Holiday Radio



I remember when Ottis O’Toole tried to pitch me a story. Close, but no cigar. He took a haul from the peace pipe; I told him to stick to the Daniel Blowden crap. He told me he had a story about his ex-girlfriend. I read the story, but God did it ever suck raw eggs. Sucking eggs considered a dying skill, but still, it was terrible.

A light tapping at her thermal pane window. Grandma listened closer with acute hearing. Standing up after sitting in the chair most of the day was difficult especially after she was diagnosed with an arthritic condition making her immobile on bad days, but she was stubborn and fought the pain. As she walked a few steps across the living room area into the bathroom, she turned off the running faucet from her tub and closed the shower curtains. She shook her head, walked back towards the living room window, peered outside into the darkness, and wondered. When would Danielle visit? The neighbourhood was pitch black. The only light shone intensely from the full moon hanging over Willamette Valley. There was a lonely cover of darkness as she listened to her beating heart.

Grandma heard more tapping and then clawing or scratching coming from the front door. The fat lady smiled, thinking a stray cat just wanted to play. The door opened a crack before it was violently forced wide open. Sharp claws gauged the sockets of her eyes. She screamed as blood dripped from her swollen-shut eyes. There in front of her was her granddaughter, Danielle, covered in wolf’s hair with big teeth and razor-sharp claws. Her claws grabbed her sagging breasts and tore her blouse wide open. A drop of the blouse and the wolf-woman revealed her hairy chest. Grandma dropped all the way to the ground, landing with a thump on the pumpkin, smashing it to bits and crushing it. It was Saturday night and the entire community left early that morning. There was no one around. The mobile home park empty. Everybody had gone to the tailgate party for the weekend. Nobody ever missed a football game, except the hungry wolf-woman of Willamette Valley. Grandma screamed louder, Danielle hovering over her. Her insanely mad face stared at her grandma with wild eyes and she couldn’t speak. Grandma in blood, in tears from the sharp pain. She looked up at Danielle and then toward a light in the distance. She helplessly hoped there was a cop car in the distance, but it was just light from the smoldering ashes of a recent fire. Hurt and drenched in blood, she reached out for Danielle to help her, but the hungry she-wolf merely howled at the moon. Grandma put her hands over her bloody chest, lay down, and never got up. All Danielle could do with a she-wolf soul was hang grandma’s extra-large panties on a lonely tree branch and continue howling at the full moon.

Ottis walked into my office. He sat down. “Are you from fucking Oregon? Your story is shit.” I gave him a deadly glare, told him to stick to radio. I mean really who did he think he was.

WRICH Radio Halloween Show #1
WRICH Radio Halloween Show #2
WRICH Radio Halloween Show #3
WRICH Radio Halloween Show #4

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s