Colson Media book Club book Club, book Club Club.

And welcome to Closon Media book Club, the only book club where you don't have to do the reading, because I do it for you.

And by my count, there's still a few days left of Spooky Month, and so we've got one last spooky story for you this week.

I'm going to be reading you Fuck This Shit Manner by Laurel high Tower.

It's from the same twenty twenty two collection It Was All a Dream, an anthology of bad horror tropes done right that we read you.

Another story from this one is lighter and funnier, because what is more Halloween than a little spooky humor and making fun of ourselves?

And now Fuck This Shit Manner by Laurel high Tower.

The house was waking.

On every level of the ageless monstrosity.

Things were stirring, sentience returning, hunger rising.

The deepest, darkest corners of the hidden cellar, accessible only by a broken dumbwaiter.

Skeletal limbs grasped at shadows on the grand ground floor.

Dust mote stirred as the Grandfather clock whirred and clicked and began to chime in erratic tune.

Figures made of thirst and nightmares flitted up the wide staircase, trailing cold fingers along neglected banisters.

Nameless, hulking, drooling creatures skittered and lumbered close to the ground, and in the empty second floor bedrooms.

In the cursed and empty nursery, a cradle rocked on its own, while tiny webbed digits crept up the sides.

The bolted attic door creaked open, and something ancient sighed within.

Voices rose through the house, and all that walked lurched and crawled there still to listen.

You're sure this rent is right, said the one they wanted, the fresh voice, the woman, completely certain.

The owners want to tenants of a certain caliber.

A snort interrupted the caretaker, but the woman shushed it, as I was saying, tenants who will care for the place while they cannot.

They don't require money, so the rent is a token figure two.

Look, I'm sorry, it's a very good deal, but utilities have to be at least twice that, and a place this old's got to be gas heat, right, so even with the low rent, there's no way we could afford it.

My dear madame, didn't I say the price includes all utilities and my services as a groundskeeper to boot.

The woman's voice took on a tone meaning you live here too.

Huh uh uh, no offense, but I'm not rooming with some weirdo.

There was a pause before the caretaker continued, Oh no, madame, I don't stay here.

I won't be caught here after dark.

You understand, I've been serving here for more years than I can count, but I never have and never will.

Right.

Well, that's good, I guess, and I'm expected to what fix it up or something clean, No more than you would any other home you lived in.

Merely keep it neat and your children will do the rest.

My children, ha, I can't even get them to keep their bedrooms picked up, so don't be counting on them for manual labor anyway.

An arrangement like that would be in violation of state and federal labor laws, so that's not going to fly.

The house was becoming restless, impatient.

It wanted fresh blood, and it wanted it now ridiculously low rent and all utilities paid on a mansion like this, What was this woman arguing about?

The caretaker laughed, a creaking, wheezing sound that made even the denizens of the hidden cellar winds.

Oh no, nothing of that kind.

They will simply bring life to the old place.

That's what the owners want very much.

That in the small bit of care taking we discussed earlier.

Mm hmm.

So the old lady's bed bound, she got a home health aight or something because my diaper change in days are over All she requires are three meals daily placed outside her door, and to be left alone.

Mom, did you see the size of the backyard.

We could have a swing set out there.

Yeah, and there's got to be like twenty bedrooms.

Cassie and I wouldn't have to share the house.

Loomed closer held its breath.

The deal was nearly made.

You think I'm dumb, old man?

What No?

I told you?

The owners are looking for a special kind of moron, right, I bet they are.

You'd have to be to take on a place like this.

Mom, Come on, no, we're going You know how I always say there's no such thing as a free lunch.

You're looking at a prime example.

Come on, we're leaving.

Anger rose through every level, muttering discontents spilled through the vents and down the stairs.

The caretaker loomed large I don't think this is a deal you can afford to turn down, Madam, Think again, creeper.

There was a hissing sound, and the caretaker screamed, go on, kids, head for the door.

A thunder of footsteps signaled the departure of dinner.

Fuck this shit was the last they heard of the woman, as the door slammed behind her.

But do you know what, We'll always lovingly invite you into luxury before your eminent slaughter.

That's right, its ads every single time.

Here they are and we're back.

The house sagged, and its residents pulled themselves from the shadows to gather in the decrepit kitchen.

One of the second floor ghosts knelt beside the writhing caretaker.

You let another one get away, Frances, You suck at this.

The old man sat up, pushing long and stringy hair behind his ears, tears streaming down his face.

She sprayed me with something, he said, gasping.

My eyes are on fire.

Wet, squishy hands lifted him up under his armpits and into a chair.

I think she maced you.

We got any milk that's supposed to help a corpse?

Opened the fridge.

It's all expired.

Just use water.

A dark eyed woman with a noose mark around her neck lit a cigarette.

That's the last time you're the public face, Francis.

She's the sixth one you failed to close the deal with.

We're all going to starve at this rate.

Max the hell Hound whined and pressed his flank against her leg.

She leaned down to stroke his head, and his fiery eyes rolled back in pleasure.

Francis sniffed and pressed a cold, mildewed rag against his streaming eyes.

You think you can do any better.

I'm the only one with a pulse.

This used to be easier.

The giant peered between gauzy curtains.

The world is changing.

A vampire lifted his lips.

That's as useful as it was the last time you said it.

The Giant turned and frowned.

My point is we need to change with it.

The hollowed eyed twin stared up at him, lips quivering.

You mean leave here, move on, The Giant sighed and turned back to the window.

No, I mean we need to get help from someone who knows more than we do about the way things work.

Now.

The twins joined him at the window and followed his pointing finger a specialist.

Each resident in their turn approached the window and looked, and each nodded and smiled at one another.

Their hope renewed.

A specialist was just what they needed.

Any of the phone still working, asked the hanged ghost.

Lottie Fraser had seen some dud houses in her time, houses right next to train tracks, houses falling to rack and ruin, even houses where murders had taken place.

She'd sold every one of them, which is why she was the real estate Queen of the Southeastern Quadrant.

But this place was going to be a challenge.

She climbed the stone steps littered with leaves, her lips pursed.

At the dingy porch, she pushed the doorbell with one knuckle, scribbling a list as she waited.

Minutes later, a sunken eye peered at her through the yellowed lace curtains.

She didn't bother, smiling, raising an eyebrow instead.

These people needed to get with it.

Time was money.

Locks were heard clicking and clacking, and the enormous door swung into darkness, and a stooped man with jaundice skin in a revolting suit stood before her.

Miss Frasier, I presume oh, my god, Please don't tell me you're the one who's been showing the place, no wonder, no one's rented from you.

She waved a hand at him.

Back up, back up.

You ever heard of a space bubble?

The man frowned, but stepped back to allow her to enter.

Lottie stepped inside and wrinkled her nose.

What the hell?

When was the last time this place had a good airing out?

She heard the door swinging shut behind her and raised one orange tipped finger.

Oh no, you don't leave that unlocked.

The caretaker raised an eyebrow, but he obeyed.

She looked him up and down.

You the one that called my office.

He gave a sour smile and held out his hand.

Friensis, I'm hired with the manner.

She looked at his dirty nails and declined to shake.

Francis, huh, you the only one here?

He opened his mouth, and she leaned in closer.

Don't even think about lying to me, Frances, I hear them moving.

Where's everybody hiding?

Frances closed his mouth again and stared, then lifted his shoulder.

Any input here, he asked, The house at slowly with many creaks groans, hisses and snarls.

The denizens of the manner crept into the light.

Lottie subjected each to a critical glance, then scribbled on her list again with a sigh.

Once they were all assembled in their nightmare glory, she pushed her hair from her forehead.

This everybody, she asked, and Frances nodded.

Fine, y'all stay here.

Francis is going to give me a tour.

I catch any of y'all sneaking up on me, you're going to be sorry, you hear me.

The threat the deminutive woman uttered was left unspoken, but there was none among the gathered dead that doubted her word.

They waited and a silence, punctuated with glances at one another, listening to her exclamations of annoyance as she went over the house top to bottom.

When she came back down the stairs, Frances trailing dejectedly in her wake, her features were scrunched.

She made her way to the largest sofa, waved the twins out of her way, then sat and made notes in silence for several minutes.

Finally, the creatures could stand it no longer, well, asked the hanged woman.

She lit another cigarette Lottie looked up and frowned.

That's the first thing to go.

Put that shit out and go outside to smoke in the future.

You can't get that smell out of upholstery for love or money.

The ghost gaped, I can't go outside the bounds of the house.

I'll disappear.

Lottie's expression remained unchanged.

Not my problem.

You asked for my help, and I'm telling you what you need.

She grimaced down at her list, which so far is taking up three pages.

The giant spoke before anyone else could tell us, we're willing to learn.

She eyed him.

For starters, you all have to give this place a good cleaning.

Cobwebs, dust, the smell of decay.

Nobody wants to live with that shit.

I'm surprised you got anyone over the threshold.

They grumbled, but there were nods all around.

Max lifted a lip and a growl started to shake the room, stench of sulfur choking the spirit.

Still capable of smell, Lottie waved a hand in front of her face and looked at the beast.

Lord, have mercy, What the hell have you been feeding him?

The vampire sputtered, that's not gas.

He's a hell hound.

Lottie snapped her fingers and Max's ears dropped.

He stopped growling and came to sniff at her hand.

She leaned close to scratch under his studded collar, and he pressed close to her side.

Whatever it is, you'd best put stinky boy outside before you bring anyone else in.

Who's a gassy hell hound?

You are, aren't you?

Boy?

The fire went out of the dog's eyes and his tail thumped.

Everyone bit their lip at the sight of one of Hell's most feared and forcers, brought low by scretches and a ridiculous voice.

Lottie straightened and swung back to Frances.

Next, there's you.

You need to clear right the fuck off when you've got a potential renter here.

He sniffed and straightened.

Madam, I am the only one here who is capable.

You're capable of giving people the creeps, that's for sure.

She waved a hand to indicate this whole person.

Your look just screams rapist.

Okay, I don't care who has to do it.

You stay out of sight, and this whole I come with the house thing is over as of now, no one wants a skeazy guy beating off in the shrubbery.

Okay, people value privacy.

I would never not interested.

We're talking an aesthetic here, and yours is fucked.

She eyed the hanged ghost.

You're visible inside the house.

Yeah, the woman frowned.

I am but cool.

Get you a turtleneck and some makeup.

You're golden.

You want a woman anyway, less threatening to other women, more enticing to male renters.

Don't overdo it with the sex kitten thing, though, but I Lottie mowed her over.

As for the rest of you, and I can't stress this enough.

Stay the fuck out of sight, and not just that.

Ease up on this whole needy vibe you've got going here.

You lean in like vampires.

As soon as someone comes in, people are going to get edgy.

Everyone made a studious effort to avoid looking at the vampire while he stared at the scuffed wooden floor.

And speaking of avoiding vampires, here's one vampire you will never be able to avoid unless theoretically speaking, you were to hit the fast forward fifteen second spot a bunch of times.

I don't know.

You can't avoid them, and I wouldn't want to.

It's the products and services that support this show, and we're back.

Lottie sorted through her stack of paperwork brought a fresh sheet to the top.

Now let's talk rent and marketing.

How much are you charging for this dump?

When someone muttered a number from a dark corner, she turned slow in her seat until she faced them.

Are you kidding me?

Why not just put a blinking neon sign that says this is a trap?

Francis coughed, excuse me, that low rent figure has been instrumental in getting applicants through the door.

No one can resist, right, they got through the door, but do they stay?

Silence answered her, and she nodded.

That's what I thought.

You can't make it astronomical, but you have to make it believable.

A second floor ghost spoke up.

There is the matter of the care taking that makes it more realistic, doesn't it.

Lottie frowned.

Care taking?

You mean lurch over there.

She jabbed a thumb at Francis.

The ghost cleared its throat.

No, it's part of the rent arrangement.

The tenants are responsible for light care taking of Mama.

Lottie set down her stack on the couch beside her.

Who the fuck is mama.

Her gaze fell on the web fingered infant, who showed her head.

Don't look at me, no relation.

The resident of the third floor bathtub spoke up, Wetley, Well, it's just what we call her.

She doesn't leave the attic rooms, so she doesn't bother anyone, but she requires three meals a day.

Lottie crossed her arms.

That shit's got to go too.

They gaped at her.

The hanged ghost cleared her throat.

What what should we do with her?

Once again, not my problem.

I'm just telling you no one, but no one is going to want to rent a place that comes with an unseen attic roommate who needs babysitting.

People like to feel comfortable and enjoy themselves in their homes.

That means being able to relax, unwind, be themselves screw and no one is going to want to have sex with that hanging over them.

She doesn't doesn't matter, get rid of her.

Moving on, Now, where are you advertising?

And first?

No one answer.

As everyone struggled to catch up to the image of a mansion without mama, there was a guilty amount of leaf in the picture.

The usual places, said Francis.

At last, that eyebrow went up again, meaning where more glances were exchanged, and Francis petered out under her gaze.

The twins spoke up in unison, the newspaper, classified ads, of course, and the community message board.

Lottie whipped around to look at them, raised a finger again.

Do not, under any circumstances do that again.

You are separate people, no matter what tired tropes have told you, so act like it.

The girls exchanged stunned looks, then slowly let go of one another's hands.

Lotty nodded and looked back at Francis.

Newspaper classifieds, for fock's sake, the city paper.

At least, Francis lowered his gaze.

No, there's a free community paper.

Lotty dropped her head into her hand's eyes squeezed shut.

You're advertising in this neighborhood, Is that wrong?

Asked the giant.

Lottie lifted her head.

When was the last time any of you look outside?

Do you know where you live?

The median income in this area?

Francis smiled back, on safe ground, of course, that's been a key to our success.

These people have never been inside a mansion like this, let alone lived in one, and to be able to do so for less than the lowest rent of one of those homes that surround us.

Why every time we post one of those flyers with the little strips of paper, every last one gets taken.

A wizened corpse tapped its chest.

Those were my idea, it said, with a grin lotty massage or temples.

These are working class people, folks who've struggled with poverty, addiction, cycles of abuse, and neglect.

Not all of them, but everyone here has had to work for what they have, and every one of them is going to give the side eye to something that seems too good to be true.

They might be tempted, they might even come look, but in the end their sense of self preservation is going to save them.

The room was island, the words fuck this shit ringing in their ears, the phrase they'd heard far too often of late.

As unpleasant as it was to hear, Lottie was right, and this was, after all why they'd called a specialist.

The giant straightened his great shoulders.

Okay, then tell us what to do.

Any of you even remotely familiar with social media?

Francis shook his head and began to answer when one of the twins raised a hand.

He glared at her, but she shrugged.

A kid dropped a phone once.

I don't use much data and as one of those pay as you go one, so I've just been adding like five gigs every six months and there's literally nothing else to do.

Lottie gave her a nod.

Good.

So your targets are going to be easier to find on social media venues.

You can narrow by geography if you want, but honestly, you'd be surprised how many of these types of people are willing to pick up and move their whole lives cross country just to take advantage of a windfall.

She took out her own phone and began scrolling one twin either shoulder.

Several other residents gathered behind her.

Okay, see here's what I'm talking about, Amber Bradley.

Look at the number of tweets she has complaining about weight, staff and food service.

Her fucking breakfast taco was delayed three minutes and she's literally crying over it.

Lottie scrolled further.

You can tell she's never had a real job in her life.

But there's tons of photos of expensive vehicles, vacations, meals that cost more than my commissions.

The vampire frowned.

So rich people, Lottie shook her head.

N entitled people, there's a difference.

You're looking for folks so privileged they don't even realize.

They are the kind of people who won't think it's sketchy to be able to rent a whole friggin mansion for a few hundred bucks a month, and you don't even have to charge rent if you want to go another angle.

Pick a specific target and tell them they've gotten inheritance from who asked the hanged ghost or brow furrow, Lottie laughed, Who cares?

Make up someone old and obscure?

Tell them they are chosen because, oh hell, I don't know.

Make up something to make them feel special.

The twins were scrolling through the feed.

Uugh, this woman looks awful.

Look at how long she rants because they misspelled her name at Starbucks.

Sounds like an ideal tenant.

She stood, brushed off her bottom, and handed her work to the hang ghost.

I think that about covers it.

That's a detailed list, and there's more information in the booklet.

Y'all have a lot of work to do, but this place has potential.

The giant stepped forward, holding out an envelope stuffed with cash.

Miss Frasier.

I can't tell you how much we appreciate you coming out.

Lottie stuffed the cash into her purse.

You just did, she said, and shook his hand.

I want to see this place in tiptop shape next time I drive by.

I have other properties in this neighborhood, you know.

They all gathered to wave her off, and as Lottie adjusted her blouse in the reflection of her Kia's window, she shook off the chill and dank of the hank to mansion.

Fuck that shit, she muttered, then gave a wide smile.

She placed another of her signs in the mansions We Choked Yard and Long Live the Queen of the Southeastern Quadrant.

Yeah, I don't know, that's the story, the end of fuck this shit manner, Okay.

Like, mostly I like this story because it's fun and it was fun to try and do voices for it.

But also I love that modern, even goofy science fiction has a decent or genre fiction whatever the fuck, has like decent class analysis in it.

Like I love that it's just like you know, the talking about being like you think people just because they're desperate they're going to move into this place.

No, the people who you can actually like fuck over are the like rich people who think they're entitled to shit.

It's so good and I love a clever story as long as it's well written.

And what Laurel high Tower, the author a fuck the shit manner, has to say about it.

The Haunted House is now and forever will be my favorite horror trope.

I love ghosts and ghoulies and the atmosphere of a good haunting, but there are a couple of key points that every story must address.

The first is why the hell do these characters stay in the damn house?

I love seeing how authors approach this, one of my favorites being the film His House.

The main characters literally have nowhere else to go.

The other question that started bugging me was how on earth do these people keep ending up in these places?

A classic cozy, weird inheritance take can certainly be done well, and a lot of times that's enough.

But in the age of smartphones and uber it gets less and less believable that a person would just drop their whole life to move into crazy aunts.

So and So's isolated mansion with creaky floors, footsteps in the night, and that one door you absolutely can't open.

Oh my god, what were you thinking.

It's insulting to those of us who grew up struggling or working class that we just be so grateful.

We serve ourselves up on a platter to whatever lurks behind closed doors.

If anything, we're liable to side anything that seems too good to be true.

But ghosts got to eat, so how do they adapt it changing times and attitudes?

I loved exploring this concept in a tongue in cheek fashion with fuck the shit manner.

I initially wrote it in twenty twenty, gifted to a wonderful but now defunct website for does the Dog Die in This?

I'm thrilled to see it live again as the residents of the manor put up their own struggle for survival and Laurel's bio is Laurel high Tower grew up in Kentucky, attending college in California and Tennessee before returning home to Horse Country, where she lives with her husband's son and a rescue pitbull.

She works as a paralegal in a mid sized firm wrangling litigators by day and writing at night.

A bourbon and beer girl, she's a fan of horror movies and true life ghost stories.

She is the author of Whispers in the Dark, Crossroads and Below, and co edited the charity anthology We Are Wolves, as well as a Dead Inside an Identity horror anthology.

Her short fiction has appeared in several publications, and you can keep up with her work at her website, which is Laurelhtower dot com.

And Laurel is spelled l a u r e L and high Towers h I G h t O w e r dot com.

Anyway, that's the book Club, and We've got a special tree for you next week, but I'm not going to tell you what it is because you're gonna have to wait.

And don't worry in my heart.

Every month the Spooky Month.

Hi everyone.

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