We're at part 4 now, and I realized that I should mention something: "Pasta Noir" is the third story in some series of sorts created by BlackNumber1. First is "Ol' Broken Bones Pete", then "Summer in Texas", and finally "Pasta Noir." I have to admit, "Pasta Noir" was an odd choice for a threequel. The first two take place in Bumblefuck, Texas. This one takes place in a city. Also, the first two have a really Southern, small town feel. Yet "Pasta Noir" does not. I don't know, I find that kind of weird. And the timeline in this little universe is kind of weird. "Ol' Broken Bones Pete" ends with (SPOILER) two characters who are alive in the sequel dying. I don't know, just something I find odd, and something I felt should be mentioned at some point.
Anyway, this part introduces the third main character of our story, the mother of Communism. You'll see what I mean when you read it. Anyway, let's read some Scarypasta and Riff this bitch.
4. Old Wounds Run Deep
The lousy old office was cold and reeked of sorrow. Ah, the sweet scent of sorrow. It’s so lovely. It was always so goddamn dark, Not just dark, but goddamn dark. even with a light on. It had been 4 hours since Chris introduced Michael to the world of Scarypasta. “In that time, Michael had wet himself 15 times.” They read a few stories, trying to become better acquainted with the subject matter and its scribblers. Most of the scribblers seemed to be young, creative people who just wanted the world to catch a glimpse into their souls. Or people who get pissed when their totally awesome epic perfect story was taken down because it sucks. Slowly but surely, Michael was becoming a fan. Yes, the Cult of Scarypasta now has a new member. MWHAHAHAHAHA! Chris was already familiar with the main characters from the most popular stories. Like Skinny Guy, and the Shovel, and GEORGE Suffocated. He played narrated Scarypastas on YouTube for Michael and they went that route for a while in order to allow their eyes to rest.
“Connor would have loved this stuff,” Chris said with a slight smile, recalling how Connor loved horror movies and writing short stories. Chris enjoyed reading his stories. “Chris always enjoyed laughing at bad writing.” He wondered for a moment if his son had indeed discovered the world of Scarypasta at some point.
Michael looked up at Chris for moment, ready to listen, like a good friend. He wasn’t going to talk, like a bad friend. He didn’t quite know what to say. Hail Hydra works. He couldn’t imagine the pain Chris felt. He had experienced the worst pain a person can feel. “The pain of reading “Sonic.exe.”” Yet, here he was still fighting crime, catching criminals of the worst kind: murderers, rapists, child killers, lawyers. Each scumbag he took off the streets was like a fix, just enough to get him through another few days. Like a junkie and their heroin. He tries not to think about that when does drug busts.
Criminals were everywhere. Throw a rock into a room and you’d likely hit more than a few. HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST ROCK! No doubt this city was going to hell in a hand basket. Was it a nice hand basket? That’s why you needed family (if you had them), your own personal Jesus. YOUR OWN PERSONAL JESUS. SOMEONE TO HEAR YOUR PRAYERS, SOMEONE WHO CARES. Chris lost his to this cruel city 2 years ago. The city took Depeche Mode? NOOOOO!
They searched for anything new posted in the hours since Mr. Von Drack’s death. “All he found were blog posts introducing people and complaining about bad stories.” All they needed was a clue, something, anything to go on. Their search turned up empty.
Chris searched for one more story. He typed in "Satanists". A title popped up, "Summer in Texas" written by SarahMetalMassacre. Two things: first, BlackNumber1 wrote that story. Second, that story doesn’t come up when search that. I checked. He felt something stir inside. “He probably shouldn’t have swallowed that automatic serving spoon.” He began to read the story. Ten minutes into the story, it hit him like a kick in the nuts. Well, now he’ll never have kids. “Son of a Bitch…”
“What? Find something?” Michael looked up from his computer screen.
“Yeah…. This story I’m reading. “It’s called “Demo Reel Lost Episode”, and boy does it suck.” It’s called “Summer in Texas”. It’s written by someone from my old days in Lytle when I was with the Sheriff’s department,” Chris explained. Ok, so why did he look that up? I’m curious. Was it done as a “for the hell of it” thing, or did he think that Satanists might be connected to the case?
Michael was now intrigued. “No shit!” No shit, just piss.
Chris began to explain. “Yeah, about 15 years ago I had been a deputy for about 2 years. “14 years ago I had been a deputy for about 3 years. Isn’t linear time great?” It was right before Abby & me were married.”
“Yeah that’s right... What was his name? “Beetle…drink, I think?” Allen…” Michael interrupted.
“Yeah, Bobby Allen,” Chris answered.
“Is he still around?” Michael asked. “No, he’s acube now.”
“Yes, he still lives in Lytle. He retired after a heart attack."
"It’s a wonder he didn’t go too when Abby and Connor passed,” Michael said, staring at the wall. “You ever go and see him?” Michael began to pry.
“No, I haven’t been back since the funeral. He calls once in a while to check in on me. “It’s kind of creepy, actually.” He invites me out but…. Look, let’s get back to the story. You’re raising my Irish here, Mikey! Raising his Irish? Ugh.” Chris was now clearly annoyed.
Michael smiled and nodded apologizing. “Sorry man. Go on.”
“As I was saying, 15 years ago we get a report from two local kids, Joey Maher The fat kid and Jason Pruitt The douche. They were just kids, 12 or 13. A new family had moved into an old abandoned house up on East Prairie Street. Everyone called it Deadman’s curve due to the high number of automobile fatalities over the years I thought it was because Dead Man hung around there. It lead up to a large hill where the family in question moved. They had this Daughter, 12 years old, and from the get go there was something off about them. “They kept saying that Zalgo was coming.” They dressed in raggedy old clothes that looked straight from the turn of the century. The boys came to the station one day claiming that they had made friends with the girl, and that morning she had bruises all over her arms. They asked us to check it out.
"Well, after heading up there, we questioned them. Riddle me this, Batman! Asked if we could see their daughter. They claimed they had no daughter, just an infant son who died shortly after birth. “Just ignore the girl who lives with us.” We asked to search the premises. They refused without a warrant. “So we burned down their house.” When we went back to inform the boys, they said that the girl… Sarah claimed she had a older brother named uh… Jimmy Lee that lived there with them. Jimmy Lee is a pretty redneck name. That’s the name the couple gave for the deceased infant. We went for the warrant immediately. Meanwhile, one of the boys had developed some sort of romantic relationship with Sarah. “At least, that’s what he said at the rape trial.” Joey, I think it was, the chubby one. They had taken it upon themselves to try and rescue her. Apparently listening to their dicks led to something good happening. That’s rare.
"Their plan was simple. Makuta Teridax said the same exact thing. One hid behind the trash cans while the other threw rocks at the window and shouted from the driveway. “Your mother is a hamster and your father smells of elderberries!” the kid yelled. As the couple went outside to confront and give chase, the one hiding (Joey) would go in and rescue Sarah. It didn’t quite pan out that way. “It potted out that way.” We got there just in the nick. I hope Nick enjoyed that. They were chasing the boys down the driveway, butcher knives in hand. We told them to stop…When they refused, we shot them dead then and there. “And we suffered absolutely no repercussions from killing them. Texas is nice like that.” I went inside to check on Sarah.
"She had been hogtied and gagged, laying on a black tarp. The parents had dug up a corpse from the cemetery and sat it in a chair. Ol’ Broken Bones Pete, they called him. A Satanic Bible was on the sofa. The parents had belonged to some backwoods Satanic cult in Travis County and had fled after some trouble there. So there are Texan Satanists? Fascinating. By the way, Texan Satanists is a great band name. They were planning to sacrifice the girl. Well, if she had stayed with Joey, it wouldn’t have been a virgin sacrifice. Turned out, after an investigation, they had kidnapped her as a baby and murdered her birth parents and raised her. She got treatment, adjusted, was introduced into society. “Judging by the people she ate, she had a hard time adjusting.” And now, apparently writing. And from what I’ve read, she’s quite good at it, too. She is one of the most popular writers on Scarypasta.com. Then how come I’ve never read any of her stories? All of her stories are narrated on YouTube. Small world, huh?”
“Wow, man! Small world indeed, “At least, that ride says so!”“Michael responded with a surprised look. He thought for a moment then looked up at Chris. “Hey! Hey is for horses. We say “Yo,” like civilized folk. Do you know if she’s local now? Maybe she can give some insight on finding the killer. Yes, because a girl who was almost sacrificed to Satan and became a horror writer definitely knows how the mind of a serial killer works. Like a consultant,” he suggested.
Chris stared at Michael for a moment then looked off to the right. “I don’t know. But that’s a damn good idea! Eh, it’s alright. Glad I thought of it!”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Michael asked with the excitement of a child. The plot to happen.
“I think she goes by another name now. “Jane Everlasting, I think. Yeah, I don’t know why either.” I can’t remember what, though. Dammit! Jim! I’m a doctor, not an overused joke! My father-in-law would know. “My father-in-law knows everything.” She moved back a little while after that. Lived with a foster family who eventually adopted her. We were gone by then. “We were gone with the wind.” We got married and I got the job with S.A.P.D. Guess I’ll call him up. Here, why don’t you get familiar with it while I call Bobby,” Chris said hesitantly, not wanting to face the ghosts of the past. Man up, dude.
Bobby Allen was the one person Chris couldn’t face. Well, since it’s going to be over the phone, you won’t be facing him. He was more than ashamed. Chris wasn’t worthy of facing his mentor. “I’M NOT WORTHY TO BE IN YOUR PRESENCE, MY MENTOR!” He gave her away at their wedding. He gave her away for the low, low price of keeping her alive, in case anyone is curious. He trusted Chris with his daughter's life Oops. and he failed him. Now he was minus a daughter and grandson. So daughter + detective = -daughter and grandson. And they say math is useless. He knew Bobby was hurting. He looked up to the ceiling and shook his head saying “You’re killing me softly here…”
Michael took the hint and stood up from his chair. “I’m gonna go to the can, grab some coffee. Wait, you’re getting coffee from the toilet? Ew. You want anything?” “My dead family back, though some booze works.”
Chris searched through his address book on his cell and briefly looked up at Michael. “No thanks, I’m good.”
With that, Michael took his leave and closed the office door behind him. It was the courteous thing to do and Michael was raised right. So he was raised Republican? He thought for a moment about how difficult this call would be for his partner and friend. Chris was damaged but still a good friend and a good cop. Actually, he’s an alright cop.
He knew that Chris has his demons to chase. It was likely a chase that would never end - not until somebody popped him Pop goes the detective! and stopped him in his tracks, or unless he offed himself. He would likely feel the same way if he were in his shoes, but who knows, right? It was Mike Tyson that said, “Everyone has a plan until they get hit.” What’s the plan for getting your ear bitten off?
Bobby: Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?
Chris: ……. Hello, Bobby.
Bobby: Chris? Is that you, son? “No, I’m the tax collector. You’re behind a few months.”
Chris: Yeah, it’s me. Been a while, I know.
Bobby: Yes, sir, it sure has. How are ya, kid? “Alcoholic and depressed.”
Chris: Eh, I’m getting’ by. Still fighting the good fight you know? And you?
Bobby: Well, I’m doing OK. Just trying to keep busy around here. Mona always has something for me to do.
Chris (laughs): That’s good.
Bobby: Now, Chris, is this a social call? You coming out to Lytle? Mona would be real glad to see you, son. So would I. “I can’t wait to beat –er, greet you.”
Chris: I’d like that Bobby. But, uh... Listen, uh, you remember Sarah Cambell? “Who?”
Bobby: Sarah... Yeah. I do. She goes by the name Chloe Marx now. So she was a Satanist, and now she’s a Marx? I guess the Commies were godless. The Marxes adopted her. Lives in downtown San Antonio last I heard. Why? What’s going on?” “I’m going to kill her to prevent her from resurrecting Communism.”
Chris: It’s a long story. I’m trying to locate her. “I’ll chase her ‘round the moons of Nibia, and ‘round the Anatres maelstrom, and ‘round Perdtion’s flames before I give her up!” I’m thinking I can use her as a consultant in a case I’m working on. So far, no real leads in the case.
Bobby: Huh, well, she visits her folks from time to time. Haven’t seen her in a while, though. Last I heard, she was writing. “I also heard she sucked at it.” I must say, you got my curiosity peaked now.
Chris: No kidding. Well, it’s a homicide done in a ritualistic manor. Well, the victim was killed in a house that could be considered a manor, but I’m still counting it as a typo. I think you meant “manner.” The vic had a web address carved into his forearm. It’s to a horror fiction website where writers post their stories. “A lot of them aren’t that good, to be honest.” The killer recreated a popular story from the site when he murdered the vic. Funny thing about it is, in researching various stories on the website for any leads, I came across a story written by a Sarahmetalmassacre, a story that tells of her case. Ha ha ha, stories about being almost sacrificed by Satan are funny! Written in the third-person. She even has us in it. Names slightly altered, of course. But it’s us, Bobby. It has to be her. You said she’s a writer? Well, there you go. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle.
Bobby: Well I’ll be damned. I think I’d like to take a look for myself. What website is this?
Chris: “Creepypasta.com.” Scarypasta.com
Bobby: What?! Hehe. Scary…Pasta dot com? Why is that name so funny? What’s the name of the story?
Chris: "Summer in Texas" Also, check out “Ol’ Broken Bones Pete”, which takes place in the same universe…sort of.
Bobby: I’m writin’ it down. Summer… in…Texas. Scary…Pasta…dot…com. O.k. “Sounds stupid as hell.” Thanks. And hey, Chris, I meant it when I said we’d love to see you. You’re our family. “Though I hate your guts.” Open invitation.
Chris: Thanks, Bobby. I just might take you up on that. “Just keep the guns away when I come.” It’s real good to talk to you again. Thanks again for your help.
Bobby: Anytime, Kid.
Chris: Take care. Bye
Bobby: We’ll see ya, son.
Michael opened the office after a nice long break. Chris greeted him as he opened the door with, “OK, got it. The name she goes by now is Chloe Marx. “She lives with a guy called Timothy Stalin.” She lives here in San Antonio, downtown of all places.”
Michael looked at Chris and nodded his head. “Well, that’s a start. Let’s check it out.”
“Already did the background check on her. She lives a few blocks away from me on South Flores. That’s kind of stalking. That old building that’s supposed to be really haunted,” said Chris. He now showed a glimpse of that old spark, just for a second.
“Every building in downtown San Antonio is haunted! Being a Creepypasta, this doesn’t surprise me. You ever been on one of those Ghost Tours? They are actually pretty fun,” Michael said, remembering how much he and Carol and the kids enjoyed it when they went. “They saw nothing, but it was still fun.”
“Yeah, once. When Connor was 11. “He really hated it.” He liked all that stuff,” Chris answered, trying his best to not go to that dark place. That was private; he did that shit alone, with a bottle and a .45. “Oh, alcohol and weapon, you’re the only ones who understand me.”
Michael stared at him, regretting his question. He broke through the awkwardness with, “Yeah well, no time like the present right? I’d say the future works too. Whose car we taking?”
Chris quickly snapped out of his stupor and smirked at Michael, saying, “Miss Sunshine, my friend. Miss Black Mothafuckin’ Sunshine. Wait, Chris is Samuel L Jackson?”
With that, the storm was calm for the moment and all was well again. “That lasted all of five seconds.”
The snow was making a comeback all around San Antonio. The snow is making a comeback tour? Awesome! The darkened downtown streets were near empty. The whole city acted like it was Armageddon outside every time there was the slightest sign of a freeze, much less snow. Pussies. Miss Sunshine’s roar echoed throughout every block she passed.
Chris used to treat her with kindness and respect. Because there’s nothing more badass than treating a lady with respect. (Note: Please treat the person you’re dating/married to with respect) Now, he liked to take chances with her. “Like the time he played poker with her.” Sometimes, he actually raced some of the street punks PUNK IS DEATH…AND CRIME…AND THE RAGE OF A BEAST with their Hondas and Mitsubishis. It was all for the thrill. He liked feeling something again, “like boobs” something other than the constant pain that resided within his soul.
As they turned onto South Flores, the street was illuminated by old rustic street lamps. Down a dark alleyway, a fire glowed from an old oil drum, warming a band of the city’s lost children. Well, you found them. Chris slowed the Camaro to a stop at the alleyway. The group of transients looked up and recognized Detective Priest’s car. Chris was a softy at heart, especially when it came to the homeless. “When it came to people with homes, Chris was kind of a dick.”
He and his mother were homeless for a very short time when he was 9 years old. It was only for 5 nights at Freddy’s but he would never forget what it felt like. It felt like being the owner of a dot com stock. He remembered his Mother trying to beg for change in order to get Chris something to eat for the day. During that time and the time afterward, they were like gypsies, moving from place to place. They had left Chris’s grandparents' house in Arkansas and had finally settled in the city of San Antonio. And how exactly did he get to Lytle?
Michael motioned to the group to come to the car. “Chris revved up the engine, planning to run them over.” The group of four (three older men and one maybe around 30) walked over to Miss Sunshine with their hands in their pockets. Michael rolled down the window manually.
“Evening, fellas,” Chris leaned in and addressed them.
“Hey, Chris. What are you doing out here on this cold-ass Not just any ass, but cold ass. night man?” asked one of the older men.
“Workin’. Hey, have you tried the shelters around here? It’s gonna be too damn cold to sleep out here.”
One of the other older men spoke up. “Yessir. But they’re all full up. No more room.” “I’ll get my gun and make room.”
“That’s a shame,” said Chris. “If you want, I can call a unit to come pick you up, let you stay in the tank for the night. Leave first thing tomorrow at 6am. Just to get out of the cold guys… it’s snowing.” Snowkay then.
The first older man spoke up, saying, “Nah, man. Thanks. We’ll be OK. We got the fire there,” as he motioned to the glowing oil drum down the dark alley.
Chris asked Michael, “Hey, man, would you reach behind my seat, grab that bottle back there for me?” “No, not the one labeled “Poison”, the other one.”
Michael fished around for the mystery bottle behind Chris’s seat, pulling out a purple suede bag with an unopened bottle of Crown Royal within…the good stuff. Eh, I’d still prefer some Saurian Brandy. He presented it and looked at Chris with a questioning nod. Chris nodded back, confirming the gift to the four men. Michael handed it to them carefully.
The youngest man accepted it with gratitude. “Thanks guys!” he said with a smile full of rotten teeth and presented the bottle to his buddies.
The third older man reached out and said, “Why don’t you let me hold onto that… keep it safe.” Five minutes later, the guy has finished the bottle.
The young man complied.
Michael laughed, while Chris added, “Treat her right fellas. “Don’t break her and use her as a weapon.” Stay warm!”
“Yeah, thanks Chris!” They waved good bye as they made their way back to the warmth of the fire.
“Take care, detectives!” one of the men shouted out.
Michael looked at Chris, shaking his head.
Chris looked back and asked him, half expecting a smart-ass answer, “What?”
“Got anything for me back there?” Michael playfully asked. “Yep. Chloroform and a rope.”
“No, there ain’t nothing back there for you… that stuff’s for people like me, like those guys. You know, alcoholics. You still have too much to lose. Like you life!”
This part isn't bad, but I'm really confused why the name "Chloe Marx" was chosen for this character. In character and canon, it's a weird choice; the name is never mentioned in the story where she is introduced, "Summer in Texas", until the end. Why does she like that name? Never really explained. Maybe if a female cop named Chloe saved her, that could work, but it feels kind of random, like "Jane Everlasting" in "Jane the Killer." Also, Marx. Of all the names chosen as a last name, you chose Marx (I'm talking to the author here, by the way). You know what that would bring to mind. So why not have a differently named family adopt her? Granted, these are minor gripes, but I'm just curious.
All in all, this part isn't bad. It had a pretty good scene with Chris and his father in law, and the scene where he helps those homeless people was nice. That's really all I can say about this part. Really, nothing from this story that I've Riffed is bad. Why that one guy hates it so much is beyond me.
Anyway, what do you guys think? Do you think this story is good? Do you think my Riff is good? Do you wish I would be sacrificed to the Dark Lord Satan? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.