MOLECULES: An Audio Novella by John Reedburg [Excerpt]

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Thank you for joining us on No
Tears for Black Girls with your

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host Samantha Paul.
On today's episode, I will be

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sharing an extended passage from
Molecules, a horror novella

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written by Jon Reedberg.
Don't forget to tune in for the

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full series this October on your
preferred podcast streaming

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platform.
Stay loved, stay blessed, and

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stay safe, seniors.
Crimson blood splatters across

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the linoleum bathroom floor, his
last trace gone like a newborn

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taken too soon.
Young John couldn't imagine how

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his father could have endured
such a horrifying death.

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The motionless corpse lay
sprawled on the ground, it's

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twisted limbs a grotesque
mockery of life.

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John Junior could feel the dead
eyes piercing into his soul,

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electrifying every nerve in his
body.

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The empty gaze of his father
tormented his mind, haunting

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every thought with trembling
hands.

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He desperately searched for any
sign of life in seniors eyes,

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hoping against all reason that
he would hear his father's

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signature catch phrase one last
time.

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But only a cold and vacant void
stares back at him, confirming

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that his beloved father was
truly gone.

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If Senior were still alive and
well, he would say It's all

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good, John boy.
However, all that echoes in the

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room is a daunting silence.
Dread wraps its icy tendrils

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around the teenage boy's heart
as he grasps the magnitude of

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the circumstances.
In an instant, time slows and

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John's senses stretch beyond the
boundaries of the small space he

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occupies.
Literally.

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The walls expand as if they were
elastic, extending their limbs

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to an exact degree without any
hint of cracking or snapping.

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The walls around him become so
far away they become graved in

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blackness.
The scene before him fades into

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blinding light.
Summoning his courage, John

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edges closer to the beckoning
glow.

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Within this glow, it is the
first realm of existence known

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as the past.
There, in that Dutchie, he

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catches a glimpse of himself as
an infant, cradled by a shadowy

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figure.
What, who, who are you?

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John stammers, barely able to
form coherent words.

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The figures chuckle is a mixture
of pride and melancholy.

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I am your father, John.
The voice echoes.

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John's mind reels from the
revelation.

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But how?
I thought nothing never really

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dies, John boy.
His father's ghostly visage

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smiles sadly.
I know what they told you, son,

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but the truth is, I've been here
all along, watching over you.

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John's mind is flooded with a
series of flashing memories,

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each one more vivid than the
last.

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He sees his father's patient
smile as he teaches him to ride

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a bike, feels the warmth of
pride as he watches his son

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perform in school plays and
recalls the constant presence of

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his father's supportive figure,
always lingering in the shadows

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of their home.
As his memories blur and fade,

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John kneels beside his father's
lifeless body.

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His hands grip tightly onto a
worn photograph of them on the

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golden shores of Venice Beach.
In the picture, a younger John

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and his father glow with
happiness, their sun kissed

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faces beaming and their
sunglasses adding an extra

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twinkle to their eyes.
The ocean breeze playfully

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ruffles their hair as they smile
from ear to ear.

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The vibrant colors of the beach
serve as a stark contrast to the

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solemn atmosphere surrounding
John in the present moment, a

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reminder of happier days that
now feel so distant.

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The edges of the photo are
slightly yellowed, increased

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evidence of years spent being
cherished and relieved.

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Over and over again, tears
streamed down his face, but this

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time, they are not just for the
loss of his father.

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They are also for the man he
never knew, determined to

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unravel the web of secrets that
shrouded his life and death.

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John whispers a vow.
I will find out the truth, Dad,

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I promise.
Seniors voice echoes inside

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John's mind.
The truth is inside you, John

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boy.
If not in your head, it'll be in

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someone else's.
It's up to you to find it.

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Welcome to manhood, son.
The voice becomes one with

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silence.
The walls contract back to their

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original state, the bathroom
door slamming shut with a bang,

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and John is left alone with his
shattered innocence, armed only

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with a single photo of happier
times and a new found

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determination to uncover the
truth about his father's life.

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An untimely death.
The steady click of heels

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reverberated through the endless
dim hallway, each step growing

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closer and closer.
John stood frozen next to his

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father's lifeless body in the
empty bathroom.

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Is everything all right, John
boy?

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His mother's voice rings out,
drawing closer with concern.

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What was that loud noise?
Why does it smell like

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firecrackers in the hallway?
John responds gruffly.

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Just stay downstairs, Ma, Why
are you decent?

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Where's your father?
Her footsteps quicken towards

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the bathroom.
Dinner's getting cold, please

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stay out.
Of course she doesn't listen.

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The door creaks open.
John's mother, Justine, enters

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the bathroom.
What on earth is going on?

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Reluctantly, John mutters.
Dad killed himself.

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Justin's face registers shock,
and emotions play across her

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features.
She struggles to find the words

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to express how she feels about
the news.

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But then her words Pierce the
heavy silence as she sees her

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husband's lifeless body on the
bathroom floor, and she screams

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in horror.
John quickly pushes his mother

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out of the bathroom, avoiding
any further sight of his

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father's bleeding corpse.
You don't need to see this, mom.

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Just go downstairs and call 911
for help.

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I'll stay here.
Justine staggered back, stunned

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and disoriented.
What?

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She stumbled for a moment before
stealing herself.

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Oh, OK.
And with that, she stormed out

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of the room, leaving a trail of
fear in her wake.

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John moves closer to his
father's body, kneeling down and

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closing his eyes before taking
the gun from his hand and

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tucking it under his shirt.
The next few days blurred

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together in a haze of hushed
conversations, somber visitors,

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and the sickly sweet scent of
flowers.

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Out of the silence, a piercing
ring shattered John's calm.

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He froze, his ears ringing as
the sound reverberated through

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the empty halls of his home.
On the 4th ring, he made his way

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to the hallway where the antique
Rotary phone hung ominously on

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the wall.
With a trembling hand, he lifted

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the receiver to his ear.
Hello, he said, his voice barely

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above a whisper.
John Reedberg, Junior.

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The voice on the other end was
deep and gravelly, like stones

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grinding together.
Yes, this is John, he replied, a

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chill running down his spine.
Listen carefully, boy.

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I know the truth about your
daddy's death.

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It's more to it than what you'll
ever find out.

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Don't even bother looking.
Remember to listen to Molecules,

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an original audio novella
written by John Reedberg this

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October, available on all
podcast platforms.