Mr. L. Chris Leeb sneezed again. Elaborately, with great patience, he ran his face the length of his jacket sleeve past his nostrils. The end of his nose was ruby red, and the deposit on his sleeve was the trail left behind after a snail's dying waltz. A chicken hawk named Stan sat atop a pole. The pole overlooked Summit Street. Stan had been a resident of that pole for the last two years, and had been named after Stan Malloy, the manager of the Pigley-Wigley on Babble Drive. But it was not Stan's pet, it was Lawrence's. As he finished his journey to work, the 50-meter walk from the oblique

forward slashes of the parking slots to beef and counter, Lawrence looked up and saluted his totem, his familiar. He and Stan, the chicken hawk, as opposed to the paper-pushing bully, had a good rapport. Lawrence didn't care if Stan must about in the bins after hours in search of goodies. In fact, the longer the relationship had lasted, the tidier Stan had become, thoughtfully tearing open only small beaks of bag skin. Stan squawked. Whether this was in acknowledgement of the salute or in disapproval of the gaggle of young kids playing scatty cat with the traffic, no one would ever know. Lawrence opened up the shop and waited for his employees. Woe betide Beatrice if she was late again, new baby or no new baby. Rules are rules. And if Geraldo turned up drunk once more, he was going

to face a disciplinary. Same reason. Lawrence turned on the friars and the console-sized stove. The air was 10 degrees hotter in a matter of minutes. First customer of the day arrived shortly after, a slim young man wearing a jacket and a shirt that was screaming out for a tie. His smile was broad and seemed genuine. I've come to talk sausages, he said. My name is Solomon Cameron. I think you've got the best tasting sausage in town. Well, thank you, sir.

That's very kind of you to say. Frederick Lawrence took out a pack of Dunhills in a gold case. You don't mind, sir, if I smoke. I'm dying to quit. Oh, no, go right ahead. So, you were saying about my sausages? Sir, I've never tasted anything like it. I've had Andouy sausage from Louisiana,

calbassa Polish, the finest Italian sausage, everything. Hot pork, bodan, mild beef. Yes. But yours is different. I can't put my finger on it. I've strived to give it a unique flavor. Family secret, don't you know? My grandfather taught me how to render the meat just so,

with savory spices during the smoking process, using hickory chips and mesquite. I thought so. I'd like to distribute your meat product. You might want to go national. Well, I do get a lot of antiqueshers and tourists, but I... Sure, but I'm talking national, possibly international. A good word for me can secure a certain amount of kudos,

Mr. Lawrence, Frederick Lawrence. He did not invite the younger man to use his first name. Lawrence paused. Would you like a cigarette, Mr. Cameron? No, thank you. I don't smoke. Coffee? Now that would be nice. Business was always better conducted in a caffeine fug.

Take a seat. I'll be out in a minute. Kathy showered and got ready for work. She considered calling in sick, which wasn't far from the truth, but there were some reports on her desk that needed finishing and filing. She took a morning after pill. In the car she received her first call of the day. It was Idata. Like you to head on over to the cemetery, down Pex Hollow, he said.

What's up? A grave desecration. Oh boy, said Kathy. Witnesses? Old boy Jam saw lights in the night, said Desk Sergeant Idata. He was hoping it was a UFO. No such luck. It looks like our robbers are back in business.

Kathy hooked a left on Muppet Row. A truck blared its horn in rebuke. After pointing the driver to heaven with her middle finger, Kathy put the hammer down. Fifteen minutes later, she had arrived. Not that there was anything much to see. Bella Emberg, from The Rag, was already on site with her dictaphone and her notebook,

with her instimatic camera and her henish enthusiasm. Got a quote for me, Officer? she asked. They were Kathy and Bella when they went out together to the tavern or the bingo, but during working hours it was Officer and Miss Emberg. No, not yet, Miss Emburg. I just arrived. Who was she? Kathy frowned. You can read the headstone as well as I can, Miss Emberg.

I mean, why her? What do you know? nothing. The replaced dirt and soil had been packed down with care, but a trained eye could see a lot more than the casual disregard of criminals would believe. The deceased had not been known to Officer Kathy Maids. Ellie Wascombe was a woman who had suffered a short lifetime of medical problems. She had worked, packing toy monkeys and plastic fake guitars in a warehouse,

getting ready, year-round, for the Christmas rush for children's gifts. As far as Kathy knew, there was nothing awry about her demise. Do you think, asked Bella, that there was a sexual motive involved? A full report will follow, Kathy replied. Bella smirked, lowering her notepad, she said. And what about yours? My what? Your sexual motive, you little minx.

Rumor has it, you left the bottom of the barrel bar last night on the arm of a handsome stranger. Is it true? Kathy had learned not to display any panic she felt, but this, so sudden, so unexpected, was a stern test of the procedure. And who told you that? She not quite demanded. Oh, you know. They did. They did, huh? Well, they need to keep their damn mouths shut. Don't get snappy, Kathy. You know what this town is like, fart in bed and tend to people are asking about your digestive problems in the morning. There's just not enough juice to go around. Which is why you're here, said Kathy. Which is why I'm here? Both Beatrice and Geraldo had turned up on time. The latter had even arrived with his hair tied back, which Lawrence always took as a good

sign. On days that he could be bothered to groom himself, there was less chance of his getting drunk in his coffee breaks. Lawrence was still sitting with Cameron. I can't believe the number of tourists you get in here, the latter remarked. For the last hour, there had been a steady stream of people, all asking to sample some of the state-famous meats, pies, and sausages. A couple of samples had usually proved sufficient. The customer would then fill up with the delicacies, quite satisfied to have bought a piece

of culinary history. They didn't even mind the top dollar prices. But Cameron did. I can see only one problem, he said. The cost. I can assure you that I don't make a fortune on profits, said Lawrence. Even so, your products are considerably more expensive than in neighboring states. Lawrence shrugged.

Neighboring states don't have my secret ingredient, he retorted. Which is what? A secret, Miss. Mr. Cameron. Cameron smiled. The door opened. In walked Kathy on a traffic-flavored breeze and a squawk from Stan high above. Matching Cameron's smile, she said, I thought I might find you in here. Hi, Fred. Hi, Kathy. Coffee? Sure. Lawrence tipped a nod to Beatrice. Everybody at Beef Encounter knew how Kathy liked her brew, oil-rich, unsweetened, muggy, scalding in a great-bake cup. Negotiations underway? asked Kathy. Or can I interrupt?

Lawrence appeared confused. You two know each other? He said. A little bit, Kathy answered, and Cameron nodded. Well, that put paid to Lawrence's ideas of shoving Cameron in the freezer. Damn. He'd long since wanted to know if live meat allowed to freeze to death would have a different flavor. Lawrence was called to the phone. Kathy sipped on her coffee as Cameron asked, Good morning? A weird one. More grave robbing. Seriously? Seriously. What about you? Is he biting? Cameron nodded his head. He's enthusiastic. Who wouldn't be? Kathy was happy for Cameron to talk numbers for a few minutes. She needed the rest from thinking about Ellie Wascombe. She had spent the morning chasing leads, interviewing work colleagues and holding the woman's widower in her arms every time he broke down and cried.

She had driven to the clinic, warned Dr. Perry to inform her if any body part donations came his way in the name of research. But she had a good idea that she'd been wasting her time. Cut to another love-making climax. It was the middle of the afternoon, an aroma of azaleas pinched the, through the drawn curtains as they bellied in the breeze. In truth, the scent was aggravating Cameron's hay fever, but he wasn't about to suggest an alternative location. Kathy had already received her jackpot

and had moved her nose down on him, like a diviner seeking water underground. She eased him into the peaceful country. Briefly she napped, with her chin laid down on what was dwindling beneath it. When her weight had become uncomfortable, Cameron eased himself out of bed. He went for a drink. He took a Coke from the fridge and looked again at the wide variety of beef and counter paper bags. Although it was too early for dinner, he helped himself to a few bites of specialty sausage.

He had to be back on the road tomorrow morning. What he'd do is ask her out for a final meal. Surprisingly, Kathy shook her head. I can't. I'm working. After your shift, I meant. It's not as simple as that, said Kathy, feeling pricklish at having to explain herself. Her husband, Dawn, had always been just as unreasonable. It wasn't fair.

I'm a cop, she said unnecessarily. It just doesn't work like that. I have a hunch there'll be another robbery at the cemetery tonight. A couple of down and outs are getting buried as we speak. She reconsidered. Or rather, there won't be a robbery because I'll be there. With backup? asked Cameron.

No, on my own. In my own time. Cameron paused. Then he said, in a what-the-hay spirit and confident that she would refuse the offer, why don't I be your backup? She laughed. You want to spend your last night in town in a graveyard? She asked.

Why not? This was gallant. At least I can be with you. You're sweet. So what do you say? Are you serious? Sure. It might be fun.

It won't be fun, she frowned. Don't belittle my work, Solomon. I wouldn't do that to you. I wasn't. She waited for a retraction to the offer. Then she said, Okay. Grave robberies are more likely when the body is fresh.

This is what Kathy was thinking as she showered. This was what she was thinking as she applied more body spray than she needed. Chris Lieb was driving. He was singing, The Saints Go Marching in as the van bowled along. Humoring him, Ralph said nothing. Instead, he picked at his fingernails with a knife point. When the van started to follow the holes down Peck's Hollow Road, the cabin leapt and Ralph gashed the mons of his thumb with the blade.

"'God damn it, Christlebe, can't you drive a little flatter?' Christlebe frowned. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. Not even bothering to turn, he continued to stare out at the miserable rain, as if he could will it away. By the time they'd arrived, the blood was dripping steadily through the leather gardening glove that Ralph had dawned to cauterize the flow. Plus, it hurt like hell. "'Let's get on with it,' said Ralph.

They found the first of the Popper's graves. Sying loudly, they set to. Christlebe was still singing when the saints go marching in, and it was starting to get on Ralph's nerves. It seemed so inappropriate a choice as to be positively jinxed. He asked the big man if he would kindly keep his trap shut. So Christlebe started humming a rap tune from the hit parade. Light and sound arrived simultaneously.

the flare of a torch and the click of a safety catch being released. Then Kathy's voice said, Want to tell me what you're up to, boys? Ralph swore. Christlebe froze. Neither of them spoke. What's the matter? Kathy went on.

You lose your dinner money down there or something? Getting paid to be sarcastic was one of the best parts of the job. Still, neither Christlebe nor Ralph said a word. I might have guessed it to be you two jokers again, said Kathy. Well, what are you waiting for? Chris Leab dropped his shovel and stepped aside from the foot-deep pit. They had not got very far. Where the hell do you think you're going, genius?

Kathy demanded. You got a date? By her side, Cameron arched his eyebrows and said, Kathy. Shut up. Finish the job. The angle of the light changed as Kathy. Kathy turned to Cameron. She was pointing the gun at his groin. Chris Lebe sneezed.

You, get in there and give them a hand. Kathy, just do it. Three pairs of hands are better than two. I don't want to be here all night. She used the gun to usher Cameron over the growing molehills of displaced dirt. You got another shovel for your new friend? Sure, Kathy, said Ralph. The scene was static. Kathy, Kathy, growled. You've all got two seconds to start digging, she said. Before I start filling the grave with some extra bodies, you got me? The three men started digging. Frederick Lawrence rubbed his eyes. He was in the back room of Beef Encounter, alone, with the CD player gently offering Fue Elise. He was drinking hot chocolate and waiting for a couple of phone calls. The first came

from Geraldo. He sounded stoned, but what he said was, done. Good. How much did they want? 200. And they'll pulpit in the morning. Good. Thanks. Haraldo had been referring to Erzatz automobiles, with whom Lawrence had enjoyed a long-running professional relationship. When a car needed to be disposed of, that was where Lawrence went. Yeah, I'm still awake, said Bella Emberg. She was watching a friend's rerun.

Something up? She could hear the upset in her friend's words. He's left me, Bella, said Kathy. I was just a pit stop. Oh, honey. What did you expect, she wanted to say. Do you want to come on over? I'd like that.

They'd known each other for the better part of a decade. At moments of crisis, they invited each other over for a sob and a smoke. Bella went to the kitchen to see if she had any hash left in the spaghetti jar. You'll never get away with this, Cameron promised. Away with what? Don't be numb, with grave robbing. I was never there, baby. Neither were you, if that's any consolation.

Kathy smirked. I was at a friend's house. Come on. You wanted to know about the secret ingredients, didn't you? The thoughts became cursive, but very slowly. A bag of penny seemed to spill out inside Cameron's stomach. He tried to roll the window down, but he wasn't fast enough. Vomit gargled from his parched throat.

I don't believe you, said Cameron. Your belly does, said Kathy. Tell him, Christlebe. The big man was in the back of Kathy's unmarked. car. He was holding Kathy's gun to Cameron's crown. Ralph, meanwhile, with his wounded thumb, was driving the corpses to beef encounter. You mean I've been eating people? Among other things. Oh, dear Lord. Look, Kathy, what you do is your own business. I swear to God, I won't say a word. Just let me out and I'll catch a cab back to my car. I'll be out of town for you, say.

Jack Robinson. Kathy didn't have the heart to tell him that he no longer had a car. She was silent. They drove round the back of beef and counter. As quickly as possible, Christleap, having returned the weapon to its owner, Ralph and Cameron hauled the derelict's bodies into the store. Lawrence was there to meet them.

He had turned off the music. I spy with my little eye something beginning with tea, he said. "'Torso, Mr. L,' said Christlebe. "'Good boy!' "'Inside the freezer, please, fellas,' said Lawrence. "'It took only a second for Cameron to realize "'that he meant for them to transport the corpses inside, "'but his blood did not thaw quickly.

"'He could not get his head round the fact that he had eaten. "'No, it wasn't possible.' "'The freezer was stuffed with shanks and hanks, "'some on hooks, and some on hooks, and some entrees, on tables that resembled autopsy slabs. It all smelled reassuringly meaty. These were animals, he was sure of it. There was nothing to worry about, he thought, as he laid down the first sheet-covered corpse.

Hi, darling, said Kathy. Cameron turned with a quizzical expression on his face. He thought it was an odd, perverse even, thing to say at this point, but he immediately noticed that the remark had not been addressed at him. It had been addressed at the blue-white corpse that was hanging from a hook on the back of the door through which they'd entered. The hook was embedded in the back of his skull. The eyes were wide open and laced with frost. Solomon, said Kathy,

I'd like you to meet my two-timing husband. Dear God, the blue lips, the snow on the prowl. of his naked belly. Please, no, said Solomon Cameron. I won't say a word, Lawrence pointed. You asked about the secret ingredient, he said. It's not spices, it's not sauces. It's embalming fluid.

But Kathy just happened to have an idea for a new recipe, didn't you, girl? I did indeed. The door slammed. Our time together is drawing to a close. Thanks for listening to this episode. Join us again next time when we unleash more disturbing tales designed to afflict your night with no sleep.