The Devil’s Whorehouse Part 1

Posted: October 6, 2012 in Uncategorized

HEre you go, some teasers for the Devil’s Whorehouse.
Enjoy:

The Devil’s Whorehouse
By Chris Flemish

The headlights of Dean’s old Camaro sliced through the darkness like razorblades, the inside of his car glowing a deep, vibrant orange with every puff he took from his cigarette. His arm rested comfortably on the window, while his hand tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel. It had been hours since he had encountered another car.
Two weeks ago, his friend Alex had called and told him he was moving back to Los Angeles. Dean and Alex had been best friends since high school, but when Alex’s family moved to Seattle for another job, the friendship became a lot more complicated and sporadic. Dean couldn’t believe it when his friend called to tell him the good news.
“ That’s great, man, I can’t believe it!”
“Believe it,” Alex said. “I got a job with a small consulting company based out of Downtown. I’ve already started looking for a place.”
“Looking for a place? No way – you can crash at my place until you get on your feet. When are you moving?”
“I’ve got almost everything boxed up; I’m getting a truck in two weeks and then I’ll drive my way down.”
“Ok hold on a sec, I know this sounds crazy, but I want to come help you. I haven’t been up to Seattle in forever and I have some vacation time coming up that I need to take anyway. What do you say?”
“Dean, that’s crazy, man. I can do this. You don’t have to come up here and help me move.”
“Yes I do: that’s what friends are for, they’re there for each other in their time of need. And trust me, I need a field trip. Work is driving me crazy! I still haven’t gotten used to this whole job thing – reports, presentations, meetings. Three years ago, I was partying all the time at college and now it’s all ‘be on time’, ‘finish your reports’, blah blah blah. I’m going crazy. Trust me, Alex, I need this more than you do.”
“Ok, Ok, if that’s what you want I’d love to have you here, man. We can catch up, hit the town. I missed that, bro.”
“I missed you, too; in a non-sexual way, of course.”
“Of course.”

The next day, Dean requested his vacation and, two days later, he hit the road. He drove onto the Pacific Coast Highway just north of Malibu, cruising all along the coast, and made a brief one-night stop in Santa Barbara, only to leave early in the morning so he could spend some time at the Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park .
It was his favorite place in California. He loved seeing how the fresh water plunged off the eighty-foot-high McWay Waterfall, onto the sandy beach, merging with the vibrant teal Pacific Ocean. He had come here many times. Sometimes he just drove up in his dad’s truck and slept in the truck bed. He would wake up early so he could catch the sun rising over the ocean, snapping pictures as the sky slowly transformed from cold black to vibrant pink and red. He felt at peace here.
Once, he was walking up to the viewpoint, his camera set and locked on its tripod, when he heard people yell “Condor, Condor!” He turned and saw a majestic California Condor glide over McWay Waterfall, coming straight for him. He ripped the camera bag from his shoulder and frantically tried to change his lens, but by the time he had managed to set up, the Condor was long gone. He had missed the shot of a lifetime. After that day he’d gone back many times hoping that Lady Luck would once again favor him, but to no avail.
After an hour of reminiscing at the park, he hit the road again. This stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway was amazing but the traffic on the two-lane highway was so congested, you couldn’t get anywhere fast. Five hours later, he cruised past San Francisco, heading for the Shasta National Forrest.
It was barely dusk when he entered this god-forsaken stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway. Slowly but surely, the redwoods became more and more entangled, forming a solid wall, blocking out the slightest sign of light. Dean had cranked the volume on the radio to the max; The Misfits had always been one of his favorite bands and he couldn’t help singing along. His fingers tapped along with the bass as the song Devil’s Whorehouse played out.
He glanced out of the window and, for a split second, he thought he saw a young boy. He was maybe six or seven, wearing an old-fashioned blue Sunday suit. Under his arm he carried a red and white striped ball. To his side, a ten foot ogre was firmly holding onto the boy.
“What the fuck?” Dean almost lost control of his car and swerved across the road. He glanced in his rearview mirror.
Nothing.

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Comments
  1. mistylayne says:

    Nice. Definitely did not see that kid and ogre coming up and definitely wanna learn more about what’s up with that!

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