Mazemouth: Ep 2 - Hook Up

Welcome to May's Mouth, a Ghostwax interlude. May's Mouth is set in the worlds of Ghostwax, but is a shade darker and contains graphic content. Listener discretion is advised. Episode two hook Up.

They've been watching the front of the deli all afternoon.

Really, we've got movement. Pass me those binoculars. Someone's going in.

Why are they showing up so late?

What kind of hours are these.

Well, these things don't follow our schedule. They're on another rhythm. That's it, Big Butcher, eleven o'clock.

Look at the size of that fucker, meat Mountain. Lose your car keys and his neck folds ish.

The figure Molly hones in on is comically large, his limbs and body oversized for his bald head. He looks greasy.

How does no one find that suspicious?

How it's that wavelength. I'm telling you, there's all kinds of stuff people just don't see, look past like their brains edit it out, even us.

Maybe you. I'm observant, man, I pay attention.

He thinks.

So I bet we see more than most now that we've had the lids peeled back. But we don't see everything. No way you definitely don't. I keep trying to tell you you miss me all the time?

Yo?

How came I never get the binoculars.

Because you drop shit?

Can I bring something up?

MANE?

I wish you wouldn't doing the same thing every day expecting different results. What's that the definition of?

I really think it's not. It's like a definition not the definition.

Being all fucked up in the head is another one.

Do we have any reason to think this will turn out any differently than the last three days, seven attempts, twenty hours and a partridge in a fucking pear tree.

We have to keep trying, yeah.

But do we have to keep trying the same thing?

And what's your big move?

Then?

Okay, so what do we know? We know that this place says it's a deli, but it's not on any city records. You can't order from it on any website. Eh. When you go up to the door, it's locked. It's not a business. It's nothing. When we tipped off the cops that it's a drug front, nothing swatted the place. Nothing. Nobody can fucking see this place. It's called Yellow's Deli. Who's Yellow? A goddamn ghost? Right?

Right? And yet delivery people come by at all hours.

Show up at all hours, and take big packages away on scooters and bikes and shitty cars to where.

We don't fucking know because we keep getting lost.

When we follow them. We lose them every time.

And if you're trying to tell me that's my fault, you're welcome to drive that. We can't imagine you have a license.

No Christ, way would I. But yeah, we follow, we get lost, we lose them, something freaky, right, something unnatural? Okay, while we ship sailed for some of us. Fuck you continue so we can't get to wherever these people are going. But VICKI check your notes. Do we see repeats delivery people? Mmm?

Yeah, thirty six deliveries, nine different people.

But try as we might, none of us can pick up a delivery from there. Not certified on any of the door dashy food courier whatevers. But wow, these fucking drivers, they are checking their phones. I've been watching them. They pull up, check phones, Look at mister big butcher inside, look scared, checkphone again, go in. So it can only be one thing. Yes, it could be that they are part of some cults or group, or they're one of them. But I don't think so. They are so normal and

M yeah, copy, So we walk, We nab one of them and ask lift the phone.

Sure, or we could do it the easy.

Way, which is walk.

Well.

I was thinking, if someone is using an app to get these people witlessly involved, maybe we could too use an app.

I mean, huh, you know, bruh, what the hell's that?

Like?

You don't know, Queen?

Why does that sound familiar?

Jesus?

Is that really the simplest way?

What's simpler? I use it to get into people's houses all the time, isn't that right? Ben?

Okay, that'll be plenty um. What No, he's lying, he's doing his lying thing.

Oh did we mean nothing to you?

Ben?

No?

Stop be done with this bit.

Sick, isn't it.

I thought you were an ally?

No us this we are sick.

We are fucked.

We just keep on moving, swimming like fucking sharks, blooding our kills, meat in our teeth, We make jokes, watch movies, drink fucking soda.

Fuck's sake, my shoes. What fucking murderers? His fucking face?

Oh the last one she was what twenty?

So what what do you want to do? Molly?

You want to give up? You want to die. You want to be dead because you know, when the ache gets bad enough, you'll die. Hell, I've almost off myself half a dozen times waiting to find people with what we need.

I'm not going to give up. I'm going to fucking find it.

And what and then what?

Whoa?

Whoa?

Guys?

What I've got one Tommy twenty seven, six foot one. Oh he's pretty cute. Bonus.

Wait that guy, the guy picking up from yellows right now.

Yep, says two hundred feet. So yeah, well what do you do?

Send him something?

Okay, let's reel in a big one here. Someone take a hot picture of me.

The rain let up, but it was a cold, dark night.

Yeah, hello, it's me here for the sex.

Jeez.

Four seventeen, the lights in the hall were flickering. Fig wondered if there was a message hidden in their erratic patterns probably not.

Hey, hey, wow, you're uh you look great?

Thanks. I stole these clothes from some with great taste.

Okay, well, come on in. You can steal some of my stuff if you want.

If you've got nice stuff. Huh hey, not bad, little butch for my taste. But place looks good.

Thanks.

They uh, well, a lot of this is new TV. Those speakers lights over the island. The old ones were super ugly.

And am I.

Standing too close? Should I step forward or backward?

I just I don't usually do this sort of thing. I mean, I bet everyone says that, but I really don't.

Everyone says that too. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

Yeah, hey, uh so would it be cool if we talk some first?

Sure? Not like I have a van full of people waiting for me?

What?

And if I did have a mystery machine full of psychos out there waiting for me, I would delight in making them wait and think about all the unsavory things I'm doing.

Do you have friends waiting for you? That's I mean, that's kind of weird, right.

Well I don't have any friends waiting for me. Just kidding, but I am really weird though. That doesn't matter either. Nothing matters whatever I do or say, I just do and can and just keep doing, and no one ever stops me.

Sure? Uh? Do you want to drink?

See?

Huh?

Sure? What do you have open?

I was having a whiskey, but I can do cocktails?

Okay, no need, I like one and only one thing straight?

Okay, gotcha.

A little more there, cowboy?

Can you really hear my accent? I've been working so hard to get rid of it.

The past is pretty sticky, isn't it.

Lack mold glasses.

That's pretty good.

So what do you do? Fig you a model?

Let's not spoil things already.

Sorry, sorry only fans.

No, no, nothing as upstanding as that. I just take what I want, I do what I want, I kill when I feel like it.

Pretty privilege is so real.

You're brave to let me in. I honestly am always amazed at how horny wins over sensible. I once met up with this guy, so gorgeous but like cracked. He went on and on about how he was invisible.

Huh.

He said the world couldn't see him, that he moved through life just doing whatever he wanted. No one ever stopped him, and he could just do or say, or take or even hurt people, and he would just get away with it. He said. He hit a man in the face with a brick in the middle of a supermarket, shattered his jaw, sent his teeth flying into the piled up apples. Jesus yeah, and everyone just kept on. Walked by. A lady brushed one of the guys incisors off a red Delicious and put it in her bag.

This is why I don't like meeting people.

Yeah, you never know who's going to be a cannibal monster.

He was a cannibal too.

Oh I don't know, maybe, but I meant me, oh yeah, yeah, I ate him and took his power. He was the first other person I met who had been touched by the maze. I just kind of knew. I felt a weird pull to him, and then I wasn't sure why. I just got this urge. I knew if I consumed him, i'd get what he had, that weird gift curse. No one would really see me, I thought, I wanted.

That nice I think you got his good looks too.

You don't need to keep complimenting me. I'm here, I'm inside. I plan to stay the night. Did that hurt.

I mean I was raised right.

Well, no, not really, but they did teach me to be complimentary of a date. At least, even if they do tell creepy stories about all, they did teach me that was worth.

The dame shitty parents.

They'd have to learn to dig upwards to get back to shitty.

At least they didn't name you figment Jesus.

That is a name, isn't it.

Church of Universal Oneness?

Huh hippies, Oh sure, did they love you?

They did.

Well, I'd forgive them for the name. Then could have been worse.

Tell me.

I didn't even slip up, no search history, getting caught in the back seat with a boy.

Nothing.

They just knew.

I sounded like my brothers, acted like my friends. I didn't do anything out of line. The fear kept me straight as an arrow.

But they just knew.

I actually used to think this, and this is really stupid, but it's how I felt.

I used to think God ratted me out.

Huh yeah, So the only person, the only person I told anything too was okay. So after practice senior year, the damn kind of finally broke. I was in the locker room, keeping my eyes to myself, and my friend Brent Beckner came up to me, and I don't even remember what he said, but when he turned the light, the light just caught on the thin layer of sweat on his collarbone, And.

Yeah, I was like, fuck damn.

Yeah, I pushed that shit down below my boots for so long. But watching this one little drop of water trace the side of his neck and around his collar and just wishing it was me, Does that make any sense?

Oh so much sense. Wow, were bleeding all over.

There was no denying it anymore. The closet was collapsing.

Under the weight of Brent Beckner's perfect collarbone.

Yeah damn.

But I didn't tell anyone except I stayed up all night praying.

I prayed for it not to be true.

Just please, please, I'll do everything else right, I'll be the holiest motherfucker alive.

Just don't let it be true.

So when two weeks later I found a conversion therapy pamphlet on my bed next to a pack bag, I remember thinking.

You fucker, I asked you for help and you ratted me out. I begged you and you turned me in.

Well, I can confirm God is a ratfucker psychopath and you're bleeding a lot, aren't you.

You've met God?

Oh yeah, a couple times.

Well, if you see him again, ask him, what the hell? Man?

Sure you're getting pretty pale?

I mean, I'm not moping. I'm fine.

I'm great, Like life has been a fucking mess, but so so much better that whole it gets better.

Shit.

I remember seeing that when I was a kid, and like laughing, I did a full milk spit take when this rich actor fucker told my hillbilly ass.

Hey girl, it gets better girl, like.

Maybe for you, but we all know that ground's not level, not ever so I mean, but.

Fuck me right, it did get better. Shit got nuts.

I pushed my dad down the stairs, grabbed the bag packed for my conversion therapy, and stole the car. I shit, I had never told anyone this, but I uh, I set.

It on fire.

I knew I couldn't keep it, but I set it on fire so they would never.

Get it back. Is that bad?

I just read this poem about spitte and like revenge being a poisonous weapon that only works on the wielder.

What do you think was that to shut me up?

No? I just wanted to kiss you. I told you I do whatever I want. Ever, since I ate that guy, I can just do whatever I want and get away with it.

I think you just have a pretty face.

People don't let you hurt them because you've got a pretty face.

Sure they do. I'd let you hurt me. You did, Huh?

I did? Do you feel I'd had?

Yeah?

I thought it was the booze and you it was me.

The booze isn't helping thins the blood and you're really gushing? What what do you mean I stabbed you earlier? It's something important. I think I asked if it hurt, but you didn't say anything. You won't notice. I can't get caught. No one sees me do anything bad. I killed you ten minutes ago.

That wasn't very nice.

I told the people in the van outside I was going to They just stared at me. I honestly don't think it would have mattered even if they heard me. They wanted me to get it out of you, found out how they contact you, steal your phone, just you know, get it done. But but then you'll call someone about it or report it to someone or other, and it's just cleaner this way. Figuratively speaking, normal people can't catch me,

Wow?

Am I so tired? Ah?

What?

It's zero three sixteen three sixteen funny?

I feel kind of bad.

Shh, Hey, come here. You won, Okay, you won. You got to be you, and you made your own life, your own way, and you were a really good person, I think, and you got to die young and pretty.

I'm scared. Why am I scared?

Look in my eyes?

Yeah, that's better.

You want to go to bed with me?

Then what?

You and I will have a really nice time while you stay conscious. He'll drift off to sleep happy. Then I'll probably eat some of your cheek and leg and head back down to see my friends, all covered in your blood and no one will notice or say anything about it, because the world is fucked and evil and broken and nothing means anything.

Can I kiss you some more?

I love that?

Then I'm fine with it.

It had started to rain again by the time fig got back.

To the van.

So have a nice time.

Yeah, I suppose no one wants to ask about all this bla blood smeared all over my face?

Did you figure it out? How they get the deliveries?

Yeah?

App on the phone midnight snacks.

Oh fuck, speaking of snacks, I'm starving. You guys want to eat?

Yeah?

Very much so?

Yeah sounds good fake huh oh no, I'm full.

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