Prologue, it was pitch black with only the full moon illuminating the night.
It was late autumn, the winter's cold creeping in.
Decaying leaves and skeleton trees with massive trunks encased a man digging.
As he dug viciously, the sound of muddy soil crunched as it was unearthed.
He could hear wolves howling in the distance.
He chuckled and gave a howl.
His breath was visible in the cold air.
The smell of the decaying leaves and earth filled the man with joy.
As the hole grew, it reached an appropriate size for a human.
He walked back to his truck bed and lifted the tarp.
A corpse with a hole scorched through its stomach emerged.
The man grabbed the corpse by the legs.
Blood spread across the truck bed as he pulled the body until it thumped into the hole.
He filled the hole diligently, making sure not a single piece of flesh could be seen.
Once finished, a single dead flower was placed upon the grave.
The engine of the truck roared as the man vanished into the darkness.
As the roars faded, so did the howls.
What remained was silence, followed by the flower lifting.
It swayed back and forth as if a gust of wind had lifted it, giving life to the dead of
the night.
Chapter One
I rose from my bed like a corpse from a grave.
Another night of agony and sleeplessness.
Sweat soaked the bed, leaving an imprint like a chalk outline.
My room was a mess as always.
Weed acted as decor.
Bong stood as flower vases.
And half-smoked joints crowded the ashtray.
A hole the size of a baseball burned in the foot of the bed.
A nice match for the vintage oak baseball bat laid against the wall.
The extra large cigarette hole from a night of too much weed and alcohol.
I can only assume as I don't really remember how it got there.
The only motivation I had to get up from my lackluster night's rest was the aroma of
coffee brewing in the kitchen.
I went to the kitchen wearing nothing but my underwear, which seemed to help somewhat
with the night sweats.
I grabbed the lonely coffee cup from the oak cupboard and thought to myself, you and me
both bud.
The cup read, number one dad.
A cruel joke by my buddy Steven, as I can't have kids.
I know you might be thinking, Steven is an asshole, which is sometimes true.
But we have a dark sense of humor.
I found the gifted mug pretty damn funny at the time.
I returned the favor with a mug that said, number one dickhead, with a little body and
a dick for a head.
Yeah, we're pretty immature for some thirty-somethings.
Steven has been my best friend since we were children.
His mom was friends with mine and we continued the family tradition.
I moved to this town after I lost my last job.
Steven got me a job and helped me settle in.
I felt like we were kids again, as we were hanging out a lot and reminiscing about old
memories, like the time we started an investigation agency at twelve years old.
We had just finished watching some old Sherlock Holmes movies.
I of course was Sherlock and he was Watson.
If you asked him today though, he would probably say he was Sherlock.
The smell of black, oil-thick coffee brought me back to reality as I poured it into the
mug.
I went to the bathroom, as one does after drinking coffee.
You know what I'm talking about.
As I finished dropping the kids off at the pool, I bent slightly to look in the mirror.
God, you look like shit.
I told myself out loud, I wasn't the worst looking guy, but I had gray hair sprouting
and blending with my dark brown thinning hair.
Things underlined my droopy, lifeless eyes.
My forehead ached with pain, as if I was being burned with a circular branding iron.
The mental fog overwhelming.
A faint shimmer gathered clockwise.
A strange mental manifestation of the pain.
The doctors say it's some kind of psychosomatic manifestation or even a somatic hallucination.
The image is often too vivid to be all in my head.
As if I could reach out and touch it.
I've tried touching it, thinking I would feel the charred ridges on the ends of my fingers.
Each time there was nothing to feel.
As I stood looking in the mirror, I closed my eyes, forcing the pain back.
Focusing on the poorly designed bathroom carpet beneath my feet.
The mirror doubled as a medicine cabinet.
I moved the stash jars and grabbed some generic painkillers.
I did the old sniff test to a wrinkled up graphic t-shirt and it passed the test.
I put it on with a pair of jeans and my muddy boots.
My phone's notifications showed I had some missed calls.
One was from work, trying to get me to work the night shift again.
The other was from Steven.
He was checking in on me.
My forehead pain had been worse the last few days.
I downed the cup of coffee and left my rundown apartment that looks like it's still in the
90s.
As I passed the threshold a feeling of unease crept up, mixed with the pain on my forehead.
Today's gonna be shit, I thought to myself.
The day was young as I trudged to my car.
It was late autumn, the decaying leaves crunched under my boots.
The smell of winter just around the corner beat against my nostrils.
Despite the pain, which was nothing new, I hopped into my Saturn, also from the 90s.
If you don't know what a Saturn is, you are too young to read this.
I cranked the ignition, which started on the second try, a new record.
Usually the third time's a charm.
I scraped a small clearing on my frosted windshield, battling the morning chill.
My car's radio clock read 7.35, which meant I still had time to stop at the cafe for another
cup of life.
I drove past the bare trees and the zombies and their cars, going to their 9 to 5.
I stopped on the street when I reached Doug's cafe.
I helped Doug get out of a jam a few years back.
Doug's then girlfriend went missing and the local cops were doing shit.
Doug knew I had done a brief stint in police work and an even shorter stint as a P.I.
The girl had drug problems and the cops bet she was playing dead at some drug house.
I was able to find this girl for Doug, and ever since I got free coffee and God knows
I need it.
The bell hanging on the door rang as I entered Doug's.
Doug's looked like a modern coffee shop mixed with a classic diner and pizzeria.
As I entered the shop, she was there.
I didn't just like coming to this place for the free coffee.
Music played in the background coming from an old radio.
If it isn't Mr. Jack the Ripper, Susan the barista joked, you know I don't like it when
you call me that, just because I might smoke a lot of pot.
The weed helped with the pain, but Susan didn't know that.
The music on the radio faded into the background.
We're listening to 103.5 FM.
Another body has been found, this time 20 miles north of town.
It's reported that the body had a hole blasted through it, like someone used a fire torch
on the poor soul.
The police have yet to release the name of the victim or any other information.
We'll keep you updated on this and the other killings.
Next break we're taking a look at the gloomy weather forecast, but first, let's get you
to work with some music to wake you up.
Susan glanced at me, her smile turning into a frown.
These killings are starting to really scare me.
This is the fifth one since the beginning of October.
Yeah, you'd think the cops would have some suspects or something.
It's not like this town is that big.
Why does Doug even keep that thing on?
I pointed to the old radio.
He knows it's 2024, right?
You know Doug, Susan responded.
He's a boomer and a bit of a kook.
He thinks modern technology is the devil or some BS.
Anyways, here's your normal.
I grabbed a steaming hot cup of black coffee with a little sugar.
You know me so well, Susan, I said.
Susan's face turned red.
Well, you do come in here almost every day for the coffee.
She said coffee in a way that made me think she knew I didn't just come here for that.
I stuttered a little as I said thanks for the coffee and began my journey back to my
car.
You idiot, I thought to myself.
I've never been much of a ladies man and Susan was a lady if there ever was one.
She had long blonde hair, green eyes, and was way too smart to be a barista, especially
at Doug's.
Doug's was like the opposite of Starbucks.
As I picked up my self-esteem, I began my quest to purgatory.
I hated working a nine to five, but as the great Dolly Parton said, what a way to make
a living.
A loud noise radiated from my car as I drove to work.
It was a foggy morning, which I hated.
Ever since I was a kid, I correlated fog with a bad day.
It didn't help that my carousel heater worked as well as me talking to women.
Steam rose from my coffee as I held it in one hand.
This provided some warmth.
I worked about thirty miles past town.
It's a factory that supports the town through jobs, but the smell is too much for it to
be closer to town.
As I exited town, I saw cop cars pass me, one after another.
I passed the crime scene, avoiding eye contact with anyone or anything.
I've never been one for murder.
That's probably why I'm not a cop anymore.
I can't say the same for Janet, the nosy neighbor no one liked.
Janet parked her soccer mom, Van, as close to the scene as the cops allowed.
She had a microphone and a recording device.
The nerve of some people, I thought.
Someone was killed in a horrific way, and here's this lady recording a true crime podcast.
Who listens to podcasts anyways, right?
If I was the murderer, Janet would be my next victim.
Janet was a middle-aged mom of teenagers who were just as annoying as she was.
If her name wasn't Janet, it would be Karen.
I waved politely at Karen, I mean Janet, and drove by.
The pain on my forehead worsened as I passed the scene.
I eventually arrived at work.
The smell, somewhere between dead animals and chemicals, ruminated.
Steven was yet to arrive.
He usually parked his fancy Lexus next to my car.
I think he did it to make his car look even better.
It could also be because we're friends, but I choose to believe the latter.
Work began as boring as any other day.
I stood at my station, pushing buttons and pretending to be a good worker bee.
Hey, Jack, my supervisor screamed over the machines.
Have you heard from Steven?
He didn't call in or show up yet.
He called me on Saturday, but I missed the call.
He walked away, angry as he was short-staffed.
I survived the work day, and my car only took four times to start.
I guess my luck ran out.
I never do a whole lot on work days, especially when my pain is so bad.
This day was no different.
I decided to sit in the dark, smoke a bowl, and listen to some music.
I was listening to my favorite song by the Misfits.
When a knock came to my door, it was Doug.
Doug, what are you doing here?
It's a little late for coffee or pizza, man.
It's the Steven, Doug said, his voice cracking.
The pain on my forehead disappeared as my heart dropped in my chest.
I was cleaning up the cafe and listening to the radio.
Doug said Steven was the lady's victim.
I dropped to my knees, hitting the floor.
I'm sorry, Jack.
I don't know what to say.
I wanted you to hear from a friend.
The pain overwhelmed me.
I didn't want to talk.
I muttered a thank you and shut the door.
As the door swung closed, I turned to see my coffee cup.
I picked it up and threw it at the wall.
It shattered into pieces.
Regret instantly hit me and I tried picking up the cup.
As I sporadically tried picking up the pieces, I cut myself.
Some blood stained my face as I wiped away tears.
The sadness turned into anger.
As I thought about how brutally Steven was murdered, how can someone burn a large hole
in someone like that?
It's not natural.
Steven was a father and a husband.
His family had become mine since moving here.
I looked at the bed with its hole burned into its fabric.
I thought about how the cops can't do anything around here and it fueled me.
It started a fire of its own in my body.
I'm gonna find this motherfucker and he's gonna pay.
Hey you.
Yeah, you listening right there.
Thanks for tuning into this pilot episode, Chapter 1 of Jack's Chronicles.
This is my first time diving into any kind of writing whatsoever, so please take it easy
on me.
I started this project because I love audiobook narration, podcasting and storytelling and
I wanted to bring all those passions together.
If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to follow for more chapters as the story unfolds.
I don't know what happens next, but hopefully Jack stays out of trouble, or actually hopefully,
Jack gets into a lot of trouble and we have some fun here.
Until next time, we will see you for Chapter 2, coming out sometime in December.