THE NIGHTLY CHILL
2019.11.25
By Steve Arviso

I’ve Got a Receipt (Act 2, Scene 4).


FIGHT THE DAWN!

As the sunlit sanity of the waking world burns the night to ash,
embrace the unbound madness of your wildest dreams,
laugh into the endless abyss of your darkest fantasies,
and rage against the coming dawn.

The Nightly Chill is the unstable experience of the mind and madness of Steve Arviso (@AmoralCrackpot). Mon-Fri. Ish.


CONSISTENTLY INCONSISTENT

  • PULPBUSTERS
  • I’VE GOT A RECEIPT (ACT 2, SCENE 4)
  • THE MIXTAPE

Today, we conclude Act 2 of I’VE GOT A RECEIPT! Tomorrow and Wednesday, you can catch up on all of Act 1 and Act 2. Then next week, I’ve Got a Receipt! concludes with the release of Act 3!


VIRAL LOAD PODCAST

Explore the weirder, more unsettling corners of diseases that plague us with comedian Andrew Pupa and Brett Bayles!


WE ARE THE LOST

The Nightly Chill wants to show some love to a variety of cool shit from local and other independent artists, performers, and assorted creative types!

If you have a show you want to promote, especially if it’s located in SoCal, let’s get your poster and links! Got a cool short film you made for no money, or a song your band is trying to get out there to more peeps? Let’s embed that YouTube video and link new listeners to where they can support you!

Hit us up if you make:

  • Art
  • Comics
  • Music, audio dramas
  • Genre fiction, poetry, films, etc!

The weirder, the better!

We are The Lost. And together, we’ll make sure the world sees and hears us.


PULPBUSTERS

Chill with original audio projects such as Adena’s lil’ audio love note to the (great) granddaddy of pulp vigilantes, The Shadow. Or with Steve’s original short-form audio drama, Where Stars Collide!

Listen now on Spotify or sub to the PulpBusters audio feed using the links below.


I’VE GOT A RECEIPT – ACT 2, SCENE 3

The second act of an absurd tale of consumerism and cosmic horror. Continued.

NARRATOR
(V.O.)
Previously, in “I’ve Got a Receipt”… Cassie and Bobert the Ferryman arrived at an island floating in the abyss somewhere beneath a local mall.

THE DISTANT CLATTERING OF A LARGE BELL.

BOBERT
(Squealing.)
Oh, my god!

CASSIE
(So done with this shit.)
What? What the Hell’s next? What’s with all the floaty dudes in robes?

BOBERT
(Childish glee.)
It’s time for an offering!

CASSIE
Offering?

BOBERT
We don’t get too many of these lately. Come on!

BOBERT AND CASSIE HURRY OFF.

SCENE 4. THE M’NA-GER.

SOUNDSCAPE: THE MUFFLED ROAR OF A LARGE, ROWDY CROWD FOLLOWING ALONG TO A FOUL, SINISTER PRAYER PLAYED ON A LOOP OVER THE PA SYSTEM.

(NOTE: THE PRAYER IS A FOUL, SINISTER RENDITION OF PIERO UMILIANI’S “MAH NA MAH NA.”)

NARRATOR
(V.O.)
If you were to remove the top portion of your typical professional hockey arena, replaced the chill, dry air with something similar to that of burning plastic–though, only inside out and with the lights off–and filled it to the nosebleeds with robed figures–in addition to colorful jerseys and painted, furry bellies of grown men bellowing a foul and wholly sinister rendition of Piero Umiliani’s classic hit “Mah Na Mah Na”–you’d have a fairly poor image that vaguely resembles what Cassie witnessed upon stepping through what she was sure was a bed sheet covering the entrance to the amphitheater.

CASSIE
(Drinking it in, hating it.)
Yeah. I’m sure this never gets old.

SUDDEN AND IMMEDIATE DEAD SILENCE.

CASSIE
Aw, crap.
(To Bobert.)
They heard me, didn’t they?

BOBERT
(Shushing. Whispering.)
It’s starting!

SILENCE. THEN…

PHHHHT… PHHHHT… DOUG, A MAN IN CORDUROYS, SHUFFLES ACROSS CENTER ICE TO A PODIUM. UP, UNDER.

CASSIE
(Whispering.)
Who’s the dork in the polo and corduroys?

BOBERT
(Whispering.)
That’s Doug, the M’na M’na Manager.

CASSIE
(Whispering.)
Wow. That’s quite a M’na-outhful.

BOBERT
(Whispering.)
I know, right? Personally, I always thought he should be called the M’na-ger.

(NOTE: M’NA-GER SPEAKS A DRY, LIFELESS VOICE INTO A MICROPHONE, THROUGH THE PA SYSTEM.)

DOUG THE M’NA-GER
(D.)
Good afternoon, everyone.

MOSTLY EVERYONE
(Just as dry and lifeless.)
Good afternoon, Doug.

DOUG THE M’NA-GER
(D.)
Now. I know things haven’t been looking too good for us, numbers-wise. But I’m happy to announce that we have not one, but three offerings scheduled for–

DOUG’S PHONE RINGS.

DOUG THE M’NA-GER
(D.) (CONT’D.)
Sorry. Just give me–
(Answering phone.)
Hello?
Yeah. No, this isn’t a good–
Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
Okay. I will. But I have to go.
Yes. I’m at work.
Okay.
Okay.
Okay, Ma. I gotta go.
Wait. How many again?
Okay. Got it.
Yes. I got it.
Okay.
(Whispering into phone.)
I love you, too.
(Hanging up.)
Right. As I was saying. We have not one, but three offerings scheduled for this afternoon!

A SMATTERING OF APPLAUSE.

DOUG THE M’NA-GER
(D.) (CONT’D.)
So please, give a warm Garden welcome to today’s Sacrificial Lambs!

BANG! LIGHTS, MUSIC, THE ROAR OF THE CROWD!

NARRATOR
(V.O.)
As colorful lights and bloodlust filled the amphitheater, a one-hundred square foot, super-high resolution video screen provided everyone in attendance with a crystal clear image of three mostly-confused people forced to skate to center ice.

The first was a petite, middle-aged Hispanic man with great hair holding a pair of slacks. He was every bit as graceful on his feet as his hair was thick and firmly held in place.

Next came a confused Polynesian woman in a lovely floral dress.

And then a ham-faced potato rolled out onto the ice, squawking the same demand over and over.

SISTER STUMBLES OUT, PISSED.

SISTER
(OFF.) (Squawking.)
I want to speak to the manager!

CASSIE
Hey. I think I know that potato.

BOBERT
You do?

CASSIE
Yeah, it’s my sister. What’s she doing down there?

BOBERT
(Ruh-roh.)
Uh…

NARRATOR
(V.O.)
As Bobert gracelessly avoided saying anything at all, the Hispanic man with great hair, and a wholly newfound talent for ice skating, attempted to be heard over the squawking potato.

MAN
(To SISTER.)
Excuse me. Do you mind if I go first? I think I left my truck running in the parking lot.

WOMAN
Well, you can go ahead of me. I’m not even sure why I’m here.

NARRATOR
(V.O.)
But before Cassie’s potato of a sister could even begin to peck and claw at either of them for daring to have the gall to interrupt her mid-squawk, all three were suddenly and swiftly picked up by a large tendril made of nothing–

MAN, WOMAN, SISTER SCOOPED UP…

NARRATOR
(V.O.) (CONT’D.)
–gobbled up whole by teeth that were most certainly not there a moment before–

GOBBLED UP…

NARRATOR
(V.O.) (CONT’D)
–and their bones spat back out onto the ice one at a time, like pulpy, bloody watermelon seeds.

SPAT OUT.

AN UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE.

CASSIE
(Scared, pissed, confused.)
What the shit?!

EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING TURNS TO CASSIE.

ANOTHER SILENCE. THEN…

CASSIE
(Considers this.)
(Singing. Poorly.)
Mah Na Mah na!
Doo, doo-doo–
(Checks crowd.)
doo?
(Hangs head, sighs.)
Goddammit.

END ACT TWO

TO BE CONTINUED…

READ IT ALL NOW!


THE MIXTAPE

Tracks I’m currently chillin’ with. Tonight, other nights. Follow the Playlist on YouTube to keep up with all the changes.

Rubber Ball (2017) – Cage the Elephant


GRAND GHOULISH – THE E-BOOK!

Originally serialized in the digital pages of The Nightly Chill, Steve Arviso’s Grand Ghoulish collects the completed absurd twisted romance between a photographer, a housewife, and her husband–a surgeon who enjoys getting a little blood on his hands!

Read it for FREE in the back issues of The Nightly Chill, or directly support The Nightly Chill and other works by purchasing a copy of the e-book!


SUBSCRIBE FOR THAT WALK-OF-SHAME FEELING EVERY MORNING AFTER!


If you enjoy The Nightly Chill and would like to support my work, please consider supporting it via Patreon for as little as $1 a month.



YOU ARE NOT ALONE

THE NIGHTLY CHILL
Steve Arviso
2019

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