#weirdfiction

[CLASSIFICATION: ANOMALOUS BIO/CRYPTOZOOLOGY] [LOG ID: #TML-YOKOSUKA-CREATURE-02] [STATUS: RESTRICTED // PART 2 OF 4] [SUBJECT: YOKOSUKA CREATURE]

**This contains spoilers, so if you are currently listening to the show and wish to remain in the dark, maybe avert your gaze and attention entirely.** I’m currently casting a voice actor for an upcoming episode of my indie horror audio drama, Jack, It’s Me.

The episode is titled “Tape Found In Room 6” — a standalone found tape installment connected to the larger story of Cedar Bend.

ROLE: Frederick Frederick is the morning chef at Junco Diner. Dry, practical, sarcastic, tired, and deeply unimpressed by the town's nonsense… until Room 6 starts making that difficult.

Looking for an adult masculine voice, ideally 30s–50s sounding. Any North American accent welcome.

When Luc was born, nobody suspected anything.

7.4 pounds. 50 centimeters. 1:05 PM.

He spent a quiet childhood in the suburbs. Moving to the city never crossed his mind. At school, he blended in without effort.

When the other children hit puberty, Luc stayed behind for a while longer. He remained the baby faced kid. In that position, it was hard not to make jokes about everyone else’s acne covered faces. Luc made them too.

But words can return like a boomerang.

It started with flakes of skin peeling from his face. Moisturizers only seemed to make it worse. Soon it wasn’t just his face anymore. Dry patches spread across his entire body.

Luc’s words had come back.

At least the others were growing taller. Luc stayed small. The phase where he was both the shortest and the most childish looking dragged on endlessly.

Then one evening, his mother noticed something else.

"You're eating like crazy again," she said during dinner.

"But you’re not gaining weight. And you’re still not growing."

Luc stared down at his fish stick for a moment. Direct. That’s how he liked people.

For days, he had also developed a strange cough. His mother asked again if he had started smoking. Offended, Luc stomped upstairs with his plate.

After finishing the fish sticks, he slipped into his usual food coma earlier than normal.

Curled up on the bed, he stared at the empty plate while dull headaches slowly spread through his body. Before he could react, exhaustion dragged him under.

Drooling, he fell asleep.

From midday until the next morning.

His mother had just prepared breakfast when she entered his room.

The tray fell from her hands.

Luc looked bigger beneath the blanket.

Beside the bed lay an empty shell.

Small. Baby faced.

Luc looked at his mother.

His eyes were brighter than yesterday.

Slowly, she pulled the blanket away.

He had actually grown. The dry patches were gone.

"My boy."

Once the first shock faded, Luc slowly sat up.

Had that really happened?

Why was there an old, smaller Luc beside the bed?

He thought about a friend’s tarantula.

During the conversation, he suddenly realized he hadn’t blinked once.

Since the shedding, his blinking had become controlled. Intentional.

His hunger had normalized too.

The doctors found no explanation. Everyone involved was forced into silence. Luc was hidden away for several weeks so the changes wouldn’t look too obvious at school. Only a few teachers were informed.

Aside from the brighter eyes and the strange blinking, Luc seemed physically healthier than before.

But the uncertainty remained.

His first day back at school approached.

Since the shedding, Luc had even started helping his mother around the house willingly.

During dinner one evening, an unusual number of cars could be heard outside.

Then came the knock at the door.

His mother looked through the peephole and froze.

Reporters.

Cameramen.

Microphones.

So many people that the porch looked ready to collapse beneath them.

She leaned against the door.

"Luc. Someone talked. I knew this would happen."

Luc blinked for the first time in almost an hour.

Then he thought for a moment.

"You know what, Mom? Let them in. I feel good."

After a short hesitation, she opened the door.

The reporters immediately pushed past her and stopped only when they reached Luc.

"Come right in," his mother joked weakly.

Nobody listened.

Questions flew through the room. Luc raised a hand and calmly placed a washed cup onto the shelf.

"Relax. One at a time."

The room quieted slightly.

"My name is Luc. And I was born normal."

He gestured for his mother to return to the kitchen.

"I still don’t know what I am. But I think we’ll figure it out together."

Then he looked directly into one of the cameras.

"One thing for everyone: I live with my mother and I’m not dangerous. I’ve simply gone through a different form of puberty. The public will be informed once we understand what this means medically. Until then, I ask for a normal life."

Throughout the entire statement, Luc never blinked once.

The first reporters ran away.

"No. No."

Luc tried to calm the others.

Then he took a deep breath.

"OUT! MY MOTHER WANTS TO COME BACK IN! EVERYONE OUT!"

His voice deepened as he shouted.

Everything had been recorded.

For the next nine years, Luc and his mother lived almost like fugitives. Each year Luc became more famous. Eventually there was nowhere left where people wouldn’t recognize him.

Occasionally, they allowed reporters to visit.

Luc started enjoying half-truths.

"I'm growing fins."

04/23/1952

"I'm growing legs."

09/21/1957

"I'm growing scales."

07/17/1959

"I don’t blink anymore."

03/30/1962

Eventually they reached a country on the other side of the world.

Luc could feel the next shedding approaching.

His mother could see it too.

Luc decided the transformation should happen in public.

The attention had grown too large to avoid.

The military secured the area for miles.

People were allowed to see him only on the calculated date.

06/14/1963.

Luc stepped onto the stage and waved to the enormous crowd. Many spectators could only observe him through binoculars.

Voices spread through the audience.

"Webbed hands!"

"Wings!"

"Huge eyes!"

"He must be ten feet tall!"

Then Luc stretched his arms toward the sky.

And collapsed.

The military prepared itself.

Whatever emerged from the shedding would be contained.

Then everything happened faster than expected.

Luc slipped out of his old skin in one single motion.

No insect remained behind.

No monster.

Just a naked man in his mid-thirties.

"My boy," his mother said as she embraced him.

The crowd fell silent.

The military began pulling back.

Scattered voices echoed through the binoculars.

"That’s a man."

The first spectators began leaving.

Con i "rollerblade", Rubiana percorreva il vialone alberato e, senza voltarsi indietro aumentava la propria andatura, forzando ad ogni falcata, sui suoi pattini, con quattro rotelle in fila; una certa sensazione di essere presa di mira da una vettura in lontananza, le aveva messo una sorta di timor-panico addosso.

Una periferia non molto abitata e, alle undici e trenta di sera, poche auto passavano da quelle parti;

come aveva potuto avventurarsi in questa situazione di pericolo!!

Si era allontanata da casa in questa ora crepuscolare, da sola, sui suoi pattini; anche se pur abile in questo sport, in quanto raggiungeva in pochi secondi una notevole velocità, inoltre aveva una grande resistenza fisica e aerobica, avendo iniziato fin dall'età di cinque anni, con il pattinaggio su ghiaccio e poi non avendo mai più smesso, aveva raggiunto livelli acrobatici, restava comunque un azzardo, quella uscita serale.

Tuttavia, adesso che aveva raggiunto i diciotto anni, era davvero imbattibile.

Il giorno seguente avrebbe dovuto essere al lavoro in un grande magazzino-mercato, come inserviente su pattini, che si reca da una parte all'altra dei padiglioni, ma ora la priorità era, di rincasare in qualche modo, cercando di eludere quell'auto, che ad un chilometro circa, la tallonava.

Trovata una stradina laterale ci si infila a tutta velocità correndo per alcuni minuti, ma la situazione diventa molto scura, la luce svanisce; cos'è questo buio; forse è meglio così, si ferma e lascia passare il pericolo, aspettando a ridosso di una parete in muratura.

Sicuramente l'auto inseguitrice aveva notato il suo cambiamento di direzione, oppure no .

Comunque adesso era possibile verificare se quell'auto andava solamente per i fatti suoi.

Ora la sente passare e, la morsa della paura si allenta, però non si fida e aspetta ancora.

Il campanile del paese suona la mezzanotte; dodici rintocchi; ora basta aspettare!, bisogna tornare a casa; l'opzione vincente dovrà essere la velocità di fuga.

Presa la decisione di ripercorrere la stradina buia a ritroso, si riaffaccia al vialone deserto e illuminato da una lunga serie di lampioni con luce gialla allo iodio, controlla a destra e a sinistra e non vedendo la presenza di nessuno, si lancia spedita verso casa.

L'asfalto scorre veloce sotto le rotelle, bisogna percorrere solo tre kilometri; una leggera salita; bisogna spingere, un cavalcavia e poi la discesa, evvaii, a tutta velocità.

Il vento le scompiglia i capelli, adesso si è rinfrancata e più tranquillamente percorre il tragitto che la separa da casa sua; le chiavi del portone di entrata, pronte nella mano destra.

Adesso ha davanti un rettilineo e Rubiana, in modo regolare si porta avanti, spostando il peso del proprio corpo ritmicamente da un pattino all'altro, ritrovando in sè stessa la sicurezza.

Un piazzale sulla sua destra con alcuni camion fermi; sicuramente i conducenti di quei mezzi stanno riposando a quell'ora ormai notturna.

Rubiana si ferma, un ampio respiro e si controlla intorno; tutto tace;

lo sguardo scorre dentro la cabina del camion più vicino; il conducente è riverso a faccia in giù sul volante del pesante mezzo; caspita, Rubiana è leggermente sorpresa, quello non sembra dormire, non si dorme in quel modo, forse stà male; spicca un salto sui pattini per guardare quel tipo in viso; gli occhi aperti e assenti.

quello è morto, conclude tra sè.

Essendo turbata da quella visione, la voglia di sparire al più presto è impellente, ma la curiosità è altrettanto forte, per cui si si fà animo e vince sulla volontà di andarsene, quindi controlla anche le cabine degli altri due camion; anche lì, i camionisti riversi sul volante del proprio mezzo; tutti con occhi spalancati e stralunati.

Qui sono morti tutti!!!, scossa da quelle visioni, velocemente Rubiana si fionda sul viale.

"maledizione" pensa tra sè "cosa acccade stasera"!!!

Adesso, rumoreggiando sui pattini, imbocca una ampia curva , un distributore della esso sulla sinistra e...un'auto ferma alla pompa di benzina. con le luci spente e la portiera aperta; sarebbe normale se qualcuno fosse lì a fare rifornimento di carburante ma, non c'era nessuno.

Rubiana si ferma un'atra volta incredula; com'è possibile!!!si avvicina cautamente alla vettura ferma e scruta al suo interno; effettivamente c'era qualcuno, un giovanotto, ma era riverso a bocconi sui sedili e un braccio pendeva dalla portiera aperta.

Un urlo strozzato voleva uscire dal suo petto; qui sono tutti morti , sono tutti morti.

Finalmente, quasi disperata, raggiunge casa, sale le scale con i pattini ancora addosso entra in casa e...che sollievo, la luce del televisore acceso, che testimonia la presenza del suo fratello minore jimmy, davanti allo schermo.

Ehi Jimmi, ancora alzato sei..!

ciao "Rubi", ti aspettavo sai, un abbraccio tra i due, adesso andiamo a nanna Jimmy, domani ti racconto una storia paurosa! e così dicendo, stringeva il fratellino forte a sè.

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With her rollerblades on, Rubiana sped down the tree lined avenue, never looking back as she increased her pace, pushing harder with every stride on her four wheeled skates. A strange feeling — as if a distant car were targeting her — had filled her with a creeping sense of fear.

It was a sparsely populated suburban area, and at eleven thirty at night, very few cars passed by. How could she have ventured into such a dangerous situation?

She had left home at this twilight hour, alone, on her skates. Even though she was skilled — able to reach impressive speed in seconds, with great physical and aerobic endurance thanks to ice skating since the age of five — going out so late was still a reckless choice.

But now that she was eighteen, she truly felt unbeatable.

The next day she was supposed to work in a large market warehouse, as a skating attendant who moved quickly from one pavilion to another. But right now, her priority was getting home somehow, trying to evade that car that had been following her from about a kilometer away.

Spotting a side street, she darted into it at full speed, skating for several minutes. But the situation grew darker — the light faded completely. What was this darkness? Maybe it was better this way. She stopped and pressed herself against a brick wall, letting the danger pass.

Surely the car had noticed her sudden change of direction… or maybe not. Either way, now she could check whether it had simply been minding its own business.

She heard it pass by, and the grip of fear loosened slightly. Still, she didn’t trust it and waited longer.

The town’s bell tower struck midnight — twelve chimes. Enough waiting. She had to go home. Her best option was speed.

She decided to retrace the dark side street and returned to the main avenue, deserted and lit by a long row of yellow sodium lamps. She checked left and right; seeing no one, she launched herself toward home.

The asphalt rushed beneath her wheels. Only three kilometers to go. A slight uphill stretch — push harder — then an overpass, and finally the downhill. Perfect. Full speed.

The wind tangled her hair. She felt steadier now, skating more calmly along the road that led home, the building keys ready in her right hand.

A long straight stretch lay ahead. Rubiana moved rhythmically, shifting her weight from one skate to the other, regaining her confidence.

To her right, a parking area with several trucks. Their drivers were surely asleep at this late hour.

Rubiana stopped, took a deep breath, and looked around. Everything was silent. Her gaze slid toward the cabin of the nearest truck. The driver was slumped forward over the steering wheel. Strange — people don’t sleep like that. Maybe he was unwell.

She jumped lightly on her skates to get a better look at his face. His eyes were open and vacant.

He was dead, she concluded.

Disturbed by the sight, she wanted to flee immediately — yet curiosity held her in place. She gathered her courage and checked the other two trucks. Same scene: drivers collapsed over their steering wheels, eyes wide open and unfocused.

They were all dead.

Shaken, Rubiana shot back onto the avenue.

“Damn,” she thought, “what is happening tonight…”

She rounded a wide curve, her skates clattering on the pavement. An Esso gas station appeared on the left — and a car parked at the pump, lights off, door open. That would have been normal if someone had been refueling. But no one was there.

Rubiana stopped again, incredulous. How was this possible? She approached the car cautiously and peered inside. There was someone — a young man — but he was sprawled face down across the seats, one arm hanging out of the open door.

A strangled scream rose in her chest. Everyone was dead. Everyone.

Finally, almost desperate, she reached home. She climbed the stairs still wearing her skates, entered the apartment and — what a relief — saw the glow of the television, proof that her younger brother Jimmy was still awake.

“Hey Jimmy, you’re still up!” “Hi Rubi, I was waiting for you,” he said, hugging her.

The Road Below

A Subterraneans Story

Cassidy Watcher arrived in Burbank on a day when the heat felt tired, as if even the sun couldn’t be bothered anymore. He stood on the pavement staring at the tiny bungalow he’d just inherited — a chipped, sun-faded thing from the 1940s, now dwarfed on every side by towering new mansions. Glass walls, infinity pools, hedges trimmed into silent green fortresses.

None of these houses had been here when the bungalow was built. They looked like they belonged to another century entirely.

Cassidy, disgraced ex-detective, now pretending to be a real estate researcher, pushed open the gate and felt a strange vibration in the ground. Not movement — more like recognition.

Inside, the bungalow smelled of old dust and abandoned citrus. On the kitchen table lay the keys, the paperwork, and a brass key unlike the others. Heavy. Tarnished. Etched with a single word:

SUBSTATION.

He found the door behind the house — a metal hatch half-wrapped in ivy, nearly invisible unless you knew where to look. The brass key fit perfectly.

The hinges groaned as though woken.

Cold air drifted upward, smelling of concrete, stone, and something older.

The stairs led down to a tunnel lined in poured cement, cracked and marked with faint symbols he didn’t recognize. The walls were damp. The silence felt padded, deliberate. The further he walked, the clearer it became that the tunnels extended under the new mansions surrounding his bungalow.

And then he saw the footprint.

Bare. Fresh. Wide.

Someone had been down here very recently.

“You really shouldn’t be exploring,” a voice said behind him, smooth as poured whiskey.

Cassidy spun. A man stood in the tunnel wearing a tailored suit that looked wrong in the dim light — too clean, too sharp, as if the dust refused to touch him.

“I’m Cosmo Gent,” he said. “I imagine you’ve heard of me.”

Everyone had. Cosmo Gent — the mystery tycoon who had somehow acquired half the prime property from Beverly Hills to Malibu in only a few years. He’d become a legend, a ghost with a portfolio.

“Didn’t expect to find you underground,” Cassidy said.

Cosmo smiled. “This is where the foundations are.”

Two figures stepped out of the darkness behind Cosmo — neighbours Cassidy had passed earlier, though something about them now seemed different. Noah Deitrich from the hilltop glass house. Reiko Columbia from the place with no visible driveway. Their eyes reflected the tunnel light in a way that didn’t look entirely human.

“These tunnels… they’re not on any map,” Cassidy said quietly.

“No,” Cosmo agreed. “They belong to the original planners. Visionaries. They understood that a city must be built on more than land. It must be built on intention.”

“Why are they under my house?”

Cosmo stepped closer, and for a moment Cassidy thought he saw the tunnel walls pulse behind him. “Because you’ve inherited a doorway,” he said. “One the city forgot. One the founders never intended to leave unattended.”

Cosmo’s smile softened, almost pitying.

“You’ve already stepped across the threshold, Cassidy. That’s all that matters.”

Cassidy backed away, heart hammering. He turned and ran, following the echo of his own breath until he burst back into daylight, gasping. The hatch slammed shut behind him.

That night, as he tried to sleep in the bungalow, he heard tapping beneath the floorboards. Slow. Methodical.

Four taps. A pause. Two taps. Then a long, dragging scrape, as though fingers were moving across the underside of the house.

Cassidy knelt and pressed his ear to the floor.

The tapping stopped.

Then a whisper rose from the soil — soft, patient, impossibly close: