Goddamn Electric Nights

By William Pauley III

When electricity hangs in the air so thick the moon and stars fizzle and drown in a sea of light, the people living within it, breathing it in, can never be "normal."

 

From disfigured mutants accidentally murdering god to a man falling madly in love with a blood-thirsty VCR, we promise you've never read anything as bizarre as this!

In these six tales, Pauley explores the lives of those living in the darkest corners of the world, those living electric:

GODDAMN ELECTRIC NIGHTS.

Contains the stories:

1) Slime Night!
2) Killing Teddy (previously published under the names 'Insection 8' and 'The Third Floor')
3) The Spiders of Honeyville
4) Hypnagogia
5) $5 Electric Suzie
6) Spin Doctors Mixtape

• Language: English
• Publisher: DOOM FICTION
• Release date: Aug 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960190260

Book preview

GODDAMN ELECTRIC NIGHTS

By

William Pauley III

GODDAMN ELECTRIC NIGHTS

Copyright © 2014, 2022 by William Pauley III. All rights reserved.

Published by Doom Fiction

Cover design copyright © 2022 by William Pauley III. All rights reserved.

GODDAMN ELECTRIC NIGHTS

Doom Fiction #015

First edition published October 1st, 2014 by Copeland Valley Press.

This edition published February 3rd, 2022.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including mechanical, electric, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher or author.

Table of Contents:

Slime Night

Killing Teddy

The Spiders of Honeyville

Hypnagogia

$5 Electric Suzie

Spin Doctors Mixtape

Slime Night

Crystal Bangor is a whore. She’s done blown the dust out of every boy’s NES cartridge on Mohican Way and next week I hear she’ll be making her way up Cherokee. Girls like that ain’t supposed to be sought after, well, not for anything ‘cept for sexual favors maybe. What I mean to say is girls like Crystal ain’t the type you bring home to meet your mama. Girls like that shouldn’t be the mother of children. Shit, girls like that get pregnant at least five times before they reach their twenties, but never have any babies. Instead they go and get their aunties to take ‘em to go get fetuses scraped out of their wombs and into garbage cans and beg them to not let their parents know. And if they don’t have any silent aunties, then they go about it the DIY way with a good ol’ wire hanger. Wire hangers are world renowned for keeping their silence. Rumor is Crystal’s used the wire hanger a few times - enough to be nicknamed Crystal The Wire Hanger Bangor. Bangor. Such an ironic last name for a girl like Crystal. It’s downright cruel of God, if you ask me.

I guess now would be just as good a time as any to mention that Crystal Bangor is the girl of my dreams.

––––––––

Who am I? My name is Sebastian Spunk. I get a lot of shit for my name too, as you can probably imagine. Maybe subconsciously that’s what initially drew me into Crystal’s orbit - the fact that I can sympathize with having to grow up with such an awful last name. High School kids are brutal. Nothing gets by them. Nothing. Only thing worse than growing up with a name like Sebastian Spunk, is growing up with the nickname my parents gave me as a child: Sebby. Sebby Spunk. That’s me, in all my glory. Hi.

(God is crueler than high school students)

Despite the name, I had an okay childhood, I guess. I mean, it wasn’t what anyone would call terrible. Sure, I got beat up a time or three, but really, who hasn't? I’ve never been popular with the ladies and oddly, I’m okay with that. I’ve never really been too keen on girls, anyway. Not to say that I am gay, because I’ve never really been too keen on guys either. For a long time I just assumed I was asexual, that is, before Crystal came along.

Crystal moved to our dirty factory town of Ashland (oh, our beautiful land of ash) only three months ago, back in February. I definitely remember it being February because, strangely enough, the first time I ever laid eyes on her was on Saint Valentine’s Day. She walked into Missus Adkins’ class and sat down at the desk directly in front of me.

I’ll never forget what she was wearing that day (partly because she wears this same outfit almost every day, but still, I would have remembered it even if it had been the only time she’d ever worn it); she was wearing a white t-shirt with the bottom half cut off, ripped jeans, and a thick black leather jacket. There was only enough fabric to her shirt to reach just below her nipples, the undersides of her breasts were as tan as the rest of her torso, suggesting that she probably doesn’t spend much time wearing that top, or any top, for that matter. Her hair was big and permed—still is. She’s a brunette, but not really. She dyes her hair jet black. When I think of a brunette, I think of a reddish-brown shade of hair, not black, but as far as I know, there isn’t a term for girls with black hair. (Blackheads? No, that can’t be right. Darkies? Hmm, that sounds racist. No, I’m just going to go with brunette). I even remember how quickly the air became thick with cigarette stench as she went to take her seat. I closed my eyes and took it all in. I couldn’t stop smiling. It’s weird how love works. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever know love, then all of a sudden love comes walking in through the door and sits down right in front of me. Not only that, but just two seconds before she walked into the classroom, I had found a blank Spider-Man valentine resting on the very seat she came and sat down in. It was like the universe wanted to prepare my heart for what it was about to do – beat so hard that I could feel it bulging out of my chest from between the bones of my ribcage. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if the valentine hadn’t been there to prepare me. I wonder if my heart would have exploded. Weird how shit happens sometimes.

––––––––

Speaking of weird shit, check this out:

So Kayla (Kayla Richards, my best friend since before Kindergarten) and I were sitting at the Carmichael Bowl-A-Rama sharing a basket of french fries when in walks Crystal, taking one final pull from her cigarette before stamping the butt out on the carpet (on the carpet! See why I love this girl?). My eyes popped, my mouth sunk, my fry dropped.

What’s wrong with you? Kayla asked, turning, following the direction my eyes were pointing. Crystal stood in the doorway, yawned, and arched her body backward, stretching her body as far back as she could reach. The edge of her dark brown nipples peaked out from the bottom of her half-shirt (oh my god). She pulled back to a normal standing position and scratched at her ribcage. It was at that exact moment that I had first suspected Crystal had maybe drank a little too much that night. Her swaying stance, her trippy walk. My suspicion was confirmed two seconds later when she stumbled up the stairs and started shouting obscenities at the ball wax machine (she even flipped it off, wasted!).

What a fucking loser, said Kayla, her attention returning to the basket of french fries on the table.

Did you see that? I said, ignoring her last comment.

Yeah, isn’t that the chick that aborted like seven babies last year with a wire hanger?

"Please, Kayla, like you wouldn’t do the same if random dudes kept knocking you up," I said, taking a sip of my cream soda, my eyes still locked on Crystal. Kayla shrugged and took a sip of her soda. I could feel her eyes watching me as I watched Crystal. She grabbed another french fry.

So what’s the story, Seb? You got the hots for this chick or something? she asked. Now that I look back on it, I’m pretty sure there was a little sadness in her voice. Or maybe it was anger.

Are you kidding me? I said. Who doesn’t?

Seriously? Dude, she’s fucking trashy. Plus she’s slept with like pretty much every guy in school. There’s no telling what kinds of diseases she’s got festering down there. She paused. Please tell me you’re not serious.

Oh, I’m serious alright. Did you see those tits? Kayla’s mouth dropped open. I smiled. "I think I