Tales That Will Leave You Dangling

By Bill Evans

Established fan favorites Gregor (misunderstood psychopath), John Kane (demon hunter) and Sartarius T. Bosworth (professional soul stealer) have come back in truly dark magnificence in this latest entry by author Bill Evans. Tales That Will Leave You Dangling is comprised of sixteen short stories featuring our deeply flawed 'protagonists', as they embark on all things disturbingly supernatural, with a sprinkling of mental illness and depravity, often shaped by the inexplicable. Nine deeply dark poems are also featured for the first time, which will be sure to quell the reader's thirst for that which can be classified as divinely occult.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350921557

Bill Evans

Bill Evans is a multiple Emmy Award-winning, nationally-renowned senior meteorologist. He has appeared on Good Morning, America and Live with Regis and Kelly. Evans has received the Outstanding Meteorologist Award from the National Weather Service and has hosted the National Hurricane Conference. He is the author of books including Category 7, Dry Ice and Frozen Fire. Bill Evans and his family live in Connecticut.

Book preview

ForewOrd

Welcome back my dear treasured fans! It has been about 18 months since my last writings had been unleashed upon you… and much to my joy, some of you wanted more. (As for the rest of you…deal with it!)

As usual, you will see stories involving the occult and the supernatural. I have also included a smattering of dark poetry here and there.

The demon hunter John Kane has become a popular protagonist with my core readers. Mr. Kane will make a number of appearances throughout. I am incredibly excited to introduce a dynamic group of holy assassins first introduced in Interview With A Demon. This group known only as the Vatican 12 will find themselves commissioned to assist John Kane and his mentor Farther Ramone, when confronted by seemingly hopeless odds at the hands of evil. I am excited to introduce these secretive ‘Crusaders for Christ’. Furthermore, I am looking forward to further development of these characters in soon to be released future projects. My ARC readers love them, and I am sure you will too.

I have included new material on some other fan favorites including the likeable but strange Sartarius T. Bosworth…Professional Eavesdropper. (I have so much fun writing about this guy!).

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, my lovable and largely misunderstood psychopath Gregor is back. He once again tackles his archenemy (and perhaps alter ego?) Green Man. I would modestly say that Gregor has obtained cult hero status amongst my loyal readers. But then again, perhaps it is the heinous serial killer, only known to the world as Green Man, which has captured the fancy of adoring fans.

As with my other writings, you will see that my style has not changed. Being heavily influenced by Chekhov and Hemingway, you will not see emphasis on plot development. This is intentional. It is characterization that wins the day, as I make my own modest attempt to rip the head and tail off my stories before I present them to you (Chekhov) and give just a bit of what lies underneath (Iceberg theory-Hemingway).

Well, enough babbling. On with the show!

Enjoy…welcome guest.

Hauntingly yours,

Bill Evans

POOKEES RESTAURANT

Another Tale of the Adventures

of Sartarius T. Bosworth

Professional Eavesdropper

Oh shit…here come the Mackwoods.

The three working servers immediately began bickering while the Pookees restaurant regulars groaned with a collective sigh.

I aint waitin on them again. I had them last time. Shirley you are up. You deal with them ignorant anuses.

I can’t handle them, Shirley protested. They’s too damn rude to suit me. Dar-you go ahead and take them. Do me a favor…o.k.?

A skinny acne-faced boy spoke up. Can I take a crack at them? I’m tired of bussin dishes. I can be a waiter. I can do it. Give me a try.

The cook behind the counter grinned. Being both the cook and the owner, it was ultimately his decision as to whom would wait on the Mackwoods. On the one hand, the kid was no match for that looney family. They would eat him alive-figuratively speaking. On the other hand, it was an odds-on bet that all three of his servers might quit on the spot if they had to serve the troublesome trio.

What the hell, kid, the owner mumbled. Go ahead and give it shot. Ya either got one helluva set of balls on you, or you aint got no brains. Either way, you got em. Here they come now.

Sartarius T. Bosworth certified professional eavesdropper and corruptor of souls, perked up with unanticipated excitement. The din that was stirred up upon the imminent arrival of this Mackwood family was intriguing. Who would have thought that there would be any excitement at all in this one-horse town-let alone in this dingy greasy spoon restaurant? He regretted that he had even passed through the boring mundane town on his way to Pittsburgh. He was not regretting the decision now. Maybe the town folk in this little province had some potential after all.

2

The front entranceway doorbell tingled, announcing the entry of the first of the dreaded troupe to infiltrate the eatery. Elwood Big Daddy Mackwood cast a long thick and sinister shadow on the counter area as he blocked the exit.

Come on Candy-hurry the hell up. I can’t hold this door open all day.

Big Daddy Mackwood posed an intimidating presence on just about anyone. His large oval shaved head accompanied with a ‘satanic’ shimmering white goatee and narrow black eyes sat atop a 320-pound frame covered in flab with a considerable amount of what once was stout muscle underneath. His crumpled yellow shirt, halfway unbuttoned down to his midriff, showed an ample amount of scar tissue, covered over in patches by sparse grey hair strands.

Don’t you take that tone with me you big ogre, his laboring wife Shirley Candy Mackwood heaved in distracted annoyance. Candy was one of the few…maybe even the only one…who was not intimidated by Big Daddy. She elbowed her large hulking husband in the gut as she passed by, and almost stumbled to the floor.

Now look at what you made me almost do. If I’d a tripped, I’d a ripped your balls off and fed them to the pigs. Now git outta my way, she snapped while gasping for oxygen. I gotta sit down.

Candy was hooked up to one of those cumbersome and bulky breathing device machines on wheels. It was the kind where tubes ran from the nostrils of the nose down into the breathing canister. Candy was in poor health, morbidly obese, and could barely walk. Nevertheless, walk-she did.

Big Daddy did not respond. He just stood there holding the door while grinning sheepishly and giggling.

The last of the Mackwoods to enter was 30-year-old Cindy Sugar Baby Mackwood. She was the only sibling…and pampered as such. The young girl was sorta pretty. She had a cute face and good skin-not a blemish in sight. She had short, hand-cut bangs, pulled over to the one side…tightly bound by a cheap dollar store beret. She was cuddly as could be-but it was hard to get past the fact that she weighed in excess of 400 pounds. It was sloppy weight too. Some say that to call her obese would be an understatement. ‘Super uber fat on fat…on fat’ as one local put it…would describe the poor girl in accurate terms.

3

I want coffee, Big Daddy squawked at the nervous young newly anointed waiter, when asked what he would like to drink.

Wait till I sit down, huffed Candy Mackwood with a snarking scowl. Can’t I git situated in my usual spot without you people hounding me about what I want to drink?

Water with lemon, Sugar Baby uttered quietly with disinterest, as she loomed over her cell phone.

Well, what the hell you waitin for kid…move, snapped Big Daddy.

Yes sir, the young server squealed-not offended in the least. He was just so damned happy to get his chance to be a waiter. Nothing or no one-not even the Mackwoods-was going ruin his chance to show the boss he could be a good waiter.

Sartarius T. Bosworth could hardly contain his glee as he moved closer to where the Mackwoods were sitting. These people were loud, rude, obnoxious…and seemingly uncaring about any negative social perception that may come their way. These Mackwoods were Sartarius T. Bosworth’s kind of people.

* * * * *

Sartarius T. Bosworth sat wonder-eyed at the Mackwoods for the next twenty minutes. Loud, unruly, contradictory…all adjectives befitting of this marvelous family, as they hunkered down to consume their respective meals.

I told you I don’t want no vegetables, Big Daddy snapped at the young waiter. Who in the hell eats vegetables anyhow?

But…but…they just come with the meal sir, the boy responded defensively.

Nobody eats vegetables…git them outta my sight, Big Daddy fumed as he tossed the small bowl of mixed peas at the young man.

What am I supposed to do with this? Candy shrieked as she examined the heaping pile of mashed potatoes lying next to two slabs of ham steak on her large plate.

Wha…what do you mean ma’am? the boy responded inquisitively.

Look at this. What am I supposed to do with this mess?

I…I dunno. What do you mean?

Give me some bread to sop this up with, Candy lashed, with what appeared to be sincere incredulity.

The boy sped away for a few moments, and hastily rushed back with two pieces of freshly baked Italian bread. Candy carefully examined the steaming hot slices, placed them to her nostrils, inhaled heavily… and then smiled. She seemed to be satisfied-for now. The young man silently congratulated himself on a job well done.

Sugar Baby was the easiest of the three to please. She ordered a double order of fries smothered in gravy, along with a bacon sandwich on a Kaiser roll. She also wanted a diet iced tea-because after all, she was on a strict diet. Sugar Baby did not seem too interested in eating. Her preoccupation with the cell phone consumed her attention.

4

I’m gonna take a leak, Big Daddy announced, seemingly to the world, although the message was intended for the ears of his wife only. He noisily pushed himself away from the table, scooped up his hooked stick that acted as a cane, and limped toward the rear of the restaurant toward the ‘head’. Sugar Baby made a declaration that she was going to call her new boyfriend. Candy grunted at both members of her family, while greedily consuming her gravy-soaked ham steak.

Ahhh…that’s better, Big Daddy bellowed, as he exited the bathroom a minute or two later- clumsily and unashamedly zipping his pants up as he walked back toward his table. While passing by Sartarius T. Bosworth (the only customer within physical range of the seated family) Big Daddy grinned and with no solicitation, said he used to move faster than he did at this time. It took me 30 years to get this fat…and considerin I’m almost 67 years old, that aint bad.

He seemed proud of himself.

Sartarius T. Bosworth grinned with approval without saying a word.

* * * * *

Who’s that yer talkin to on the phone?

That’s the new boyfriend, Candy replied to her husband’s question posed to the daughter.

We didn’t finish eatin yet. Fer crissakes, Big Daddy protested with mock disgust.

Sugar Baby continued with the conversation, ignoring her parents’ remarks. Sugar Baby did not need her parents’ permission or approval for the things she did. She did what she wanted to do…and did not give two shakes what anyone else thought. She was a true Mackwood in every sense of the word.

What’s your mama’s name? the boyfriend asked Sugar Baby.

My mama is called ‘Candy.’

Well, tell Candy Cane I’m a gonna lick her all over when I meet her.

Sugar Baby blushed and giggled excitedly. You’re so bad Scud. Quit bein a bad boy.

Did I just hear you call that boy ‘Scud’?

Yes mama. That there is his name.

Tell yer momma I’m like a scud missile in the sack, Scud interjected.

And I’ll hack that little pecker off and use it fer fishin bait, Candy responded in a surprisingly humorous tone.

Wha…what. Sugar Baby, do you mean that yer parents can hear our conversation? Why didn’t you tell me that?

I don’t keep nuthin from my parents, Sugar Baby replied with relaxed candor.

Can I speak to your parents…tell em I’m sorry?

Do you have a trade? Did you finish school? Big Daddy shouted toward the cell phone from across the table.

Errr…yeah dad. I finished school. I aint had time to get no trade yet. I been in jail a lot.

Big Daddy grinned with a wide approving smile. Aw hell…that’s no problem. I been in jail lots of times. He then turned and whispered to his wife, I sorta like this kid already.

Daddy, he has a big old bald cranium like you. He says he wants to get a tattoo on his head in place of where the hair oughta go. You still gonna like him then?

If you come into my house lookin like that, I’ll whack your big mellon with my walkin stick, Candy interjected. Two ball in the side pocket.

Everyone laughed.

I already got a tattoo on my face…so… Scud remarked after the laughter died down.

Candy let out a loud burp in response.

Everyone roared with laughter.

5

Tell Scud about that time you bit the head off that rat, Sugar Baby offered as the bizarre mealtime conversation continued.

That weren’t no rat, Big Daddy replied defensively. It was a hamster. What kind of sick bastard would bite the head off a rat?

The raucous laughter and crude stories continued on and on for the next five minutes or so.

What you gonna do if you don’t approve of the way I treat your daughter?

Scud said this with the intention of clearing the air and understanding exactly what his boundaries were. He did not have long to wait.

We’ll introduce you to all them bodies buried in the back yard, Big Daddy snorted.

Them’s not bodies…thems plants, Candy corrected.

There was a silent and serious pause.

Scud audibly gulped.

The family once again broke out into uncontrolled hysterical laughter.

* * * * *

Sartarius T. Bosworth looked at his watch. Where had the time gone? My goodness how he had been enjoying himself.

He beckoned the server to come over. After settling on his bill, he wiped his mouth and pulled away from his seat. He stood up for a moment to get one final glimpse of the indomitable Mackwood family. It was a pleasure to have gained their acquaintance. However, alas, he could not stay around any longer. There were no souls to corrupt here. The Mackwoods were already speedily spiraling downward and did not need any help from him. Besides, Sartarius T. Bosworth had already wasted enough time. He realized that for once, he did not even need to deploy his special stealth skills to eavesdrop on the target conversation. The Mackwoods could not have cared less as to whom happened to be listening in to what they were saying.

Sartarius T. Bosworth had a quota to meet. The big guy down below needed more souls. Sartarius T. Bosworth shuddered at the thought of missing his monthly quota. He quickly regained his composure and smiled. There were plenty, perhaps even an overabundance of borderline souls waiting for conversion to the dark side. This next city was a breeding ground of the corruptible.

Sartarius T. Bosworth tipped his bowler hat at the Mackwoods as he hurriedly scampered past their table and headed for the exit.

Thanks for visiting, the owner/cook said politely to Sartarius T. Bosworth as he opened the front door to leave.

Where you headed next stranger?

Oh…I’m going to Pittsburgh…on business, replied Sartarius T. Bosworth smugly.

I hope you have a productive trip.

I’m quite sure I will, Sartarius T. Bosworth replied cryptically.

In fact, I’m certain of it.

END

PARAMATA PARANORMAL SOCIETY

I’ll tell you right now, Eduardo and Lucretia Waldren were frauds. They are not legit.

John Kane, the renowned demon hunter, had barely nestled into his second-row seat when he heard this unsolicited proclamation from the guest speaker. His former graduate assistant and present academic companion had barely sat down herself, when she audibly gasped in response to the statement. John Kane was not surprised. Often, these so-called paranormal experts were known for their foolhardy comments that elicited shock value reactions.

The host seated in front was a morbidly obese man with an unkempt walrus type mustache and wearing a snuggly fitting black t-shirt bearing a PPS logo on one side and T. Crawley on the other. He smiled with a grimace as he sat smugly in his foldout chair, with his arms crossed and legs spread open. The body language indicated arrogance with a guarded optimism of possessing superior knowledge to his audience.

In regard to him possessing superior knowledge, especially as compared to his meager audience of two…the foolhardy presenter could not have been more wrong.

Why do you say that Mr. Crawley? Mary Keally objected, while energetically scooting up to the front of her seat. Their record of confirmed associations with ridding homes of demons is unparalleled Have you ever spoken to the people that have been helped by the Waldrens? Have you interviewed any of the litany of Catholic priests with whom have an association and first-hand knowledge of the deeds of these esteemed demonologists?

John Kane smiled in silent amusement. His recently hired assistant had spunk. He had forewarned her that she would feel some heat from interacting with the representative of the local paranormal society in the area. He advised her not to debate nor overreact to any of the mutterings of the presenter. He knew she probably would not heed his advice. She would have to learn from her own mistakes. Perhaps it was better that way anyhow.

Mr. Crawley gave an all-knowing smirk in the direction of Mary. It was a posture of pomposity. John Kane knew the look. It was a dangerous look, and a demeanor he had seen only all too often.

Crawley cleared his throat.

My dear, he began. "A friend of mine was on the most recent movie set of Dressed Like The Devil. It’s the seventh in the movie series that portrays these ‘so called’ demonologists and their latest encounter with evil. Eduardo is a consultant for the film director. He was overheard saying that