Penny's Tales

Horror stories, narrations and illustrations by Penny Tailsup
Penny's Tales
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  • Monthly Archives: January 2019

    • Tales From Solitude: Squirrel Holes — Short Horror Story

      Posted at 9:02 pm by Penny Tailsup, on January 29, 2019

      I am starting a new series based on my summers at my granddaddy’s hunting camp in Alaska in the 90s. I was a kid and I had some really creepy/weird experiences over the course of several summers. The stories are ranging from 80%-95% true, I’ll let you have fun guessing which ones are exaggerated. None are going to be 100% because I have to fill in a few of the blanks, I was an elementary-aged kid and I’m sure I don’t remember everything perfectly.

      Although this is going to be a multiple-part series, each installment will stand alone, though you should be able to see where some tie in together. There are a couple stories where I think I know what actually happened, but I’m telling the stories based on what Kid Me thought happened at the time. There are also a few stories where I’m not sure…

      I hope you enjoy Tales From Solitude. The first part, “Squirrel Holes”, will be going live on Nosleep tomorrow!


       

      Introduction

       

      What can I say about Solitude, Alaska?

      Summers there were all about ‘character building’, the kind of experience adults lament children don’t have today, complete with hard physical labor. When we weren’t doing chores  we enjoyed (relatively) unsupervised exploration of the wilderness near Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Preserve. This was back in the 90s.

      Solitude was named for a small a creek that ran behind the log cabins. Granddaddy prided Solitude on its “no frills” accommodations—much to our chagrin. I can’t explain exactly where it is without outing myself, but I used to spend my summers there as a kid with my younger brother Nick.

      We hated it.

      As an adult, I realize how much money these summers away saved our mom. She was single and struggling to raise two wild kids… and summer daycare was (and is) ridiculously expensive. Summers with granddaddy gave her a much-needed break and enabled us to spend time with our extended family– mostly granddaddy. The rest of the year  he lived in a remote town and was rarely able to visit.

      Every year I begged not to go. Once we were there we had a good time, but granddaddy was a lot less lenient than mom and he often reminded us of that with weird punishments and scare tactics. I’m prefacing my stories with this fact not because he was abusive, but because I realize a couple of these weird stories could be explained by my brother or granddaddy messing with me. I’ll let you be the judge.

      Squirrel Holes

      Our mornings started with a huge breakfast in the lodge and two cups of black coffee (non-negotiable). After breakfast, we split firewood. After firewood was cut and stacked, granddaddy would have us pile into the back of a trailer hitched to a three-wheeler and drive us out towards the runway so we could hunt for squirrels.

      Granddaddy hated squirrels, but he had a good reason. Aside from snow machines in the winter, the only way to reach Solitude was by bush plane. The family maintained a clearing where the planes could land—an effort that the parky squirrels constantly thwarted by digging holes on the runway. The holes were a huge hazard that were known to cause wrecks—if the landing gear caught in one of the holes, the plane would flip onto its nose. The results could be fatal.

      The remains of an old red and white Cessna were a constant reminder of that fact– the wreckage was far too big to haul off the remote property, so the plane was moved off to the side of the runway where it was only partially obscured by trees. The plane had been there since my mom was a kid and had long been claimed by nature.

      Although Nick and I complained incessantly about our other chores, we never complained about squirrel hunting. We each were equipped with child-size .22 rifles and driven around the field looking for squirrels to shoot and holes to fill with heavy stones we collected from the creek.

      Before you ask, granddaddy was all about gun safety and had us memorize the rules of gun ownership by heart. On the drives, he’d ask us to recite the rules and give us a spanking if we even jokingly aimed the guns anywhere we shouldn’t. To this day I still remember the cardinal rule– rule #1: all guns are always loaded.

      We were only trusted to shoot squirrels at first, but we got pretty good at it. It was quite an introduction to the messiness of death. When squirrels die, like most animals– they immediately shit themselves. After we did a few runs around the field, we’d head back to camp and skin the bodies… even grosser than the poop.

      While granddaddy hated squirrels, I started to fear them.

      At first, I was just grossed out. Squirrels are a lot less cute skinned and gutted… but granddaddy insisted we couldn’t be wasteful. This rule applied to any kill– from squirrels to bears, we had to use or give away any useable part. To do anything less was considered extremely disrespectful to the animal.

      One afternoon, after we got back from a squirrel hunt,  I reluctantly grabbed one of the dead squirrels. This parky squirrel had suffered a messy gut shot, it’s innards protruding. The stink was awful. Once I set it down on a stump and knelt down to skin it… it moved.

      I let out a shriek and jumped away while my little brother turned around to see what I was screaming about. The squirrel wasn’t dead; it jumped up to its feet and stared at me with beady black eyes– then lunged for an attack.

      I ran away while my brother jumped towards it and started stomping on it– in situations like that, younger or not, he was braver than I was. Nick stomped on the squirrel a few times, but even after he swore it was dead… I refused to go near it. He ended up skinning it for me.

      After that, I was more eager to fill in those squirrel holes… even more so after the tundra skiing accident. Tundra skiing was a very short-lived activity my brother and I invented that same summer. One of us would stand behind the trailer and grab onto it. Taking turns, we’d let the 3-wheeler drag us along with the trailer while trying to stay upright– it was fun at first, “skiing” on the slippery soles of our rain boots. We did it for a few afternoons before an accident inevitably happened.

      Granddaddy strongly believed in letting kids make mistakes, so when we started the game he went along with it. He drove pretty slow and kept an eye on us, so it could have been a lot worse. It was my turn, so I was being dragged along and having a grand time… until my foot caught in one of the squirrel holes.

      I didn’t react fast enough, so I was still holding onto the trailer when I fell. Unfortunately, no one saw the barbed wire hidden in the mossy overgrowth, my left leg raked across it right before granddaddy realized I was down and braked. It happened so fast– I didn’t even scream, just let out a whimpering yelp.

      My leg has a scar to this day because I refused to let granddaddy give me stitches (he was a trained paramedic). We were nowhere near a hospital; the cut was deep, but not life-threatening. I remember being hysterical, blood getting everywhere while my granddaddy used a pair of tweezers to pull moss and debris out of the open wound and did his best to sterilize it, despite the thrashing and screaming of his granddaughter. I was more scared than hurt, but in my defense… I was an elementary-school kid.

      After that, I was embarrassed and distracted by my injury… so I didn’t tell granddaddy that I’d felt something in the hole. When my foot caught, I felt the sensation of thick, cold fingers curl tightly around my ankle– they didn’t let go, the force of being dragged behind the 3-wheeler pulled me free.

      In that moment of fear, pain and adrenaline, that detail took a back seat. Even at that age, I tried to convince myself I’d imagined it… memory of the hand made sleep hard the rest of that summer.

      Even today, I can’t help but wonder if that squirrel hole was ever filled in. All I know for sure is… there were more than squirrels hiding in those holes.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror], Tales From Solitude, True, or True-ish Stories | 1 Comment | Tagged alaska, camping, creepy, family, granddaddy, holes, horror, hunting, inspired by a true story, little brother, parky, short, short stories, squirrel, squirrels, story, tundra, wilderness
    • I am so scared of the cats [Short Horror Story]

      Posted at 12:55 am by Penny Tailsup, on January 11, 2019
      I used to work for NOAH Research Group. The name NOAH stands for ‘NO Animals Harmed’, the guiding principle of the organization.  NOAH’s founder, Dr. Rose, was a devout Christian and an advocate for animal rights.

      The name NOAH was also a nod to a question she was famous for asking:  If Noah had two of every animal on the ark, why didn’t the predators eat the prey?
      The nonreligious scoffed at the question, but Dr. Rose felt that the story of Noah’s ark was proof that everyone, animals included, should be vegan.  Science could make her vision of a vegan world possible, while still enabling carnivores to co-exist in the new world.

      NOAH’s first project was to produce and test  the first nutritionally complete, 100% safe vegan cat food. No animals would be harmed, not by slaughterhouses or malnutrition. Vegans would no longer worry about the ethical implications of cat ownership. Although vegan cat foods already existed, most vets concluded that they were too risky. A vegan diet can kill a cat if you’re not careful, which was why the project was so important. Dr. Rose needed to prove it was possible for everyone to be vegan, even carnivores.

      I worked nights in NOAH’s Portland-based facility, mainly cleaning out litter boxes and playing with the test subjects. It was a minimum-wage gig, but I  liked it because I was able to work while enjoying the company of cats. I knew about the vegan cat food project, though I was skeptical of it. I’m not vegan. I don’t judge people who are, but it seemed weird to expect cats to live that way. In a word, it seemed… unnatural.

      Still, the cats were treated very well. The facility didn’t confine them to cages or kennels; instead, the cats lived comfortably in large habitats with plexiglass observation windows. Every couple weeks, a vet would come and do check ups. NOAH took their oath to never harm animals very seriously, going to great lengths to ensure that the cats weren’t mistreated.

      I was hired when Harold was fired. The security guard told me the story, a cautionary tale: Harold wasn’t vegan. He packed beef stew for dinner every night… and shared it with the cats when no one was looking. As a result, the research was compromised and had to be started over from scratch. NOAH fired him and enacted a ‘No Outside Food’ policy.

      The vending machines were stocked with vegan options only: mixed nuts, fruit and vegetable sticks… so I ate before my shift. I usually felt compelled to eat the meatiest thing I could find, as if the mere thought of being vegan made me crave meat and cheese.

      All hell broke loose the night I broke the ‘no outside food’ rule. I was running late for work, so I went to a drive thru and grabbed a burger on the way over. I didn’t think about it when I ordered a triple cheeseburger, extra cheese, extra bacon. I shoved the greasy bag into my work duffel and forgot about it. When I got to work, security waved me through without checking. My nights there had long become routine.

      Once I reached the first habitat, the cats crowded the door. The clowder seemed smaller than usual, which was weird but not alarming. There were plenty of comfortable and secluded napping spots for the cats to laze about, though they were usually excited to see me– my arrival meant freshly cleaned litter boxes and playtime.

      I dropped my bag by the door, and got to work. As you can imagine, it was a lot of cat poop. Once I was done, I noticed the cats were still crowding the door. They were investigating my bag, sharpening their claws on the denim and even chewing on it. Sophie, a fluffy white cat, tried to drag it off with her. I was surprised that she’d managed to move it a few inches!

      That’s when I remembered the triple cheeseburger. Apparently, the smell had attracted the attention of the cats. I can only speculate that the smell of meat was extra tempting thanks to their strict vegan diet.

      “Sorry kitties, that’s against the rules.” I reached for my bag guiltily. When I tried to pick it up, Sophie started to growl and wouldn’t let go. Instead, she dug in deeper– her whole body rumbling with warning. I’d never seen that kind of aggression before, so I backed off.

      I didn’t want to lose my job, so I attempted to coax the cats away from the bag with a laser pointer. No dice. They completely ignored it. Their dilated pupils were focused entirely on my duffel, backs arched and tails pointing straight up. Tentatively, I reached for the bag again– this time, there was no warning.

      Sophie was the first to lunge, teeth and claws biting deep into my forearm! I screamed in pain and flung my arm out, flailing wildly until she let go. Undeterred, she came right back– tearing at my stomach, yanking and shaking her head from side to side… I was terrified that she’d rip me open!

      I stumbled towards the door as more sets of teeth and claws found their mark. I lost count as they attacked, feral shrieks mixing with my screams. I’d been bitten and scratched by cats before, but not like this. Cats don’t normally attack humans with the intent to kill, but the NOAH cats were an exception.

      Security came running, only to stare in horror– they did not enter the enclosure. Panicking, I stopped, dropped and rolled… as if I were on fire instead of covered in vicious, spitting cats. The tactic worked, they scattered to avoid being crushed. I didn’t give them a chance to move back in, running towards the door as the guards snapped out of their shock, flinging the door open and quickly slamming it behind me. A few of the more tenacious cats threw themselves bodily into the door, beating themselves against it several times before giving up.

      I was a bloody mess, my skin reduced to ribbons… but the pain didn’t catch up right away. I stared through the Plexiglass window, watching in horror when the cats descended on my duffel, pulling it apart. They found the burger and chewed straight through the paper, knocking one another aside in competition for it. They divided their ‘kill’, jealously guarding bits of burger and strips of bacon that quickly disappeared in their frenzy. Once the burger was gone, they licked the blood off the floor with eager, lapping tongues.

      The collective purr I heard was chilling.

      An ambulance was called, and I spent a night in the hospital. I wasn’t surprised when I was fired the following morning.  Fortunately, the severance pay was more like a settlement. On paper, NOAH blamed me for the incident… they said I provoked the attack, and that I’d violated company policy. To be honest, I didn’t care. I didn’t fight it because I was relieved I’d never have to go back. I don’t know what happened to the cats at the facility, I can only assume that the research has continued without me.

      I only recently learned what happened to Dr. Rose, but I can’t say I’m surprised. The vegan cat-enthusiast had fourteen cats… and she’d been feeding them the same cat food NOAH was testing. Although she cherished her cats, and they had reportedly been happy and well-fed…there wasn’t enough of Dr. Rose left to determine her cause of death.

      I don’t know what was in that cat food, but it might be in stores by now. Please research the food you buy for your pets very carefully, not only is it in their best interest… it might be in yours.

      NOAH is still operating without Dr. Rose. I don’t think their mission is the same.

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged cat, cat food, cats, creepy, creepypasta, fiction, horror, NOAH, nosleep, nosleep takeover, research, short story, study, vegan, veganism
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