By Daniel Abraham
Read by Stephen Eley
In the picture, Flat Diane has been taped around a wide pillar, her arms and legs bending back out of sight. A long black cloth wraps across where the eyes might be, had Ian drawn them in; a blindfold.
The man who Ian doesn’t know, has never met, is caressing a drawn-in breast. His tongue protrudes from his viciously grinning mouth, its tip flickering distance from the silhouette’s thigh. He looks not like Satan, but like someone who wishes that he were, someone trying very hard to be.
The writing on the back of the photograph is block letters, written in blue felt-tip.
It reads: Flat Diane has gone astray.
A new photograph comes every week. Some might be amusing to another person; most make him want to retch.
The best trick Hell has to play against its inmates is to whisper to them that this — this now — is the bottom. Nothing can be worse than this. And then to pull the floor away.
By K. A. Patterson
Read by Mur Lafferty
In the photo he was holding a large, thick black snake. Three other large snakes encircled his neck and legs.
“That’s me, Zorbo the Great, snake charmer extraordinaire! Now I am retired. No longer working for circus. I do lecture tour now. Talk to children ’bout snakes. Make them no worry that snakes might bite them. Tell them not all snakes are hurtful.”
“That’s wonderful,” Carol said, impressed. “What am I to do for you and Mrs. Dicicco?”
“You help me get Pepé.” Zorbo said, taking a moment to puff on his pipe.
The tobacco he used gave off a pleasant, fruity scent.
By Stephen Dedman
Read by Ben Phillips
“I thought that having the name would be enough – I remember you saying that we remember the Ripper and the Boston Strangler and Zodiac because they had cool names, while almost nobody remembers John Haigh or George Smith or Jerry Brudos. I wrote to the police and the papers, but I don’t think they’ve taken me seriously… but if you were to write a letter, it’d be different. You’re a writer, you know how it should be done, what it should say.”
By Johnny Compton
Read by George Hrab
“You see that?” Randolph asked, referring to the dingy shard of bone within the bag. “Recognize it?”
Before Kyle could answer, a thump sounded through the ceiling.
Randolph looked up but kept the gun aimed at Kyle’s face. “Hanna? Is that you? It’s ten o’clock, I figured you’d be asleep by now. Why don’t you come downstairs–?”
“Hanna stay up there!” Kyle shouted. “Randolph’s down here with a gun and he’s lost his mind.?”
A second later, the red light on the base of the kitchen phone blinked.
“You’re going to call the police?” Randolph asked Hanna. “Go right ahead. I’m sure they’d be as interested as I am to know where you’re keeping the bodies.”