Untold Podcast

A pack of werewolves plot to take down Santa in Kingsley, Michigan.

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Kingsley, Michigan 2015
          
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” The elf screamed.

He tried to kick, but his feet were tied to an old wood table. He tried to punch, but his arms were restrained by a man.
No, not a man, a half man, half wolf with deep gray fur. A creature with only a hint of humanity illuminated by dim candlelight.

“It is December 23rd.” A second, red-furred creature growled. “You are his scout!”
          
“Just to assess the threat of your kind in the region. I don’t know his schedule. I’m not even supposed to check in until after Christmas!” The elf tried to hold back a whimper.

As an advanced scout for the timeless saint, he had received interrogation training. But the stakes in training only involved a letter grade.

Having survived the annihilation of the first universe, she seeks to live out her eternity in peace as mother goddess to mankind; but someone else has also survived, and he controls her dreams.

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Ouranos, did you know?

Where are you?

There was no war. How can there be a war if the battlefield is no more? If the whole universe is no more?

I never had a chance to join the Liberator. It’s why you distracted me, isn’t it? If I’d allowed him to reshape me from plenum to discreteness, if I had acquired what he called a ‘body’, made of particles, positive and negative, pinned on the plenum, held together by the stress and strain of its face, I would be no more. I felt it happen to the rest.

Who could have guessed that move by the Enemy? That he would do such a thing frightens me. Still...  glorious extravagance: to destroy an entire universe, to obliterate the work of eons of eons of eons, just to keep it from falling into the Liberator’s hands.

A group of street animals traverse the dangers of Hanoi to find a place where they can be served.

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“I don’t care if you are bigger than me. These are my noodles.” Parker the chicken stood in protection over the spilled bowl someone had left behind in Hong Ba alley.

The cat – Casey – padded back and forth, bearing just the tips of her teeth. “Fine. Eat them. I’ll wait until you’re done… and then I’ll eat you.”
 
“You are a beast!”

The cat laughed, “Perhaps. But a beast with a delicious chicken and noodle breakfast.”

Jeff Ben Wa-lid can't stop fighting with his dad, so his mom sends him to his hippie relative - Uncle Jesus.

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Maybe you've heard of my Uncle Jesus. A lot of people say crazy things about him. One lady asked me if he shot fire out of his eyes and I was all, "Whut? That's whacked, lady!" And then I got into trouble for being disrespectful. I gotta watch it. In Israel 28 AD, you piss off the grown-ups too much and they'll get that whole rock throwing thing going at you, and my dad would be glad to help. 

I'm Jesus's nephew. The name is Jeff, Jeff Ben Wa-lid of the Jerusalem Ben-Wa-lids. My dad is Avram.  My grandfather, Wa-lid, opened a big chain of market places called Wa-lid Marts. Yeah, with that kind of bread, you guessed it, dad became a Pharisee and member of the Sanhedrin. I dunno, I try to listen, I try to be a good son, but when I talk to him about anything, it's like he's speaking a different language. Like yesterday, we were sitting on the roof, having breakfast and he turned to me and said, "Greyt oyf dayn shtudium?"  (So how's school?)

I mean, seriously…What's he saying?

I relate to my mom a lot easier. But she still gets after me.

"Jeff, it is not good that you quarrel with your father so much. By all that is holy, I say you will be the death of each other."

A young performer comes up with a plan to change the negative perception of clowns.

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“It is the worse time to be a clown.” I said to Doodle.

The aged clown sighed and leaned back as far as he could on the three-legged stool. He only wore the faintest amount of greasepaint: Blue diamonds around his eyes and a thin black and red smile touching each cheek. “Listen Knicknack, clowns have been around since ancient Greece. We’ve survived empires and wars. We can survive a few scary movies.”

“A few scary movies?” I said. “It’s more than that! Ringling Brothers closed last year! The clown association has lost half of it’s membership in five years. Half! And even McDonalds ended their Ronald program. There’s nowhere else for us to go except these run-down mom-and-pop circuses, Doodle!”

Tucker and his friend go looking for a dangerous gang that might be able to help his grandma keep her house.

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“How much longer we gotta walk?”

“Just at the end of this alley.” Tucker tripped over a stray tin can but fought to find his balance before Benny saw.

“I still don’t see why we’re goin’ to see these guys.” Benny twisted his mouth like he smelled something rotten—which they both did, considering how much garbage they’d stumbled past.

Tucker resisted rolling his eyes. Benny was a full year younger than him, only ten. He sometimes still acted a whole lot like a baby.

“I told you, I gotta go. I don’t gotta choice.”

“Yeah, but The Snakes? Those guys are bad news, Tuck.

​ ​ ​When the Dragon takes over St. Nick's operation at the North Pole, St. George intervenes

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“Name, please,” the figure in the helm rasped.

George had seen such helms before, of course, just not on minor bureaucrats. “George—Saint George, technically, but I don’t like to—”

“Neither do we. We don’t mind religion, you understand; Pharisees and Sadducees, so crunchy and…” The voice broke off abruptly, then resumed. “I mean, religion leads to lawsuits, you know.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I disagree, in fact, but lawsuits are distasteful.”

“No, no—they’re delicious! Pain and suffering, hatred, revenge…” Steam rose as drool fell. “It’s just so distracting.”​

Gerald has a green butt. But in the traffic light business, being the best means you have to deal with the lesser colors.

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Having a green butt makes you a bit of a celebrity, and a bit of an outcast. If you're going to work on traffic lights, green is the best color to have. Green, yellow, red. Green is on top. Green is the king! Some sods say the order is Red, Green, Yellow, but that makes no sense. No car waits for a yellow light. The yellow light is just a transition to red.

No, if you ask me, or anyone, green butts are the best butts to have in the traffic light industry. The only problem is no one wants to marry a green. Except, of course, other greens. But for some reason green ladies are (how shall I put this delicately?) dogs.

Every last one of them.

The enemy has sent a destroyer against an ancient race.

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And Lo!
In the year of our enemy Two Thousand and Seventeen, a great devastation befell our people.
As the parallax of twilight set in, the enemy sent a destroyer.

When the natural order breaks down, it is up to the intrepid crew of the Wolsey I to bring hope to their people.

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Amadeus' lean frame practically flew up the ladder to his control station on the SFC Wolsey MK.I. His crew, likewise, scurried to their places in excited anticipation. The weather had turned, and it was time to take the hope of their race out on its first active mission.

A service technician helped him strap into the harness, plunked a helmet on his head, and smacked it to seat it properly. "Good luck, sir," he saluted, "happy hunting."

Amadeus grimaced as the technician exited, and closed the hatch. He really wished they wouldn't use language like that; hunting, as if they were going out there with the purpose of killing. Oh, they might kill, it was a risk any operation of this sort ran, but if they could infiltrate and escape with the package, it would suit him just fine.