MOLECULES: An Audio Novella by John Reedburg [Excerpt]

0:00 Thank you for joining us on No Tears for Black Girls with your host Samantha Paul. On today's episode, I will be sharing an extended passage from Molecules, a horror novella written by Jon Reedberg. Don't forget to tune in for the full series this October on your preferred podcast streaming platform. Stay loved, stay blessed, and stay safe, seniors. Crimson blood splatters across the linoleum bathroom floor, his last trace gone like a newborn taken too soon. Young John couldn't imagine how his father could have endured such a horrifying death.

0:40 The motionless corpse lay sprawled on the ground, it's twisted limbs a grotesque mockery of life. John Junior could feel the dead eyes piercing into his soul, electrifying every nerve in his body. The empty gaze of his father tormented his mind, haunting every thought with trembling hands. He desperately searched for any sign of life in seniors eyes, hoping against all reason that he would hear his father's signature catch phrase one last time. But only a cold and vacant void stares back at him, confirming that his beloved father was truly gone. If Senior were still alive and well, he would say It's all good, John boy. However, all that echoes in the room is a daunting silence. Dread wraps its icy tendrils around the teenage boy's heart as he grasps the magnitude of the circumstances. In an instant, time slows and John's senses stretch beyond the boundaries of the small space he occupies. Literally.

1:46 The walls expand as if they were elastic, extending their limbs to an exact degree without any hint of cracking or snapping. The walls around him become so far away they become graved in blackness. The scene before him fades into blinding light. Summoning his courage, John edges closer to the beckoning glow. Within this glow, it is the first realm of existence known as the past. There, in that Dutchie, he catches a glimpse of himself as an infant, cradled by a shadowy figure. What, who, who are you? John stammers, barely able to form coherent words.

2:27 The figures chuckle is a mixture of pride and melancholy. I am your father, John. The voice echoes. John's mind reels from the revelation. But how? I thought nothing never really dies, John boy. His father's ghostly visage smiles sadly. I know what they told you, son, but the truth is, I've been here all along, watching over you. John's mind is flooded with a series of flashing memories, each one more vivid than the last. He sees his father's patient smile as he teaches him to ride a bike, feels the warmth of pride as he watches his son perform in school plays and recalls the constant presence of his father's supportive figure, always lingering in the shadows of their home. As his memories blur and fade, John kneels beside his father's lifeless body.

3:25 His hands grip tightly onto a worn photograph of them on the golden shores of Venice Beach. In the picture, a younger John and his father glow with happiness, their sun kissed faces beaming and their sunglasses adding an extra twinkle to their eyes. The ocean breeze playfully ruffles their hair as they smile from ear to ear. The vibrant colors of the beach serve as a stark contrast to the solemn atmosphere surrounding John in the present moment, a reminder of happier days that now feel so distant. The edges of the photo are slightly yellowed, increased evidence of years spent being cherished and relieved.

4:08 Over and over again, tears streamed down his face, but this time, they are not just for the loss of his father. They are also for the man he never knew, determined to unravel the web of secrets that shrouded his life and death. John whispers a vow. I will find out the truth, Dad, I promise. Seniors voice echoes inside John's mind. The truth is inside you, John boy. If not in your head, it'll be in someone else's. It's up to you to find it. Welcome to manhood, son. The voice becomes one with silence. The walls contract back to their original state, the bathroom door slamming shut with a bang, and John is left alone with his shattered innocence, armed only with a single photo of happier times and a new found determination to uncover the truth about his father's life.

5:06 An untimely death. The steady click of heels reverberated through the endless dim hallway, each step growing closer and closer. John stood frozen next to his father's lifeless body in the empty bathroom. Is everything all right, John boy? His mother's voice rings out, drawing closer with concern. What was that loud noise? Why does it smell like firecrackers in the hallway? John responds gruffly. Just stay downstairs, Ma, Why are you decent? Where's your father? Her footsteps quicken towards the bathroom. Dinner's getting cold, please stay out. Of course she doesn't listen.

5:54 The door creaks open. John's mother, Justine, enters the bathroom. What on earth is going on? Reluctantly, John mutters. Dad killed himself. Justin's face registers shock, and emotions play across her features. She struggles to find the words to express how she feels about the news. But then her words Pierce the heavy silence as she sees her husband's lifeless body on the bathroom floor, and she screams in horror. John quickly pushes his mother out of the bathroom, avoiding any further sight of his father's bleeding corpse. You don't need to see this, mom.

6:34 Just go downstairs and call 911 for help. I'll stay here. Justine staggered back, stunned and disoriented. What? She stumbled for a moment before stealing herself. Oh, OK. And with that, she stormed out of the room, leaving a trail of fear in her wake. John moves closer to his father's body, kneeling down and closing his eyes before taking the gun from his hand and tucking it under his shirt. The next few days blurred together in a haze of hushed conversations, somber visitors, and the sickly sweet scent of flowers.

7:15 Out of the silence, a piercing ring shattered John's calm. He froze, his ears ringing as the sound reverberated through the empty halls of his home. On the 4th ring, he made his way to the hallway where the antique Rotary phone hung ominously on the wall. With a trembling hand, he lifted the receiver to his ear. Hello, he said, his voice barely above a whisper. John Reedberg, Junior. The voice on the other end was deep and gravelly, like stones grinding together. Yes, this is John, he replied, a chill running down his spine. Listen carefully, boy.

8:01 I know the truth about your daddy's death. It's more to it than what you'll ever find out. Don't even bother looking. Remember to listen to Molecules, an original audio novella written by John Reedberg this October, available on all podcast platforms.