Murder On The Air Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen: “This is Gonna Be Very Entertaining”

Black empty space.

Complete total silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn't know.

He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn't bother him.

"Alastor…Alastor…"

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

"Alastor…"

He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

"I am Puriel," the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bow tie, and matching shoes.

"I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife."

He spoke an incantation.

"Alastor Roscoe Crowley," Puriel stated. "Here is your previous form."

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin.

A large black bow tie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

The angel in front of him continued. "Alastor Roscoe Crowley, born in New Orleans, Louisiana to French American Louis Crowley and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24th, 1896 at 3:00 AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs."

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

"Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…" he listed off dark places from other cultures…

"…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go."

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. "Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell."

The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp's claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster's clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void. Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

"Hello darkness, my old friend," Alastor spoke to himself.

"Hello to you as well," said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

"Over here," said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw gripped Alastor's shoulders.

"Who are you?" Alastor asked.

"I am you," the shadow replied. "I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last."

"But you're not a part of me anymore," Alastor said.

"Yes and no," the shadow said. "Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I'll be your…guide, as it were."

"But we can't go back to Hell. Aren't we stuck down here?"

"Not for long," said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor's arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, "Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power."

It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn't agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor's head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

"HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!"

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

"One more thing," said Alastor's shadow, suddenly. "You'll need this."

An old vintage microphone staff materialized in his right hand. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, where the speaker was.

"About time you showed up," came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

"You were expecting me?" Alastor asked.

"Part of the deal with Kalfu," the microphone replied. "Just turn me on and you can broadcast what's going on around you, anytime, anywhere."

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

"Enjoy yourself while you can," said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn't listen.

He was already planning his next move.

"What am I waiting for?!" he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

This would be the beginning of Alastor's many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

Hell was in for an insane awakening…for a Wendigo had been born.

Back somewhere in New Orleans, Alastor's old radios had been moved to an antique shop in the French Quarter. All of them were arranged separately on shelves among TVs, pots, figures and other objects. Night had fallen and no one was in the store.

All traces of the infamous serial killer had been lost to memory.

With no explanation, the oldest radio blinked to life, the outer speakers and knobs blinking faint yellow lights. The hum of static filled the air. It had belonged to Alastor.

A demonic voice said in a low radio tone, "Stay tuned," and ended with low laughter.

Murder On The Air Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: “Deer Down”

Nineteen thirty three

Alastor was drinking liquor at a bar. He heard a commotion going on outside and wondered what it was. Just then, the doors to the joint opened and in stepped a showman.

There were several reporters surrounding said man, and there was a camera man there as well. Everyone stopped and stared at the newcomer.

He was a tall, slim man, very handsome. He looked to be in his early twenties, the same age as when Alastor first started his career. His skin was white and his eyes were electric blue. One of his eyes had a red contact in it. His hair was slicked back and black in color, very short. He wore a black tuxedo with blue vertical stripes on it. His undershirt was whitish blue and below it were red and black stripes. The red bow tie he wore was huge. He also wore a black top hat with a blue antenna design.

Right away, the man gave off a confident, showy exterior. He had a manipulative and level-headed side to him as well…not so different from Alastor's persona on the radio.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen!" the man said. "For those who don't know me, I am Vsevolod Saranoff, Russian relative of the RCA president. But many people aren't too comfortable with that, so I often call myself Vox. You can, too."

"I was born in Russia with Vex and Vuk but came here to the U.S. in search for a better life. With the help of my father and family, I landed a position at RCA. My sister Vex works with telephones and my brother Vuk improves telegraphs. But as for me, I aim to be a new pioneer for a new concept that you may have heard about: television."

Alastor almost crushed his liquor glass then and there. He never imagined being with another showman in person. Although it seemed like this guy was a show man twenty four seven. He was all about profit, praise and pretty ladies.

Vox continued on about how television worked and things about the RCA Company. He handed out fliers to everyone. Alastor read the flier in front of him. In orange and black chrome letters was the bold heading: "The Radio Corporation of America tells What Television will mean to you!"

The flier talked about experimental broadcasting and televisions potentially being sold to consumers in the future.

Without warning, Vox came over to Alastor and shook his hand hard. "What a pleasure meeting you sir!"

Alastor pulled his hand away.

"I've heard rumors that you're the radio host of this city, correct."

"Why yes, I am! The best one in LA, in fact."

Vox's calculating eyes scrutinized Alastor's appearance and skin color. Vox tsked, giving off an aura of superiority.

"Well, you've made some considerable progress, that's for sure. But if television sells well, it will be all the rage. Who knows…"

He leaned in, "Maybe radio will fade into the background."

Alastor casually stood up. "I don't think so. People have enjoyed my shows for almost a decade now. Radio will never fade away."

Vox brushed off his suit and winked at two admiring women nearby. He turned back to him. "Perhaps you're right. But answer me this: how exactly did you manage to get so famous in the first place? You work for CBS? NBC? RCA?"

"I'm my own business," he replied.

"There have been rumors going on. About you being a dewdropper who always stays home? You being a jumbo of different races? Usually colored folk don't obtain celebrity status that fast. Frankly, I'm surprised you made it this far."

Alastor slammed the liquor glass onto the table, the liquid sloshing in the glass.

"You have no idea how hard I had to work to get to where I am."

"Well, perhaps if you can prove yourself, maybe you could work for me. I mean, my plan for being on television programs is coming along great so far. It's the next big thing."

"Screw you and your picture boxes. Nothing can beat classic radio."

Vox smirked. "If you say so."

Vox pulled a dapper lady into an arm hug, then proceeded to look under her dress. "We could have fun at my place if you'd like."

The woman turned red in the face.

Alastor was appalled. "Have you no respect?!"

Vox shrugged and spoke in a low voice to Alastor. "Women come to me to have fun all the time. You're probably jealous that I have more of their lacy underwear."

Alastor made a face. "Sick freak."

Vox slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Your words mean nothing to this new upcoming star! Don't apologize to me when your self made business goes out of business."

Alastor walked away. He was in no mood to handle this.

Vox smirked and called out. "Oh, is your mixed mother still alive? Can you tell her I said hi?!"

Alastor stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned around, smile on his face but a murderous look in his eyes. He snarled, lunged forward and rammed himself into Vox. They both crashed into a table as beer bottles and glasses smashed to the floor. The crowd stepped back and gasped loudly.

The two men wrestled and yelled on the ground. Vox slapped Alastor hard in the face, before he, in turn, recived a hard punch to the jaw.

"You dare speak about her that way?!"

"She's dead, right? Send her my good grac…"

Alastor wrapped both hands around Vox's throat. He suddenly wished he had brought his knife with him. Alastor was suddenly pulled off Vox by two burly RCA men. He struggled against them in vain. Two women helped Vox up, who was catching his breath. Both men glared daggers at each other.

"Let him go," Vox said. "If he acts up around me again, he'll be arrested soon enough.

The men let go.

Vox made his leave. "Remember folks, look for Vox on TV! More coming soon!"

After Vox and his crew left, Alastor promptly stomped home.

A man with curly white hair wore a purple-blue suit. He saw Alastor walk into his house. From inside, a victim's scream was heard.

"I knew it," he breathed. He ran off toward the nearest rotary phone.

Alastor should have known he would eventually be caught.

His confidence during the Roaring Twenties Decade and his desperation to survive during this Great Depression, had made him much more careless. Police and investigators found more traces of blood and half eaten human remains. There were blood stains on much of the radio equipment.

The so called "conspiracy theory" made by a few individuals that New Orleans beloved radio host was actually an evil killer was now becoming a fact.

"Me and my friend are trapped in a big black house! This radio host is a psychotic killer!"

Roo's voice had been heard on the air by a conspiracy theorist who had spied on several of Alastor's macabre-loving listeners. He had promptly called police several times.

"911 what's your emergency?"

"This is Collin Cherub. You have to believe me when I say this but…New Orleans beloved radio host, Alastor, is the infamous Louisiana Lunatic!"

"Ha! You're kidding."

"No I'm not! He lives in a black painted house on 6600 South SpindleHorse Avenue. The signals traced back to the source, which was there."

"How can you be sure?"

"I saw a cult of listeners in an alleyway listen to Alastor. It's on a hidden station not known to the public. No, not his regular station. The station that is hidden by wires and stuff in one of the radio towers. The small mechanical box that no one else sees?"

"You're confusing me."

"Look, I heard him talk about cooking jambalaya…and I heard the women's screams on there. The listeners were laughing and making crude jokes…pretty messed up stuff."

"Ok, we'll go investigate." Police and investigators found more traces of blood and half eaten human remains.

One winter day, a few days later, Alastor heard a loud banging on his front door.

"New Orleans Police! Open up!"

Fear raced through him like a deadly wave. How did they find him?! It took them long enough but still!

Alastor didn't hesitate to leave the house and flee for his life. He jumped out a window just as the police knocked down the front door. Several gun shots destroyed Alastor's radio equipment...sparking flying and smoke filling the room. One officer smashed Alastor's microphone staff against the floor…breaking it in half. Another officer opened the refrigerator…and found human remains.

"Ack!" he yelled. "It's the killer, alright."

Alastor didn't even have time to announce the situation on his radio show.

He raced down the streets of New Orleans, ignoring passerby watching with stunned looks. He briefly caught his breath in an alleyway when he heard a growl.

He turned. A dirty white dog growled at him, with sharp yellow teeth and wounds all over its body.

Before Alastor could react, the dog leapt at him and sank its teeth deep into his hand.

Alastor screamed out loud.

The police heard the scream and followed it.

Alastor shook the rabid dog off him and climbed over a fence. He shoved people out of the way as he hightailed it toward the woods nearby. Turning behind him, he saw more police hot on his trail. This group was accompanied by two police dogs in front of them. A vicious German Shepard and a black Lab.

Alastor maneuvered around the tall trees, the sounds of loud barking behind him. His magic was fading into nothing…he had no access to it. The sun shining on the snow was blinding to his eyes. Even worse, he had made footprints in the snow, thus he was still being chased.

"Who would've thought that I would eventually become the prey?" he pondered in disbelief.

His hand and body were burning, as an agonizing pain spread through him. Black spots danced across his vision, but he kept moving. His head was pounding, like someone had dug a hot knife into it.

As he continued to run, he thought he saw a horde of alligators shooting waves of water at him. The policemen behind him had mutilated faces and antlers sticking from their heads.

They were going to eat him alive.

Looking at the frozen bayou nearby, he knew that the ice would melt and the water would pull him in. He already felt like he was drowning…running in slow motion. He found himself screaming for help as the illusion waves threatened to drown him.

He jumped over logs, ducked under branches and occasionally looked back. He was now further ahead of them, thankfully they were getting lost in the woods.

If he hadn't learned to run and navigate the woods, he would've been caught already.

He thought he was safe, until, out of nowhere, the two dogs bit his legs and almost made him fall. The sharp pains were excruciating. Blood spilled down from the torn hole in his pants and the fresh wound on his leg.

He couldn't shake the mutts off, so he used a simple fire blast to knock them off. He gasped for breath as he continued to run, the dogs chasing after him. He felt the magic leaving his body, in place of a rapid infection that flowed through his nerves and brain.

Off to the side, he saw a doe run along among the trees. Alastor's eyes grew wide.

"Mama?"

She stared at him and she appeared to have his mother's voice and eyes.

"So disappointed in you," she said, her voice mixed with a deer bark. "Look what you've become: an utter monster."

A stag ran next to her, the stag had his father's voice. "Run, son!" he called.

The doe barked again, glancing at another figure crouching in the bushes.

His mother's voice echoed in his head. "Faster! Faster, Alastor! Don't look back! Keep running! Keep running!"

Both deer collapsed to the ground after several gunshots rang out.

Alastor became dizzy again. "Mother? Mother, where are you?"

A hunter with long dark hair and a beard had a rifle in his hands as he stood over the deer. Standing next to him with another gun was…

"You're Vox, right?" the hunter asked.

"Yes, I am."

"It's an honor to meet you. I've heard the news about TV and your company. What are you doing out here?"

"A nice winter day would be perfect for a good hunt. A great way to relive some stress after what happened in the bar a few days ago."

"What happened?"

"Some crazed man man attacked me. I think I triggered him."

The hunter looked at the two dead deer. He had gotten the doe.

"Nice shot, Vox."

"Same to you."

"So, who was this guy anyway?"

Vox was about to answer, when he heard a nearby wail.

"No!" Alastor cried out. "You killed my parents!"

The hunter looked up at him and his eyes narrowed.

"You're…you're that madman who killed my daughter…That serial killer!"

"Alastor, is that you?" Vox asked. "He's…a serial killer?"

The man before them didn't even look human any more. His eyes were bulging out of his head, his body and face stained with blood. There was a crazed grin on his face.

"Is he drunk?" the hunter asked.

Vox heard the sounds of barking and rapid footsteps. "Oh my goodness, the police are chasing after him! Hey cops, he's over here!"

Alastor ignored him and just smiled through the pain. Nothing much else he could do. His head was crocked and leaned off to the right.

More footsteps.

Alastor would soon be surrounded. The agonizing, inflammatory pain in his arm and head was too much. He would make sure he would not go to jail.

He then saw Vox.

He was going to kill that television asshole.

The hunter aimed his rifle. "Stop right there, bastard!" he yelled.

Alastor kept running, a crazed smile on his face. Time seemed to slow down. Vox aimed his gun as well. Alastor was right in the line of fire but he didn't care. His eyes were wide and crazed. The look on his face was full of pain and insanity.

The hunter griped his weapon, his eyes wide with fear and disgust. "Don't come any closer!"

"Alastor Crowley, you're under arrest for first and second degree murder…" came the voices of the officers.

His face screamed, "Do it!" His hands were in reach of his enemy.

The hunter dropped his rifle and buried his face in his hands. "I can't do it!"

Vox, however, retained his steady aim. His silver shotgun clicked and his fingers hovered over the trigger. A wide smirk appeared on his face.

"Open season, dumb deer."

Bang!

Vox's bullet flew straight between Alastor's eyes. Blood gushed from his head into the air. Alastor yelled out before his body plummeted to the ground with a thud. The two dogs pounced on him, mauled, and ferociously bit.

The police raced over to the scene and the dogs soon backed up. The former radio host was lying face down. They turned him over and saw his dead face. The bullet hole in his forehead, the bloodied tattered shirt, pants, and bow-tie…and a strange smile on his pale cooling face. Red blood pooling from the wound into the ground. No one noticed the red mark of Kalfu appear on his cold neck.

They checked for pulse and breathing. Nothing.

"He's gone," said an officer.

The hunter…and many families of his victims had now gotten justice.

The haunting frozen look of the corpse would haunt the hunter for days.

Alastor's body was promptly burned, no funeral or anything. His ashes were buried and some were spread out into the woods.

As for Vox…he was hailed a hero.

"Breaking News! Louisiana Lunatic found dead in the woods!"

"Serial Killer Alastor Crowley shot dead by RCA Employee Vox!"

Vox's favorite headline read: "Video Killed The Radio Star! Vox Hailed as Hero After Mass Murderer's Death."

Reporters surrounded Vox by the dozens.

"How did you survive?"

"It is true that you killed that maniac before the police could arrest him?"

And, of course, Vox had his share of fans. Vox did not face any charges.

"That handsome TV man saved New Orleans!"

"He's so smart and brave!"

"He brought justice to so many."

The hunter spoke as well. "It was quite scary sight, for sure. I didn't have the guts to do it. But now…I think I can rest easier now that the one who killed my Villa is dead."

More headlines and articles read, "Exclusive interview with conspiracy theorists Collin Cherub. Awarded for helping police track down Alastor."

Vox later enjoyed profits, fame and sex, after television became more prominent in later years. He traveled all over the country, and soon, the incident was long forgotten.

A radio announcement went on air on Alastor's station one last time. Collin Cherub got the honor of announcing it:

"1933, Alastor Roscoe Crowley, age 37, (1896-1933) was shot in the head in the woods yesterday after attempting to flee police. Witnesses said he appeared to be drunk or in distress and was last seen dashing into the woods from the New Orleans Police Department. Radios, voodoo trinkets, gris-gris, and half-eaten body parts were discovered in his cabin, house and shed. Alastor was shot in the forehead by RCA employee and upcoming star Vox. A brief autopsy revealed that he had been infected by rabies. The public can rest easy now that the infamous Louisiana Lunatic is now deceased. The only thing I can say for the man caught like a deer in the headlights, "oh dear, and good riddance.""

His fans of his radio show were notably upset and shocked at the news, but the majority of New Orleans were thankful that he was gone. How ironic that Alastor's death would be announced on his own radio show. His studio and belongings were either burned or given away. His house and cabin were burned as well...bringing a complete end to Alastor's reign of terror. Some of his intact radios found a new home at an antique shop. Some of them were expensive, some were cheaper, but people were too into the new trend of "Picture Boxes," to think much of it.

Murder On The Air Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: “So Many Orphans…And A Great Depression”

Alastor was celebrating Halloween early on October twenty ninth. His house was decorated with hanging deer skulls, voodoo dolls and an array of black and red candles. This was a time to honor the ancestors and Baron Samedi, Loa of the dead. And that is what Alastor did. He lit candles, consecrated his ritual tools and asked his mother for guidance. Earlier, he had gone to the graves of his mother and grandmother, leaving flowers and offerings. Fet Gede or All Soul's Day occurred on the first and second of November. Voodoo practitioners would go to cemeteries to pray and leave offerings of food and drink to their deceased loved ones.

Alastor was currently munching on candies he had made himself from a red bowl. He didn't like sweets but he wanted to experience the feeling of enjoying a classic treat for the holiday.

Meanwhile, several children dared each other to go up to the Crowley haunted house to knock on the door. Even the house itself had been painted black…walls, roof and all.

There were three different children, a boy dressed like a skeleton, another boy as a zombie, and the girl as a ghost. The skeleton older boy took a breath and pulled on the silver knocker shaped like a deer. The girl stared at the deer skulls, hanging bottles and a radio on the porch. The windows were decorated with red Christmas black wooden door was engraved with voodoo symbols and a pentagram. A small radio tower stuck out from the roof.

"This is a bad idea, man," said the zombie in a low voice. "You do know that this place is actually haunted, right? Even the mail man fears coming here!"

"Oh don't be such a wimp," said the skeleton. "It's Halloween, after all!"

"Halloween is two days away. Why are we doing this early any way?" asked the girl ghost.

"Because, we'll be able to tell all the other kids about what we did!" the skeleton exclaimed. "Besides, all of October is Halloween to me!"

'Agreed," added the zombie. "Though why are we in costumes?"

"It wouldn't be the same without them!" said the skeleton to his friends. "We have to look the part to scare him in case he scares us."

"I don't want him to scare us," said the ghost.

The skeleton rapped on the deer knocker again.

"Maybe he isn't home?" he asked.

Just then, the door creaked open, and brown eyes peered through.

"May I help you?"

The kids looked at each other, then yelled "Early trick or treat!"

Alastor opened the door and chuckled. "Why hello there, kiddos! This is certainly unexpected. Halloween isn't for another two days."

"I know," said the skeleton boy. "But we'll be the brave ones who live to tell the tale of the one in the black house!"

"You all certainly are brave, indeed." He examined their costumes. "A ghost, a skeleton and a zombie…all dead people, very fitting. If you'd like, I can turn you into them."

The kids flinched back.

"I'm kidding!" Alastor laughed, waving a hand. "You won't have to worry about becoming those for a long time."

"What sort of rituals do you do in there?" the zombie asked.

"It's top secret," Alastor replied.

The zombie gasped. "I heard he gathers people in hoods to give victims to the Devil."

"No, that's not it," said the skeleton. "He does some…stuff with those drawn into his service."

"What stuff?" asked the zombie.

"You know…like the wrestling my parents sometimes do in their room."

"Ha! No. That's wacky nonsense!" Alastor declared.

The girl added shyly, "Maybe he just sings with people in a circle. My family does that all the time."

Alastor was not one to harm children…though he did find them annoying and undisciplined.

"Well, it's been great fun to meeting you, but I need to get back to work."Then his eyes brightened. "Oh before I go…"

He went back into the house and carried out the red bowl full of candy. "I made these for myself, but I figured it'd be the perfect time to share."

The kids stared with wide eyes and rummaged through to take handfuls of the round, wrapped treats.

"Thank you, crow guy," said the ghost girl.

"His name's Crowley," corrected the zombie.

"Take care out there!" Alastor called as they left.

The skeleton boy unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth. The zombie unwrapped his and did the same.

"One second, I just need to adjust this white sheet," said the girl.

"That's weird," said the skeleton. "Why does this candy taste like raw pork?"

The U.S. stock market had undergone expansion after much speculative trading…transactions were made that had a risk of losing value along with an expectation of a gain. The results included low wages, rapid increases in debt, and loans that could not be paid back.

October twenty ninth, nineteen twenty nine became known as Black Tuesday. The day before was Black Monday. Tuesday was the day when stock prices fell completely. Billions of dollars were lost, wiping out thousands of investors.

Many people were unemployed and orphans were left in orphanages or behind in the streets. They roamed around in brown rags and torn dirty clothing. Alastor saw their suffering faces and laughed. It was pleasing to him to see others in such a horrible position. It reminded him of his higher status in comparison. Seeing the chaos and people frantically trying to trade and gather money was quite entertaining for him.

So of course, he talked about the stock market crash on the radio…and played plenty of jazz music to try and make people happy. The bravado and stylish lives the citizens had enjoyed during the Roaring Twenties were spiraling downwards.

Alastor sat comfortably in a chair as he read the newspaper. It showed black and white pictures of people standing in long lines. Beggars and families on the streets, children sobbing.

What a bunch of failing lost causes they were.

However, not even the ever-smiling radio host would be able to escape the despair of the Great Depression.

It was late nineteen thirty. Like so many people, Alastor and his family soon found themselves running out of money. No longer could Alastor recklessly spend his money on radios, clothing, shoes, or other material goods. Both his house and his cabin began to slowly fall apart form lack of attention. Not even his car was working properly any more. He had to eventually sell it for extra cash. Men walked around in the streets with signs around their shoulders, listing their job experiences. "I want work now!" one sign read.

Families lived by a new motto encouraging frugality: "Use it up, wear it out, do with it or do without." Alastor, like other people carried on with his life, hiding his stress behind his smile and chipper voice. He hoarded radios all over his house...many of them didn't work anymore. He never wanted to part with them, for they reminded him of his happier years in the past.

The only good thing about the situation was the end of the Prohibition Era. Alcoholic beverages were back. It was believed that legalizing the consumption of alcohol could bring in more jobs and help the economy.

He briefly remembered what Kalfu had told him: that he would rise to his peak, only to fall later on.

And Alastor was soon tripping and tumbling down into the fiery pit of personal failure.

There were two major situations that led the man to his downfall…and his eventual morphing into madness.

One was hunger.

Alastor eventually ran out of food. His cockiness had gotten the best of him over the years. His stomach rumbled in agitation at the lack of the previous hearty meals that graced its insides. He had to settle for the lesser expensive canned goods. And expensive liquor…forget it. The beast inside him gnawed endlessly throughout him. He figured he'd eventually become homeless and food depraved if he wasn't careful.

The effects of hunger took a toll on his body. His skin became thin and ribs were starting to show through. He would often become weak, dizzy and tired, especially when he ran out of coffee. Dark circles and bags were present under his eyes. Out in the woods, he was lucky if he caught rabbits, squirrels and duck, let alone deer. He did try alligator meat after he had nearly been chomped in half while shooting one. It had a fascinating taste, if not a bit strange.

With no other choices left, Alastor settled on his last resort tactic…a cannibalism spree.

Alastor didn't care who he gutted and killed…as long as it wasn't a child. His mouth, clothing and hands would be caked in crimson blood. He wasn't just going after rapists and racists anymore. Anyone could be his victim…and boy did their flesh and hearts taste delicious! Cooked or rare, he didn't care. It was the only way he could be satisfied, plus it sent the already stressed city into an even greater panic. More entertainment for him.

The second situation was less physical and more mental: the rise of television.

Electronic television was first successfully demonstrated in September of nineteen twenty seven. Philo Farnsworth first invented a system that could capture images in a form that could be coded onto radio waves. It would then be transformed back into a picture on a screen. RCA Company invested fifty billion dollars in the development of electronic television; David Sarnoff was the president. Early television was primitive, but in the nineteen fifties, television stations would make profits of their own. Color TV would be sold commercially in the nineteen sixties. Radio would eventually disappear. Pioneers of television included American inventor Charles Jenkins, and Scottish inventor John Baird, among others.

More and more people talked about the prospects of television as time went on. It seemed like less and less people were listening to Alastor's shows. Alastor felt strangely disheartened when he saw people sell their old furniture radios, as they declared them "old pieces of junk." They wanted something new, but mostly, they wanted employment.

Alastor desperately wanted to travel though the airwaves and see the many faces in various households. He longed to see mothers, fathers, workers, and children listening intently to him, their ears soaking up every word. And to see their eyes wide with helpless fear…that'd be even better. It would beat staring at the wall and smoking a cigarette, wondering if the day would be his last.

But with his magic weakening in his hungered state, that simply would not be possible. Bursts of strength would come back after fine meals of flesh but it wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

How could Alastor continue on when, in time, no one would listen to his broadcasts any more?

No family, no friends…

He was only alone in his own head.

He hadn't considered that before…he thought that his career would last forever.

All he could do now was continue on with his broadcasts, his killings and his desperate search for food and substance.

What else was a grinning wendigo to do?

The year was nineteen thirty three, Alastor was thirty seven. Alastor had met some new people at Mimzy's old jazz club. (Her friend was deeply saddened by her death, but still kept the place running). He was being a charming gentleman to a lady with curly long hair dyed white. She was wearing a white dress with dark pink leggings. Two large bows were in her hair. In her purse, she carried a picture of her poodle pet. On her dress was a pink poodle design.

"I'm Alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said. He shook her hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles.

"I'm Villa Vaden," the woman smiled. She mentioned to her friend who had long black hair and had an orange dress on. "This is Roxanne Rufus, but people call her Roo."

"Where do you work?" Alastor asked.

"I pick up garbage," Roo deadpanned, while smoking a cigarette. "It's the only way I can support myself, now."

"And I work at a pet store!" said the bubbly Villa. "Grooming dogs is my favorite thing to do. Oh and did I mention that I love poodles?"

Alastor refrained from rolling his eyes. Then he got an idea. "Say, would you ladies like to stop by my place around six after I'm done with work? I have a special recipe for jambalaya and I figured you'd like to help me make some?"

Villa smiled, already enamored with him. "That sounds like a lovely idea! I'll be there. Roo?"

"It's Roxanne," she said. "I don't know…there's a mass murderer still roaming around. We don't want to be stuck out late."

"We'll both go together," Villa said. "Besides, you have nothing else to do, other than…"

She wrinkled her nose, "trash pickup. You might even be called the Trash Queen…"

"Say that one more time," Roo glowered.

"Why would, I? Trash Q…"

"If I come with you, will you leave me alone tomorrow?"

"Sure."

Roo sighed. "Fine, I'll come along."

"How swell!" Alastor smiled. "I'll see you ladies there." He gave them directions to an area not too far from the bayou.

Later on, the two women met near the bayou. The sun was beginning to set. A few stars were peering down from the sky. Some crickets could be heard.

"He should be here soon," Villa said. "I can't wait."

"Why am I even here?" Roo asked.

"Hello there, my friends!" said a familiar voice. Alastor stepped out from behind a tree. He was wearing a red suit with a red bow tie.

"Alastor, you came!" Villa said.

"Of course, dear. Now if you two will come with me, my house is a few minutes away."

He held out his arms for them to take. Villa eagerly intertwined hers with his. Roo sighed and reluctantly did the same. Alastor talked about his radio shows as they walked.

They stopped at Alastor's all black house. "Here we are." He took out some keys and opened the door. He held it open. "After you, my dear."

Villa was just about to walk forward when Roo yanked on her arm.

"Wait. Something's not right," Roo warned her. "We should get out of here."

"But we just got here," Villa countered.

"His house, his looks, his smile, everything seems off," Roo added. "And look, he's got a knife!"

Villa spotted the knife handle from Alastor's belt.

"Really?" Villa asked. "'Cause it looks like something he'll use for the dinner."

Alastor was getting impatient. Any moment now and the girls would call for help. He reached over and slowly pulled it out.

Villa pondered for a moment. "Maybe not."

Roo punched Alastor in the stomach, though it didn't have much effect. She took hold of Villa's hand, "Hurry!"

Villa's white hand slipped from Roo's. Roo heard a high pitched yelp from behind her.

"Stop right there, dear."

Roo turned around. Alastor had gotten hold of Villa, who was whimpering and struggling in his arms. One of his arms was around her neck in a choke-hold. He held the knife up to her chin. Villa's eyes were wide in terror and disbelief.

"Ah ah ah," the man warned as Roo opened her mouth to scream. "Not another sound. If you want your friend unharmed, you'll do what I say."

Roo growled, hands on her hips. "I'll run away and the coppers will have you rotting in the Big House!"

"And living with regret that you couldn't save your friend?" He pressed the blade against her throat. "We both know that you don't want that."

Villa gasped. "Don't listen to…"

"Hush," Alastor mouthed at his captured victim.

"Run Roo," Villa breathed, tears forming in her eyes.

Roo took a breath. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place now.

Alastor beckoned her over with his finger. "You have five seconds to come over here and walk through the door, nice and easy. Five."

Villa rapidly shook her head, but Roo ignored it. She had a plan.

"Four."

She inched forward, head lowered. She walked along the porch. Alastor moved back with Villa.

"Three."

Roo turned so she could face Alastor, her hair obscuring her face. She inched backwards so her feet were between the inside room and outside.

"Two."

Roo steeled herself…any moment…

Alastor slid the knife against Villa's throat. "One."

Roo grunted and rammed into Alastor, head first. He gasped for breath but he didn't dare let go of the knife. He let go of Villa, who stood, clutching her bleeding throat. Alastor quickly recovered and kicked Roo hard in the gut. With a strained look, Alastor picked her up and tossed her inside. She tumbled on the hard wood floor with a yelp. Alastor turned toward Villa and swiped out one of his legs. Villa fell to the ground.

Alastor walked inside and retrieved his microphone staff that was leaning against the wall. He twirled it around in his hands as he made his way over to Roo. He brought it down over her, but Roo grabbed onto it with both hands. Both seething individuals struggled to push it forward and back. Alastor leaned in.

"If you would stop struggling, this could be easier for both of us."

"Fuck you!" Roo spat.

"Tut tut. Such deplorable language from a woman," Alastor shook his head.

In the blink of an eye, Alastor stomped hard on her stomach with his foot twice, causing her to gasp and let go.

Grin growing wider, Alastor readied the staff again, as Roo sat up weakly.

"Oh no, Villa's escaped!" Roo gasped, pointing behind her.

But Alastor wasn't one to be fooled.

"Thanks for letting me know."

The staff contacted with her head and she fell to the floor.

Alastor raced outside and looked around for Villa.

"Villa," he called in a sing song voice. "Playing hide and seek, are we?"

Behind some bushes nearby, Villa curled up into a ball and sobbed. Her neck was sharp with pain and sticky with blood. She didn't know where Roo was or if she was still alive.

"I'm so foolish," she sobbed. "What were the chances of us running into a murderer? Roo always had better instincts than me."

She took out the small picture of her white and pink poodle.

"Oh I already miss you," she sighed. She ran a bloodstained finger across it…it almost felt like she was petting her precious pet. She put the picture back in her purse.

At times, she could hear footsteps moving closer, at other times, they moved away.

Could she run across the street and alert the neighbors? She tried to scream but only a gagging cough came out. She became slightly lightheaded and almost collapsed.

"I know you're around here, doll," he called out, speaking into his staff in a regular voice. "Show me where you are and no more harm will come to you or your friend."

A part of her wanted to do just that. But she stayed where she was.

Columns of harmless fire erupted around nearby trees and bushes. After several seconds, the flames went out, leaving the plants unharmed.

Villa breathed in a breath. This guy was using magic?

Villa shook her head and cried again, trying to wake herself up from this nightmare. "It's just a dream," she thought. "I'll wake up back in my bed with my poodle beside me. Soon, I'll learn to be as tough as Roo! Then no one will have to worry about saving my…"

"Aaaaahhh!"

Villa let out a yell as the bush in front of her erupted in flames that soon went out. She quickly covered her mouth and held her breath.

But Alastor had already turned around, a smirk on his face.

"Radio not, here I come!"

Villa stood up as fast as she could and broke off into a sprint. Alastor followed not far behind. She focused on a house in front of her, one that had a front yard and a large tree on the lawn. Villa reached out her hand, staring straight ahead through the fear and the spots dancing across her vision. Her foot caught on a protruding tree root and she fell face first into the grass. A large shadow hovered over her as she glanced up.

"No more running away. It's dinner time."

He bent down and pinched her throat hard with his fingers. She let out a strained gasp then slumped over like a rag doll. Alastor scooped her up over his shoulders and carried her back to the house. He gently set her down with her unconscious friend on the floor, making sure to lock the door.

He stripped both of them of their clothes, burning the clothing and their belongings outside with a snap of his fingers. Only a pile of ash remained, along with the remnants of the poodle picture.

Alastor bent down and observed their bodies.

"Hmm…"

He pressed his hand into Roo's stomach a few times, then turned her over. He trailed his fingers down her pale back. Eyeing her exposed bottom, he smacked it a couple times with his palm. There were several scars running down her leg and chest.

"A little worn and dirty on the outside, but still good enough meat."

He placed her down, then observed Villa. Alastor couldn't help but kneed his fingers into her round butt for a few moments. He slapped her butt cheeks a few times, watching them wobble.

"Thick, fat, very tender," he mused. He checked the rest of her body and held her boobs in his hands. He could almost feel the warmth and blood underneath as he squeezed them. He almost could see why other people enjoyed skin to skin contact and being physical with each other in private. But not the sex part…that was too gross. Alas, lovers did not get to enjoy free tasty meat though…their loss. He let go.

Satisfied, he got out coils of rope and began his work.

Both women sat back to back in the kitchen on chairs, their hands and legs tied tightly together with rope. They soon woke up, groaning.

"R-roo?"

"Huh?"

Roo opened her eyes. She looked around and tried to move.

"Fuck, I'm stuck!"

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" said Alastor. "It's your one and only host, Alastor, on 66.6 FM." He was speaking through his staff, which was connected wirelessly to another radio and a hanging microphone in the other room. The staff glowed with a red outline. His radio voice sounded different.

Villa woke up and shook her head. "Are we in a kitchen? I'm getting hungry."

Roo struggled some more to free herself to no avail. "You dumb Dora, we're trapped!"

The woman stared down at their nude bodies in shock.

"You creep!" Roo shouted. "What did you do to us?"

"Just checked to see that your bodies were tender enough," Alastor said with a sickening grin. "It looks like today's your lucky day."

Villa gasped. "Did he rape us?"

"No, I never rape anyone," Alastor said with a serious look.

"I bet he's lying," Roo fumed.

Alastor ignored them.

"…and tonight I have not one, but two lovely ladies joining me to help make some classic jambalaya. Say hello!"

He moved the microphone closer to them.

"Hello!" Villa said brightly.

Roo growled, "You fucking idiot!"

"Be warned folks, listening discretion is advised as you may hear some dirty words from one of the ladies."

"And you," Roo said to Alastor. "Pompous cheesy show man! What do you think you're doing?"

"Broadcasting our fun time here."

"Are you stupid? Everyone will know that you captured us."

"Exactly."

Roo spoke into the microphone. "Me and my friend are trapped in a big black house! This radio host is a psychotic killer!"

Roo blew a raspberry at the man. "Now you'll be tracked down for sure."

Instead Alastor let out a laugh. "My dear, you are too funny." He mentioned to the radio in the other room, his very first one. It was a smaller tan radio with a white grinning smile painted on it. "My audience this time is a select few who know all about my killings. Every once in a while, I'll catch some victims, bring them down to the basement and…skin them alive."

Villa and Roo stared in horror and disgust.

"Their screams and cries are heard on the air, for their enjoyment. I guess I'm not the only blood thirsty person out there."

The women shuddered.

"Though this time, we're in my kitchen, for a little change of pace."

The kitchen had a small table with chairs around it. There was a small white compressor refrigerator and a low sink with two faucet handles. A gas stove was black and stood on sturdy legs. The stove had several round metal burners, knobs and little oven slots along the front and to one side.

His staff briefly played some jazz music as he got out cooking supplies. Cutting boards, pots, pans, and knives.

"W-what are you going to do to us?" Villa asked.

"Skin us alive, of course!" Roo cried. "That bastard!"

Alastor turned to them and spoke through the staff. "Let's get this show started, shall we?"

He snapped his fingers.

The staff hovered inches off the ground, and moved off to the side. A red line of electricity flickered in the air, barely noticeable, in the direction of Alastor's neck. Now he could speak in his radio voice without holding the staff. He was surprised that his magic worked as well as it did. Villa noticed that all the exits were blocked by a shadowy force.

"I had a feeling that you'd expect me to do something…"

He opened the small compact refrigerator and there lay a deer skull in the top shelf.

"…Bone-chilling. Hahaha!"

He rummaged through and found chicken, shrimp and andouille sausage. He took the chicken and sausage out and set it on a cutting board on a nearby table.

"And in this case, you're right. Though I wouldn't say that what I plan to do will be cold by any means…I like my meals hot."

He gathered the supplies together as the women watched.

"First we heat up one tablespoon of oil…"

He placed a pot with oil on one of the burners on the stove. Blue fire lit up from underneath after a snap of his fingers. He added spicy seasonings to the chicken and sausage. He tossed the sausage into the pot.

"Next we brown the sausage in the oil. And saute the chicken."

The sausage and chicken cooked for a while. He removed them with a spoon and set them aside.

"Next, we get the holy trinity of vegetables ready: onion, bell pepper and celery."

He got out another cutting board for the vegetables. "Villa, could you help me out, please?"

Villa found that she could move her legs and hands. The rope had vanished. With a fearful look on her face, she walked over and got out the pepper and garlic, while Alastor got out the onions and celery. They sliced up the vegetables and added garlic. Red ripe tomatoes and the vegetables were soon stirred in with the meat in a pan. In a flash, he took out a knife and sliced her arm.

Villa let go of the wooden spoon and yelped in pain. "Ow! What the…"

"Sorry my dear, I just need some of your blood for what I'm about to do next."

Alastor scooped up some more blood on the knife tip before walking over to Roo. He cupped her chin with his hand.

"Now then, what should I do with you, Roo?"

Roo spat in his face. He didn't flinch.

"Little lady needs to learn some manners," Alastor said. "I'd say she's as rough as a…kangaroo. Roo. Get it, folks?"

"Your jokes are awful," Roo remarked, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, you consider those a form of good comedy?"

"You obviously don't know what good comedy is," he replied. "Since I'm a gentleman, I'll offer you an easier way out, a painless death, if you apologize."

"Apologize to you? A mass murdering asshole? I don't think so. Did my rejection of your jokes trigger you that much?"

Villa shook her head at Roo in warning.

"Not really. In fact, your opinion doesn't matter," he replied. His smile inched wider. "Besides…I was hoping you'd say that."

Alastor snapped his fingers. A cut appeared on one of his palms. The blood on the knife removed itself, floating in the air with a glowing aura. Alastor curled his fingers together, the palm closing. Red voodoo symbols floated in the air along with the sound of static. His eyes flashed red, and his white teeth were briefly pointed.

He muttered an incantation and held his bloodstained palm toward her. Roo yelled out as her body gradually shrunk in size. The blood from the knife expanded, encircling her in spinning bands of red light before vanishing away. Now she was a little bigger than Alastor's palm. The ropes binding her had vanished. Alastor picked up Roo with his hand and carried her over to the stove. With his other hand, he opened up a small white door with a handle on top. It was attached to the lower front of the appliance.

The oven.

Without hesitation, Alastor stuffed his victim through the square opening.

"Roo!" Villa cried.

He pulled the door shut and snapped his fingers again. Alastor turned a few knobs below the burners. Villa pulled frantically on the wooden handle but it would not budge. She rapped on the door.

"Villa?" Roo called from inside.

"I'm here!"

Roo looked around. She was in a cramped darkened space, the square walls, top, and bottom all made of metal. The only light that came through was a sliver of it through the slits of the hatch.

The air around her began to get thick and hot. Roo could barely stand on her shrunken legs. Her head touched the top of the metal box. The smell of thick smoke and heat made it hard to breathe. Roo punched the door with all her might, and rammed against it with her head.

"Why is the door stuck?!" Roo asked.

"I don't know!" Villa replied. "Alastor must've sealed it shut."

"Ouch!" Roo cried out, as the metal started to burn her hands and knees. Sweat coated her body and her bare skin turned pinkish red.

"Villa," Alastor called out.

"Let her go!" Villa demanded. "I beg you!"

"Nonsence! We have to have some extra meat ready." He grabbed a box of rice and poured the grains into another pot.

"We let the rice simmer for around twenty five minutes. We stir the mixture and add the spices."

He collapsed on a nearby chair and turned to Villa. "Using all that magic wears me out. This good food's making me hungry. Here's where you come in. You're going to add the spices."

"Let Roo go!"

Alastor chuckled. "You know I can't do that."

"Change her back, now!"

She rushed at him and he waved his hand. She was pulled back by an invisible force…

Almost like her arms were suddenly held by strings.

"Only after you add the spices."

Warning was laced in his eyes. She was trapped in this horror freak show of his…a puppet trailing along. With no other choice, she asked, "What are the spices?"

Alastor grinned, counting on his fingers. "One teaspoon of salt, half a teaspoon of black pepper, one teaspoon of dried thyme and oregano, Cayanne powder, one teaspoon of file powder, hot pepper sauce, Worcestershire sauce, Cajun seasoning…you getting this folks?"

He laughed. "Cause it looks like this poor dame isn't!"

Villa stood, shivering in place, the echos of her friend's screams flooding her ears.

"You better get moving, dear. My stomach can't wait much longer…and neither can your friend."

Roo thrashed frantically inside the small suffocating oven, banging on the hot metal surfaces, only to have her skin burnt more each passing second. There was nothing to hold onto except the hot walls. From pink skin, to blisters, to charred parts, the searing agony flashed throughout her whole body. The smell of her own burning flesh was enough to make her nauseated.

She screamed until her voice became hoarse. Her tears and sweat evaporated in the heat. If there were a fire she could jump into from the frying pan, she probably would…the process would've been faster. Her body collapsed and curled up as she willed herself to go unconscious.

After what felt like forever, the nothingness finally came.

Villa eventually got all the spices mixed in. The rice was cooking in boiling water.

Alastor grabbed hold of her hand. "Oh, something just fell inside the pot. Grab it for me."

"Get off!"

He held on tightly to her wrist and lowered her hand into the scalding water.

Villa let out on ear-piercing scream. Her hand clenched up and shook wildly. Drops of water spilled onto the stove top.

"Wow, listen to that, folks!" Alastor declared as he held onto the struggling woman. "And I thought opera singers had large pipes."

He quickly slit her wrist. Blood dripped into the water, creating a faint haze of light red. He let go and the screaming Villa rapidly flinched back. Her hand was wet and burning. A layer of skin had fallen off.

"Last of all, we add peeled raw shrimp and put all the ingredients together. Cover with lid and allow mixture to simmer for five to six minutes."

He peeled some pink shrimp and tossed them into the pan. The rice was then added to the pile of chopped up meat and vegetables.

"And you can also add extra meat and seasonings to taste," he added. "Deer meat for example. Duck, crawfish, or in this case…"

Alastor winked at Villa.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Villa whimpered as she closed her eyes and tried to fight off the pain. Alastor took her other hand and held it over the mixture. In his other hand was a meat clever.

"Please stop! Stop it!"

"Why are you crying, my dear? A smile would look so much better on you."

There was pure madness in his wide eyes…nothing but dark holes over rims of brown as he raised his other arm…

A large slice, a scream, and a thud. Villa's pale hand fell into the gumbo mixture. Villa plummeted onto the black and white checkered floor.

"Villa, would you like to see your friend now?"

The woman nodded weakly.

He snapped his fingers twice. The oven door opened and a figure flew out. Roo grew back to her normal size and lay on the floor.

Well…what used to be Roo.

Roo's dark hair was wild, much of it had fallen out. Her mouth was open in mid scream, her teeth showing and her tongue lolled out. Her skin was blackened and charred, with spots of muscle and bone showing through. What was left of her eye sockets were now completely visible.

Villa let out a horrific animal sound between a frightened scream and a sob of despair.

"What's black and white and red all over?" Alastor asked to his distant audience. "Well normally it's a newspaper but now I'm looking at blood on my black and white kitchen floor."

Villa became pale and shaky. She was close to going into shock. All she could see were the lower legs of the chairs, table, and stove.

Alastor bent down and began to carve into her exposed belly. She had no energy to fight back. There was only pain, weakness and nausea for several minutes. The knife plunged deeper, until flesh and muscle mass detached in a gloppy mess. Alastor bit into it with his mouth like a rapid animal before swallowing.

"I knew you'd taste good."

She clung on to her last gulps of air, the same way that dying animals did. Here was where people and animals were the same…they were gullible prey for Alastor to catch and enjoy. Life slowly left her amber colored eyes and the orbs became glazed and unblinking.

"It appears that my two guests have decided to leave early. Well, that's alright. More good stuff for me."

Alastor stood up. "And speaking of which, my wonderful dish of jambalaya is done!"

He turned off the stove and scooped a handful of the gumbo into a bowl. He collected slabs of flesh from the mutilated corpses on the ground and added them to the bowl. He sighed with content as he dug in with a fork and knife and a thick cloth napkin on his lap. Jazz music played over the air as he ate. You're Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile played last.

"I hope you all enjoyed this session tonight. If you missed any of it, don't worry. You'll heard more about their deaths on the next broadcast. Stay tuned and remember, you're never fully dressed without a smile."

The microphone blinked off and the magic vanished.