Chadpocalypse 1:6 – Hell in a Diner

For those looking to catch up:

Parts 1-2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

1:6 Hell in a Diner

Mrs. B stared at him as if she wasn’t the ghostly specter of a woman that once was, impatiently tapping her pen on the order pad.

Chad could do nothing but stare back at her blankly.

“Just the coffee then for now?” she asked, weetly.

“Pardon,” started Chad, unsure of what to say, “but aren’t you dead?” Saying the words sent a fresh chill rushing down his spine. He desperately wished the diner hadn’t lost its liquor license years ago.

“Oh, straight to the point then, eh?” Mrs. B brushed herself off as if to look more presentable and sat down opposite him. There was no sound as she did so. An eerie, muffled silence had set over the diner, making it feel like something out of a dream.

Chad continued to stare, unsure of how to process the image before him. Does no one else see the dead woman sitting across from me? He looked around the diner and found that there was no one else there to notice.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” chimed Mrs. B politely. “We’re sort of in a frozen state right now. They can’t see us, and we can’t see them. I’ll pop you back proper when we’ve finished our talk.”

Chad’s head thrummed with the psychotic beat of his hangover. “Alright then,” he managed, wincing from pain, “but can I at least get a cup of coffee?”

“I think I that can be arranged.” She held out her hand in the direction of the coffee pot and it came zooming over to them.

“Right, if being dead means you get Jedi powers, I’m about to kill myself.”

“Don’t be silly,” she chided, pouring him a cup of the steaming hot liquid. “I’ve only got them on loan for the day. Higher beings decided they might come in handy, and they weren’t sure you’d be so receptive to the idea.”

“Receptive to what?” he blurted. “Dead women coming back to serve me breakfast?”

Mrs. B made an impatient clucking sound with her tongue. “No dearie, with the impending apocalypse and all.”

Chad froze in his chair. No way. There’s no way. “Apocalyp…”

Mrs. B cut him off, growing annoyed and checking the clock. “Yes Chad, now sober up and pay attention.” She pushed the cup of coffee toward him. “You’ll recall your meeting with the horseman last night, correct?”

“Well I was pretty far down the bottle…”

“Jesus Christ, the Devil sure knows how to pick them. Why oh why did it have to be you?” She sighed.

“Hey, I didn’t come here to get berated by the recently deceased for my life choices, poor as they may be.”

“No, you came here to fill your body with enough grease to sop up one of a thousand hangovers that was to be the rest of your life. Sound about right?” She raised an eyebrow.

Chad nodded.

“Right, well you’ve been given a chance to deviate from that path. How much do you remember of the horseman?”

Chad strained his mind, and saw flashing images of a molten lake of fire, and a pretentious equestrian in a polo shirt. “I remember he looked like a bit of a prick.”

Mrs. B rolled her eyes. “Well of course he was a bit of a prick. Being a herald of the apocalypse isn’t a job for a good Samaritan.”

“Fair point,” admitted Chad, and drank greedily from the coffee he had almost forgotten. The liquid cascaded down his throat and the tension behind his eyes began to ease.

“Now, I’ll explain this to you one time, and one time only.” Mrs. B looked at the clock again, nervously. “I don’t have much time. When the apocalypse comes, the horsemen are required to pick one mortal to pass the knowledge on to. This is supposed to be indicative of fair play between the regions beyond. So, to make it easy on themselves, they picked you, no offense.”

“Some taken,” muttered Chad.

“You’re going to have to show them that was a mistake,” she continued.

At the far end of the diner, Chad noticed a small crack beginning to open on the floor. Just your mind playing tricks on you, he thought. It wouldn’t be the first time a hangover had taken a turn for the hallucinogenic.

“But why…” Chad trailed off. The crack in the floor had continued to grow, and red light was streaming out of it.

Mrs. B turned to look behind her. “Oh shit. It looks like we have less time than I thought.”

The crack ripped open and fire spewed to the top of the diner.

“What in the holy hell is that?” exclaimed Chad, jumping onto the vinyl seat as if the floor were lava.

“Well, it’s Hell of course,” she spat. “They’re coming to take me back dearie.”

A massive, clawed hand reached out of the floor. Chad’s mouth dropped open.

“Ok, listen to me Chad. You need to find Nick Ventner. There’s no time to explain, just do it.”

“Mrs. B!” Chad yelled. “Look out behind you!” His heart thumped wildly in his chest and his senses cleared, forgetting the hangover that had dulled them moments earlier.

A black demon with massive, curling horns jumped out of the hole and onto the quickly crumbling tile floor. It’s eyes glowed red with hellfire and it expelled smoke with each heavy snort it made. “Mrs. B, pleasure to see you,” it grumbled, in a deep British accent. It cocked its head to one side and lunged forward.

“This is going to hurt,” moaned Mrs. B.

With one swift strike, the demon plunged its massive claw through her back, and out the front of her chest, spraying the diner with black, congealed blood.

“Holy shit!” Chad screamed.

“Don’t fuck this up,” whispered Mrs. B, and then fell limp.

“See you soon, Chad,” chuckled the demon, and then with the grace of an Olympic diver, twisted through the air diving back through the hole in the floor.

All at once, sound rushed back into the diner, and people popped up in every booth around him. Chad stood on the vinyl seat, mouth hanging open, clutching a breakfast menu. The blood was gone from his shirt, and there was no sign of the massive hell portal in the tiled floor.

“The usual, Chad?” asked a man standing just by his side.

Chad jumped, and slid into the corner of the booth.

“Jesus man, you alright?” the voice asked.

Chad turned to see George, holding an ordering pad, looking concerned, and expectant. “S-sorry,” Chad stammered.

“Another wild night?” George laughed.

“Yeah,” Chad said. “Something like that.” His stomach rumbled impatiently. “I think I’ll have the eggs benedict…”

Death Co [Extended]

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I’ve gone back and fixed up the first chapter of Death Co., giving it a proper ending, and fixing some grammar. Take a look, let me know what you think, and subscribe if you like it! Also follow me on Twitter / Facebook

Let’s see, job qualifications: 1. Must be dead, they’re a real stickler about that one. 2. Preferred to have some legal experience, they’ll let that one slide occasionally if you’re a ‘people person’. 3. Must be just desperate enough to live forever, but also apathetic enough to spend that forever doing paperwork. 4. This one’s the most important of them all, must have a strong constitution when it comes to blood, otherwise the first day would be a real drag.

I don’t even know where to start. What I did, what I still do in a way, is quite a lot to take in. The topic of death tends to conjure images of eternal rest and the infinite abyss, not so much an office building just on the edge of time. Years back they had the aesthetics redone to look a bit more imposing, but honestly, it’s all a bit Wall Street for me.

The origin of the supernatural mega conglomerate known to most as Death, is a simple one. When shop was first opened all those eons ago, there was only one. The world was a lot smaller, and the dawn of man a much simpler time. Let’s just say the primitive Neanderthal brain didn’t have a handle on writing, much less appeals paperwork. I didn’t come on the scene until much later, but it’s important to know history so that we don’t repeat ourselves.

Before the dawn of man there wasn’t much need for death. Don’t get me wrong, it still happened quite often, but there wasn’t a need for the abstract concept of it. To be frank, God didn’t give much of a shit about the dinosaurs, see: Giant asteroid, molten rain, etc., and as a result, their afterlife was almost non-existent. That worked well for a while, unless you were one of the pea-brained brontosauruses floating in the inky blackness confusedly chewing their last pieces of grass.

Whatever your opinion on the subject, dinosaur rights advocates need not apply, the system worked. Things didn’t get messy until humans came on the scene. Higher order brain functions led to higher order questions. Suffice it to say, the powers that be: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, have never been very good with questions. Rather than answer them, they voted to create a buffer. It was the only way to keep a watchful eye on the humans while still managing to get uproariously drunk at the inter-departmental parties.

The first question humans asked that the divine sought fit to answer was a simple on. It’s the same question that drives many to the brink of insanity and the cusp of creativity. What happens to us after we die? Ever since the inception of humanity, questioning what lies beyond infinity has been one of our driving characteristics. The truth is rather sad; it involves a lot of math on the part of the divine and they’re too busy mucking about with climate change to bother explaining.

As a result, the institution known as Death, now incorporated, was formed. The first employee in the company of Death was a simple man by the name of Ug. He wasn’t a man of many words, being of the Cro-Magnon persuasion, but could follow orders exceedingly well. God found Ug after he had fallen off a cliff after an unfortunate mammoth drive accident. When the creator found him, Ug had broken just about every bone in his body and was drowning in gore.

This was understandably not a great way to go. Understandably, Ug, unable to express his complex questioning of the creator, but could do no more than scream bloody murder and wave his hands. God happened to be paying attention to Ug that day, he had caused the mammoth drive to go south, and honestly felt quite embarrassed by the situation. Rather than deal with the awkwardness that was hearing out a primitive’s complaints, God appointed Ug as Death. This solved the problem of all the unresolved questions surrounding the end of life, and left God free to work on his concept of warring, dogmatic religions.

Ug was snapped back into shape, rather painfully I am told, given a black cloak, and made immortal. God tasked Ug with the job of acting menacing, collecting the souls of the recently deceased, and answering one question from each of them before the end. Whether Ug understood this was beside the point. Before he could utter so much as a confused grunt, God was gone, and Ug was left to his morbid job.

For the first few centuries, he was a terrible death. The powers of the divine were difficult to master, and as such, more than a few deaths slipped through the cracks. This led to the half-dead returning to terrorize the living, and more than a few zombie outbreaks that put ethereal egg on the creator’s face. Still, this arrangement continued to function for a few hundred years, and eventually, as time wore on, Ug got better at it. He learned to teleport to the location of death, the secrets behind freezing time, and the most painless way to escort the soul from the land of the living, to the realm beyond.

The real problems started when civilization continued to grow, something that none of the powers at be had expected. Humans were created as incredibly combative and prideful creatures, and it surprised everyone when they began to cooperate with one another. This in turn led to wars, which increased Ug’s workload significantly. Purgatory literally overflowed, raining bits of decomposed flesh and bone into both Heaven and Hell. This led to the expansion of Purgatory, which should be finished in another hundred million years when the contracts go through, and Death getting a horse.

Why the high angels decided it was a problem of transportation and not understaffing is something we may never know. Ug, who had since learned a few basic words, named his horse Buttercup, and the world continued to spin for a little while longer. Unfortunately for the heavens, Earth’s population continued to grow exponentially, and things got complicated.

At our present pace, we get about 155,000 souls a day. That’s quite a few, and with the demands of our newly technological society, the demands of the dead have become complicated. Needless to say, it was far too much for poor Ug to handle by himself. At one point, he tried to kill himself, but when you’re already dead, that doesn’t do a whole lot. In the end, it made an awful mess, Ug was retired, and the corporation we know today.

The first team was a group of recently deceased therapists, but they talked to much and fell behind schedule. It was a nice sentiment, trying to help the dead cope and move on with their afterlife, but ultimately, it’s not our job. Mostly, the recently dead are stuck in the bargaining stage until they realize that the agents of death have no true authority. That’s when they tend to get uppity.

Speed is a prized commodity in the realm of death, as long lines of the deceased tend to smell. So, the corporation needed a group of people who were good at paperwork, divorced from their emotions, and ruthless. That’s where I come in. My name is Jon, I’m an ex-lawyer, and I’ve been dead for about sixty years. My business is death, and business is good.

Coaster Addict – Back to the Future

When Planet Coaster released the Back to the Future DLC, I knew there was only one thing I could build: a Back to the Future coaster like the one almost constructed at Universal Studios all those years back. Big thanks to jorgpot for his Town Hall scenery piece, it’s the only part of my facade that doesn’t look ugly!

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The ride starts with a quick journey through Doc Brown’s Hall of Innovation, filled currently with vats of plutonium and older versions of the new time machine that riders are currently in.

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After this brief trip down memory lane, the real ride starts. Guests are invited to try the doctor’s new time machine for a test run, right now!

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Guests rocket away at 88 miles per hour and into the space time vortex!

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After careening briefly through space, riders find themselves in the old west, escaping a gang of bandits.

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Unfortunately, they take a wrong turn through a tunnel and end-up head on with a train. The only escape is to once more travel through time, cutting their journey short.

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Guests emerge back at the institute, but the vehicle malfunctions, jumping through time once  more.

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The time machine continues to travel at random, taking guests briefly back to the old west, before returning to the future, and finally back to the institute.

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That’s my dark ride, almost finished, video soon to come. If you liked the gallery, subscribe to my blog, follow me on Twitter/ Facebook, and upvote this post, or you can do none of those things and smile to yourself at my slowly deflating ego 🙂 Your choice.

Check out the previous installments of Coaster Addict:

Dueling Mountain Coaster

Volcano Dark Ride

Crystal Caverns Log Flume

Chadpocalypse 1:5

It’s been a while, but here’s the latest chapter of Chadpocalypse! Sorry it’s been slow,  but working on the Whiteout publication takes time! Also, if you like my work, give me a follow on Facebook/Twitter!

For those looking to catch up:

Parts 1-2
Part 3
Part 4

1:5 B’s Diner

When Chad awoke it was to the pounding fury of the hangover to end all hangovers, and a woman, brandishing a lamp, screaming about an intruder. From the moment his eyes fluttered open, it was clear that something was very wrong with the world.

“What the hell are you doing in my bed?” shouted the woman, swinging the light through the air making dizzying streaks.

At first Chad couldn’t think of a single reason why anyone would be so upset with him, and then, in the dim light it dawned on him; this isn’t my apartment. The furnishings were far too tasteful, and aside from the smell of his own vomit, there was nothing familiar about the place. “Woah, woah, woah,” he stammered, trying his best to ignore the bass drum that had begun beating inside his skull. “Let’s all just calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” the woman screamed. “You’re the one in my bedroom! Get out now, or I’m calling the police!”

“Alright, let me just get my,” he looked down at his feet noticing his shoes were still on. “Never mind, I’m going.” With the grace of a drunken acrobat, Chad tumbled out of the bed, and dodged around the woman’s vicious lamp swing. It collided with the wall, sending a shower of sparks over the room and plunging it into darkness. Chad maneuvered behind the woman, flung open the door and crashed into the hallway, which now almost certainly looked unfamiliar. He took off at a dead sprint.

Several apartment doors were open with concerned denizens poking their heads out to get a good look at the source of the commotion. What they saw was a red-faced youth, curly brown hair flying every which way, stumbling down the hallway at an impressive pace, and trying his best not to vomit. To Chad’s credit, he succeeded in the last, right up until he burst through the door leading outside. At the confrontation of what could only be the brightest sun he had ever seen, Chad immediately doubled over and vomited on the concrete.

Instant relief spread over him in a wave as the previous evenings toxins were expelled in one fell swoop. He wiped his mouth, glad that the worst was over and then vomited again. It took him a few moments after to trust that things really had ended, but when they had, he straightened up, brushed off his tattered jeans and started off in search of brunch.

For Chad, this was nothing more than a typical Sunday morning. The air outside was humid and smelled like stale cigarettes. Such was the charm of the city of Midway he supposed. What a crazy night, he thought, unsure of what exactly had happened. The fact that he had blacked out, in his mind, meant that it had likely been a good time, and worth the pain he was now in. Chad tried to remember the dream he had been having before the woman had so rudely woken him with her shouting. “Even if I did break in, I wasn’t hurting anyone,” he muttered.

A couple passing by gave him a disgusted look usually reserved for rich aristocrats observing the profoundly homeless.

Chad ignored them, he was too busy thinking about the visions of Hell and the horseman that had appeared at the foot of his bed. What a crazy dream. Wouldn’t be a bad idea for a book, he mused, thinking that he might pick up writing again after he had found some food. Chad’s creative works consisted of a series of one-page story openers that had long since been abandoned in the search for a good time. All the same, he fancied himself an artist.

Up ahead was B’s Diner, one of his favorite establishments to frequent after a night of heavy drinking. B had opened it up some fifty years ago, and they’d been serving the finest starches smothered in grease ever since. It was an institution in the neighborhood, but judging by the angle of the bright light feeding his hangover, Chad had woken early enough to beat the morning rush. Chad looked at a street sign and grinned, his uncanny talent of passing out within a few blocks of the diner had come through again. He took a left turn and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. Just a block down the street, were the silver-paneled walls of the diner.

“Hallelujah,” he exclaimed, taking the remaining distance at a brisk walk. Inside he was greeted by cool air-conditioning, Don’t Fear the Reaper playing through the restaurant’s jukebox, and his favorite red vinyl booth, unoccupied. He slumped down in the seat and pretended to read over the menu. He would have eggs benedict, as he did every time he visited the diner, but the illusion of choice was important to keep the spice in life.

“What can I get for you darling?” asked a sweet voice that Chad almost recognized, but couldn’t quite place.

Strange, George usually takes the morning orders. Chad peered over the top of his menu cautiously and was surprised to see that it was Mrs. B herself taking his order. His face went pale and a chill swept over him as if he had been dunked in ice. A year ago, Mrs. B coming out to serve the customers would have been nothing out of the ordinary, but given that she had died of lung cancer a few months prior, it came as a bit of a shock…

Death Co

I’ve been working on one of my oldest stories and rewriting it for later submission. This is the first of many chapters, but chime in and let me know what you think of the tone/content. If you like it, subscribe to get notifications when I post more!

death_co

1. Job Description

Let’s see, job qualifications: 1. Must be dead, they’re a real stickler about that one. 2. Preferred to have some legal experience, they’ll let that one slide occasionally if you’re a ‘people person’. 3. Must be just desperate enough to live forever, but also apathetic enough to spend that forever doing paperwork. 4. This one’s the most important of them all, must have a strong constitution when it comes to blood, otherwise the first day would be a real drag.

I don’t even know where to start. What I did, what I still do in a way, is quite a lot to take in. The topic of death tends to conjure images of eternal rest and the infinite abyss, not so much an approximation of an office building just on the edge of time. Years back they had the aesthetics redone to look a bit more imposing, but honestly, it’s all a bit Wall Street for me. The origin of the supernatural mega conglomerate known to most as Death, is a simple one. When shop was first opened all those eons ago, there was only one of us. The world was a lot smaller back then, and the dawn of man a much simpler time. Let’s just say the primitive Neanderthal brain didn’t have a handle on writing, much less appeals paperwork. I didn’t come on the scene until much later, but it’s important to know history so that we don’t repeat ourselves.

In any case, before the dawn of man there wasn’t much need for death. Don’t get me wrong, it still happened, quite a lot of it in fact, but there was no need for the abstract concept of it. To be honest, God didn’t give much of a shit about the dinosaurs, see: Giant asteroid, molten rain, etc., and as a result, their afterlife was non-existent. That worked out pretty well for a while, unless you were one of the pea-brained, brontosauruses floating in the inky blackness, confusedly chewing their last pieces of grass.

Whatever your opinion on the subject, dinosaur rights advocates need not apply, the system worked. Things didn’t get messy until humans came on the scene. Higher order brain functions led to questions. Suffice it to say, the powers that be, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, have never been very good with questions, and rather than answer them, they voted to create a buffer. It was the only way to keep a watchful eye on the humans while still managing to get uproariously drunk at the inter-departmental parties.

The first question humans asked that the divine sought fit to answer was a simple on. It’s the same question that drives many to the brink of insanity and the cusp of creativity. What happens to us after we die? Ever since our inception, questioning what lies beyond infinity has been one of our driving characteristics. The truth is rather sad; the divine powers haven’t got a clue and are too busy mucking about with climate change to bother trying to figure it out.

So, rather than devoting years to the scholarly pursuit of ethereal knowledge, the buffer of Death was introduced. The great institution of a specter on a white horse was started with a single man, Ug.