Dead Oaks: Three Tales

Today’s episode of Dead Oaks: A Horror Anthology Podcast, “Three Tales” was narrated by Edward Whalen. “Gnaw” was written by Chris Lovato. “Sounds” was written by Ibrahim Oga. And “Leonard” was written by Tonissa Saul.

Music in today’s episode was “Creepy” performed and recorded by Nicholas Critney along with “Faded Grandeur,” “Harbinger of Doom,” and “Turning the Screw,” courtesy of purple-planet.com.

Please check back in two weeks for the next episode in Otto’s Story, “Message, Part 2.” Dead Oaks is brought to you by BronzeCast Productions. For more information about the authors and stories you heard today, and for more information, find us on Twitter @deadoakspodcast.

To read each individual story and find out more about the authors, keep scrolling!

Gnaw

by Chris Lovato

Chalk glided across a blackboard to make a list.

“Now, who can tell me what these are?” Miss Rachel Griffiths turned to her class, pointing to what she'd written. Many hands raised, and she pointed to one.

“Colors!” The tow-headed boy beamed when she confirmed he was correct, and she gestured to the list again.

“What's everyone's favorite color?” As more hands went up, a noise made everyone jump; Rachel turned just in time to see the bird that hit the window. “Don't worry, everyone! That bird was a little lost, but he'll be okay!” She took a breath to focus, but a scream rang in the hallway and she ran to the door.

It swung open; people ran past screaming, and her blood froze when she saw a police dog chasing them with a red foam on its mouth. Before she could move, the dog barreled into her. Barricade gone, it started ravaging the class with years of honed training, and Rachel rolled over, caught sight of the carnage, and vomited. She covered her head as gunshots rang out, and the animal fell dead at the bullet of a policeman with a mangled leg.

“Everybody move! Let's go!” The remaining children ran out of the room with the cop, and Rachel had to fight the urge to vomit again as she did the same.

The group made it to the school's front doors, but a look around told the teacher that the dog hadn't been the only thing to have attacked; people flailed around as squirrels chewed at their necks, birds besieged others with their beaks and talons. Police sirens, screams, and gunshots pierced the air, and the officer pulled her back as a car hurtled toward her, off course as a cat attacked the driver's face.

As she searched for shelter, she caught sight of the Dead Oaks veterinary hospital with its windows broken out. Animals poured out in droves, and the bigger dogs headed straight for the survivors of the classroom massacre.

The last thing Rachel saw was a Saint Bernard, teeth bared and spittle flying as it let out a guttural snarl.

About Chris...

My name is Chris, and I love long walks in the mountains, baking, and conjuring demons in my spare time. I'd always rather be at Disneyland, or, at the very least, New Orleans. I'm addicted to boba tea, Mountain Dew Baja Blast, and animated TV.

Sounds

by Ibrahim Oga

All her bargaining is in vain. She regrets ever thinking running to dead oaks to hide was a good idea. Her sobering gets louder. Her son could intuit her helpless eye balls in the pool of her tears.

"Please, don't kill my son" she yells, repeatedly, knowing nothing is stopping them from doing what they came to do.

The son has the least of hopes for the miracle he's praying for. His hands are shaking even as he's numb. His lips could not move an inch apart; his tongue lay dead inside.

"Don't worry about your orphan, we will find him, his fate is also sealed." says their leader with a certainty that frightens every piece of faith in her.

“No!" she cries; her body losing all its calmness. She struggles to get up as if to fight or make her escape. She struggles to overpower the men holding her. All of her strength is futile.

The boy in the wardrobe hears the sound of friction of a metal piercing through a flesh. The picture is too scary for him to imagine. The hissing of blood gushing out of a slit jugular vein says of where the knife cuts. An escaping wind from a rather unusual opening, forcing clots of blood out of its way; underneath an open mouth with a voice struggling for words but only chokes, chokes in its own blood, says of whose throat is slit. This could not to be mistaken. Her body hitting the floor and the haphazard kicking of her leg against the wardrobe doors makes him beg for the noise to stop. Then comes the silence and with it, the realization of what's lost. These are the sounds he never wants to remember and these are the sounds he will never forget.

About Ibrahim...

Ibrahim Oga is a Nigerian writer and founder of the Sisyphean-minds; a creative writing movement for better and positive thinking. He has published works on channillo.com He is a bodybuilder, loves writing and is a movie lover.

Leonard

by Tonissa Saul

Lenny walked through the house behind her. The hushing sound of her skirt as it swished back and forth exacerbated the loud stamp of her heels when they struck the wood floor. The small sneakers Lenny wore barely disturbed the dust.

They stopped at a room in the back of the house. She moved to the side and Lenny stood at the door. Down the hall, back the way they came, Lenny could see the two men waiting for them. Their white uniforms gleamed in the sunlight. The wheelchair sitting between them glared at Lenny.

“I don’t want to go in there Miss Harvey.”

“We’ve talked about this before Leonard. This is your job. I need you to go in there and do your job.”

Lenny placed his hand on the doorknob. It didn’t turn. He placed both hands on the door knob. It still wouldn’t budge.

“Stop fooling around Leonard.” Miss Harvey gave him a stern look. She raised her eyebrow for emphasis. “You’re a teenager now, I need you to be mature and accept your duties.”

Lenny sighed and let go of the door knob. He stared at the brass knob. The skin on his face rumpled with concentration. The door shook momentarily and then shot open. Miss Harvey stepped away from the opening.

A gray entity rose from the floor as if compiled by dust. Piece, by piece, it assembled into a hollow-faced creature with long, flowing, ebony hair. Its body took only enough shape to let Lenny see it was there. The hair and cloud of body moved in an invisible breeze. It reached its arms out to Lenny.

Stepping forward into the room, Lenny extended his arms until his palms pressed against the palms of the apparition. Even without a face to make the expression, Lenny saw its confusion. It did not pass through the boy. They were bound together by touch.

Lenny smiled.

He moved one foot behind him to brace himself and then began the push. Lenny’s eyes shifted until only the whites showed. The ghost let out an ephemeral howl. A white light began where their palms touched and then engulfed the room. Lenny threw his head back and breathed in until lightheadedness took him over.

When the light disappeared all was quiet and still within the house. The clocks neither ticked, nor tocked. Crickets did not chirp. Dust bunnies did not roll.

The men in white collected Lenny into the wheelchair, his unconscious body heavy with dead weight. 

They rolled him back to the van and closed him into the dark cavern. Miss Harvey sat in the passenger seat and checked her book for the next appointment.

About Tonissa...

Tonissa is a writer from Phoenix, AZ. She works two jobs, is working on getting a degree, and writes every moment she can steal.