Weird Horror and Other B-Grade Tales

By Carl Hose

The B designation in entertainment usually comes with a less-than-positive connotation. B-grade movies are typically low-budget affairs with poor acting and cheesy plots; the B-side of a record was always an album cut used as filler to back the A-side hit single. The B stuff is the stuff that doesn’t quite make the grade.

But that isn’t always the case. Some B movies, after a late-night viewing and a bucket of popcorn, turn out to be pretty cool cult classics; sometimes the B-side of a record becomes a bigger hit than the intended single.
You’ll find stories here that are weird. Some are cheesy, some are funny, and some are both. Some of the stories are so bad they’re good.

The B designation in entertainment usually comes with a less-than-positive connotation. B-grade movies are typically low-budget affairs with poor acting and cheesy plots; the B-side of a record was always an album cut used as filler to back the A-side hit single. The B stuff is the stuff that doesn't quite make the grade.

That isn't always the case, though. Some B movies, after late-night viewing with a bucket of popcorn, turn out to be pretty cool cult classics; sometimes the B-side of a record becomes a bigger hit than the intended single.

Some of the stories here are cheesy, some are funny, and some are a little of both. Some of the stories are so bad they're good. Stories featuring a killer spud, ghosts, things that slither underground, a thing that creeps through the woods, another that lives in the basement, a disturbed environmental activist, a government bent on moral control, a slasher, supernatural romance, and an out-of-whack elevator are some of the situations you'll encounter should you decide to take a walk on the B-side.

Grab your popcorn or flip your .45 to the b side and enjoy the ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carl Hose
• Release date: Sep 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983376378

Carl Hose

About Carl HoseCarl is the author of several works of fiction, including "Deadtown and Other Tales of Horror Set in the Old West," "Fematales Unleashed," "Dead Rising," "Dead Horizon," and "Pornocopia."Carl’s work has appeared in the zombie anthology "Cold Storage", which he co-edited. His work has also appeared in "Champagne Shivers 2007," "DeathGrip: It Came from the Cinema," "DeathGrip: Exit Laughing," the horror-romance anthology "Loving the Undead," the erotic paranormal ghost anthology "Beyond Desire," the "Book of Tentacles", "Through the Eyes of the Undead," "Silver Moon, Bloody Bullets," and several issues of Lighthouse Digest.Carl’s poetry appears in the zombie poetry anthology "Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes."His adult credits include fiction in Bi-Times, Swinging Times, Ruthie’s Club, Oysters and Chocolate, Good Vibrations, Three Pillows, the erotic anthology "Frenzy," and his erotic collection "Pornocopia."Carl’s nonfiction has appeared in The Blue Review, Writer’s Journal, and the horror film essay anthology "Butcher Knives and Body Counts."

Book preview

Weird Horror and Other B-Grade Tales

by Carl Hose

MARLvision Publishing

Smashwords edition

© 2012 Carl Hose

Cover design © 2011 Marcella Hose

B-Sides

Welcome to the Flip Side

S.L.U.G

The Thing in the Woods

What Happened to Miss Rainy?

Point Return

The Riches of Rock Island

Too Many Trees

Massacre Woods

The Shiny Dime

Confessions of a Porn Hack

Small Town’s Suck on Sunday

Hell’s Kitchen

Ghost Point

His Mexican Girl

Couch Potato

Girl by the Lake

Cry Witch

The Elevator

The 13th Miner

Rise and Demise of the Moral Patrol

Big Bounce

The Thing in the Cellar

Nurse of Fog Hollow

A Dime in Time

Devon’s Point

The Arrangement

Flip Side

The B designation comes with a less-than-positive connotation. B-grade movies are typically low-budget affairs with poor acting and cheesy plots; the B-side of a record is a cut used as filler to back the A-side hit single.

The B-grade stuff is the stuff that just doesn’t make the grade.

But that isn’t always the case. Some B movies, after a late-night viewing with a bucket of popcorn, turn out to be pretty cool cult classics; sometimes the B-side of a record becomes a bigger hit than the intended single.

Sometimes we find a jewel in the rough.

If you’ve purchased this book, you’re a little different than most. You’re looking for that B-grade experience. You want to find a jewel in the rough.

Are there any jewels here?

I’m not sure. I’d like to think so. I enjoy these stories. They’re different from other stories I’ve written. They span several genres. Whether or not there are any jewels here I leave up to you, the reader, whose job it is to determine such things.

What I do know is this. You’ll find stories here that are weird. Some are cheesy, some are funny, and some are both. Some of the stories are so bad they’re good. It was all intended. Stories featuring a killer spud, ghosts, things that slither underground, a thing that creeps through the woods, another that lives in a basement, magic money, a pissed off environmental activist, a government bent on moral control, a psycho slasher, supernatural romance, and an out-of-whack elevator are a sampling of what you’ll have to endure if you venture through this collection.

So step inside, walk this way . . . welcome to the flip side.

S.L.U.G.

Cal Davis was thirty-nine going on fifty. He’d been sheriff of Dry Bone, Arizona for a decade. The job was easy. With a population of just over three hundred on a good day, Dry Bone was hardly a mecca for crime. The hardest part of Cal’s job was hauling around a .44 Magnum he never had cause to use.

He was sitting in the Silver Spoon diner late one morning, working his way through a second cup of coffee and his third cigarette of the day, when his job became decidedly more stressful.

It started with a tremor. Nothing major, no big deal.

Then silverware clattered and coffee cups rattled. A picture fell off the wall and shattered. Pots and pans hit the floor in the kitchen. Dishes danced off shelves and smashed. The floor behind Cal split and buckled. Plaster dropped from the ceiling, painting white dust over everything.

Diane Walker, the only waitress working that day, was in the process of pouring coffee. The scalding liquid ended up all over the front of her pink and white uniform, which caused her to curse—a rarity for her.

Hank Canton and Lowell Johnson were eating breakfast at a table by the big window facing the parking lot. Hank’s bacon and eggs danced to the edge of the table, teetered precariously for a split second, then fell to the floor. The plate shattered and his breakfast scattered.

The diner shook violently for what seemed an eternity, although not more than fifteen seconds passed from start to finish.

Just an earthquake, folks, Cal said when it was over. He stood up, hands firmly gripping the counter, a strained look etched across his face.

You okay? he asked Diane.

Cal was crazy about Diane. He’d never managed to screw up the courage to ask her out, but he told himself all the time that one day he would. He’d been telling himself the same thing since high school.

I’m fine, Cal, thanks, she said.

Hey, Buford, you all right back there? Cal called to the cook.

Yeah, just got a mess like you wouldn’t believe, Buford answered. The goddamned kitchen’s turned upside down.

Take a look at the parkin’ lot, would ya. Lowell said.

Cal saw the parking lot had been split down the center, as if a giant groundhog had burrowed just beneath the surface. The buckled ground went further out, across the two-lane asphalt highway running past Dry Bone and on into the desert. It continued a few hundred yards on the other side of the highway before ending abruptly. It appeared to Cal as if something had exploded from the ground at that point.

A car was coming down the highway at breakneck speed. It swerved around the broken part of the highway, skidding wildly as it took an off-road path to the diner’s parking lot. Cal recognized the old white Mercury as belonging to Billy Evans. Billy came at the diner fast, screeching to a halt just before he smashed through the front door.

What the hell is that kid’s problem? Cal asked of no one in particular.

He went outside. Billy jumped out of his car, waving his arms, his face a mask of frozen terror.

You shoulda seen the damn thing, sheriff, Billy said, and then he broke down and started sobbing.

Calm down, what the hell happened? Cal asked.

Everybody came outside to see what the commotion was about.

The ranch is gone, Billy said, sucking in air. The livestock, it ate ’em, and ma and pa are gone . . . dead . . . it melted ’em.

What the fuck is that wild-ass kid talkin’ about? Buford asked.

Let him finish, Cal said. He turned his attention back to Billy. Take it slow, son. Tell me what happened.

It came out of the ground and smashed the house, then it tore through all the cattle, ripped right through the barn and the feed shack, oh God . . .

"What came out of the ground? Cal asked. He grabbed hold of Billy’s shoulders and shook the kid. Goddammit, Billy, take a deep breath and slow down a little."

A fuckin’ monster. Jesus . . . a big fuckin’ slug is what it was.

Billy wasn’t making sense, but Cal could see he was genuinely afraid of something. Go on, he urged. "Tell me exactly what you saw."

Billy took a deep breath. His eyes were wide as silver dollars. His skin was pale white, as if all the blood had been drained from him. The thing was huge, man, he said. It looked like a giant slug, except it had this big fuckin’ drill on its head, and it came right up out of the fuckin’ ground . . . oh, my God, it lifted the house and spit this slime all over everything, and the shit just melted my folks, man . . . fuckin’ melted ’em.

Cal ran his fingers through his hair, sighed, and said, Let’s just drive out there and see—

I ain’t goin’ back there, Billy insisted.

It’ll be all right, Cal assured him. You’ll ride with me—

No way in hell you’re gettin’ me back there, Billy said.

Cal looked at the others, thought for a second, then said to Billy, Okay, you wait here. I’ll take Hank and Lowell with me.

We’ll go with ya, Lowell said. Whatever’s out there, let’s see how it handles a couple of real men with shotguns, huh?

Don’t go getting all wired up, Cal said. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet.

I told ya what you’re dealin’ with, Billy said. You’ll see I ain’t lyin.’

Nobody said you were lying, Billy, Cal said, then to Diane, Keep an eye on him, will you?

Sure, Cal, she said.

Cal took his police cruiser. Hank and Lowell followed in Lowell’s Ford pickup (complete with stocked gun rack). It took just under eleven minutes to get to the Evans ranch. Cal couldn’t believe the damage he found.

Holy Jesus, Hank said, his mouth gaping as he surveyed the remains of the ranch. Somethin’ goddamn well came through here.

Where once there stood a two-story ranch house, now there stood a pile of firewood. Two barns had been completely leveled, the fence around the ranch was mostly toppled, and there wasn’t any sign of the cows and horses that normally roamed the property. A hole about thirty or forty feet in circumference decorated what had been the front yard.

Hank and Lowell looked around, shotguns ready. Cal moved to the edge of the hole and squatted. There was something slimy around the rim of the hole. Cal remembered what Billy had said about the slimy stuff, so he went out of his way to avoid touching it.

What is it, Cal? Lowell asked, coming up behind the sheriff.

Some sort of shit, I don’t know, Cal replied. He stood up and looked around, taking in the damage. Place looks like a tornado tore through it.

We know damn well it wasn’t no tornado, Lowell said.

Hank came up then, shotgun cradled in his arms and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He peered into the hole, whistled, and said, That’s deeper than Hell itself.

Yeah, it’s pretty damn deep, Cal said.

Somethin’ came up outta the ground, just like the boy said, Lowell remarked, scratching the back of his head.

What, though? That’s what I’d like to know, Cal asked, more to himself than to Hank or Lowell.

* * *

Billy was at the counter drinking a soda. Diane had cleaned up the mess in front of the diner, now she was helping Buford pick up dishes in back.

Cal’s cruiser pulled up in front of the diner. Lowell’s pickup wasn’t far behind. The three men came in. Diane poured coffee all the way around.

Well? Buford asked, standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

This wasn’t an earthquake, Cal said flatly.

I told ya, Sheriff, Billy said. I’m tellin’ you, that thing came up out of the ground. I saw the ground crack open and a giant slug came up like some kinda demon from Hell. Billy paused to take a gulp of his soda. You believe me, don’t ya?

"I believe you saw something. I’m having trouble with what you saw."

It’s just like I said it was. Some kinda fuckin’ slug . . . He shot a glance at Diane and said, Pardon my French, but that’s what it was, then he continued with the sheriff. . . . only it looked like some kinda monster too, not like a regular slug. There was maybe a hundred feet or more of the thing above ground and it was still comin’ out when I got the hell outta there.

Cal lit a cigarette. He was just about to take a drink of coffee when another tremor came. This time everybody was ready. Buford held on to the door frame, Diane and Cal grabbed the counter, and Hank got his hands on a table. Lowell and Billy wrapped themselves around the jukebox.

Aw, Christ, I can’t do this again, Billy groaned.

Just relax, Billy, hold on tight, Cal said.

Everybody looked outside, tense, waiting for it to happen. Nobody knew exactly what to expect, but they knew it was going to be bad. The parking lot shook. Something was moving just beneath the surface.

The blacktop suddenly exploded as an enormous slug-like beast broke through the surface, sending up a shower of hard-packed dirt and bedrock.

The drill on its head was six feet long and half as thick at its base, and as the creature emerged from the ground, the drill spit debris everywhere.

The creature was at least thirty feet wide, maybe more, and it rose to a height of twenty-five feet before it dropped down and crashed onto the roof of the diner, splitting it right down the middle.

Cal was only three feet away from the slug when it landed. The floor buckled around him. He clung to the counter and rode out the shock wave. The beast went right through the floor and Cal saw it sliding past him, its mottled brownish-yellow flesh slick and pulsating. A smell like rotten eggs and corpses hit Cal like a fist, nearly forcing him to let go of the counter. He knew to let go would be the end of him. He’d be sucked into the creature’s wake and swallowed whole. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

He instinctively drew his gun, though any idiot could see it was pointless. Bullets weren’t going to kill this thing. He fired anyway. Six bullets tore into the flesh of the beast. Cal’s gun was empty and smoking, but the giant slug continued to slide past, taking a good portion of the diner with it. When the monster was gone, Cal saw it had left behind a trail of the same sticky slime he’d seen at the Evans ranch.

Nobody move, he said.

Diane was pale as a sheet and badly shaken, but she seemed fine otherwise.

Everybody okay? Cal asked, glancing around at the damage the creature had left behind.

Little shooken up is all, Hank said.

Still alive, Lowell piped in. Looks like Billy’s okay too, but I’m bettin’ the boy wet himself some.

Screw you, Billy said.

Cal, Diane shouted. She was kneeling beside Buford.

Cal joined her, squatting down next to the cook. He checked for a pulse and shook his head slowly. Gone, he said.

What the hell was it, Cal? Hank asked.

Damned if I know, Cal replied. We’re going to need outside help.

Diane checked the phone. There was no dial tone.

The police cruiser was still outside and in one piece. I’ll use the radio in my car. Everybody stay put.

I’ll go with you, Lowell said.

No, I want you and Hank to get Diane and Billy out of town.

What about you? Diane asked, and Cal noted the concern in her tone.

I have to evacuate Sutter’s Creek. I’ll get out as soon as I can.

Cal watched Diane and Billy climb into the cab of the pickup. Lowell was behind the wheel. Hank rode in back, the barrel of his shotgun resting on the edge. When the pickup was on the two-lane blacktop and heading west, away from Dry Bone, Cal headed east, toward Sutter’s Creek.

He keyed the radio and called for help, asking for all the backup he could get, trying his best to prepare them for what they would encounter when they arrived, though he knew no amount of talk was going to prepare any of them for what they were about to experience for themselves.

Sutter’s Creek was a small community where the non-ranching population of Dry Bone lived. It consisted of thirty-five ranch-style homes, each with a sizable chunk of property to go with it. Cal turned north off 191, in the direction of Sutter’s Creek. He saw the devastation long before he arrived on the scene.

All along the sides of the road were signs the beast had burrowed