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[Female Voice]
This is Behind the Cut with Christopher Gronlund. The companion show to Not About Lumberjacks.

[Christopher Gronlund]
Each story for this year’s Christmas episode is a first draft. Granted, they are polished first drafts (and by that, I mean I wrote them, read them for any typos or any glaring errors, and then called them done), but none of the stories received much consideration beyond their creation.

It’s obviously not the way I write novels, but it’s how I write most of my short stories. Of course, that means I sometimes end up thinking, while recording, “Oh, man…I would have loved doing more with that part of the story,” but I rarely think, “I should have cut this part or rewritten everything.”

“The Crock” was written for a writing prompt. On Patreon, I support the crew doing the audiodramas, Alba Salix: Royal Physician and The Axe and Crown. They also do an actual-play roleplaying show called The End of Time and Other Bothers.

On the Discord server available to patrons, there’s a closed writing group that sometimes creates stories based on writing prompts. While I love that kind of thing, I rarely take part…because I always have enough other writing going on. But there was something in this prompt hooked me:

An evil spell is cast upon a mundane household item, but the homeowner has no idea.

Granted, the narrator of “The Crock” figures out that her mother-in-law placed a spell on the Crock Pot gift in the story, but to me, a prompt is just that: a thing to spark an idea.

With that in my head, I knocked out the story in 15 or 20 minutes on a lunch break.

#

Patrick K. Walsh does a horror podcast called Screamqueenz: Where Horror Gets Gay. It’s a lighthearted look at campy horror movies. I’ve been on the show twice: episode 228, discussing Dave Made a Maze and episode 250 talking about Night of the Comet.

I’ve wanted Patrick to narrate a story for Not About Lumberjacks for some time. So, when looking in the Evernote file I keep of story ideas, “Greetings” jumped out. And when I began roughing out the idea with Patrick in mind, the story—as they say—practically wrote itself.

I wrote the opening before bed one evening and then, the next day, I finished the story during my lunch break. Like “The Crock,” my wife gave it a quick read, pointed out a couple typos, and then I called it done.

Because I viewed the story belonging to Patrick as much as to me, I told him he could run with any idea he had as he narrated. There are a few lines made better in the moment by him, which is why I love working with other people on projects. Sometimes other people make a good moment in a story great. Patrick definitely has a knack for that…

#

I almost wrote “Naughty” for last year’s Christmas episode. I had a note in my story ideas file that was something like, “A shitty little kid does something to Santa Claus and gets what he deserves or learns a lesson in the end.”

I had NO idea what I was going to do with the story until I started writing it.

When I was young, my big sister showed me how to open wrapped gifts to see what we were getting before Christmas even arrived. It was a shitty thing to do to a single mom who busted her ass to ensure we had memorable Christmases. So I figured I’d start with Bobby getting caught unwrapping hidden gifts. From there, the story flowed.

Initially, I planned to have Santa Claus in the story, but it made more sense to have Santa’s menacing brother arrive to teach Bobby a lesson. When it came time to discuss the tattoos on his knuckle [sic], “PAIN” spelled out across them was an easy option. For the other hand, I had no idea…so I opened a web browser and searched a Scrabble dictionary for four-letter words that seemed fitting.

I had jotted down other options before settling on MOJO, but MOJO was too good to pass by. And just like that, Not-Santa had a hand with which he could dish out physical pain, and then a magical MOJO hand that could do ANYTHING.

Once it was established that Bobby was properly shitty and that Not-Santa could do anything he wanted, the story turned dark. I got to watch a couple people listen to this story in person (I didn’t even have my wife read this one before recording it), and it was great seeing the horrified looks on their faces as a kid is actually tortured on Christmas Eve…and then the uncomfortable laughter that comes with taking pleasure in a little kid being electrocuted and suffocated while lashed to a Christmas tree.

I wanted to finish the story on an upbeat note, so…in the end, Bobby learns a lesson, and Christmas day is saved.

Like the other two stories in this year’s Christmas episode, “Naughty” was written on my lunch break in a quick blast before it was time to log back on to my day job.

#

There’s something to a story written in a whirlwind that I love. Like an artist sketching ideas, sometimes what is made in the moment has more life than the polished final version. It’s possible that in one’s effort to refine a work, that the demands of expectations destroys the work’s rougher edges, where you can often see when and where an idea actually came into being.

The novels I write will always be fully realized, polished things, examined from many angles. But where short stories are concerned, sometimes I’m often fine watching a reader cut themselves on the sharp edges.

 —————————————————————-

Thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks and Behind the Cut. Theme music for Behind the Cut is a tune called Reaper by Razen. Visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the music, episodes, and voice talent.

Next time, it’s the post-apocalyptic corporate office story I’ve talked about for over a year. At this point, it might be built up so much for some that it can’t live up to their expectations. But if I didn’t release it, the Dungeon Master in our Dungeons and Dragons campaign—who’s been patiently waiting over a year for this one—would probably kill my character at this point, so it’s in my best interests to FINALLY finish and release it.

HOWEVER…some other writing stuff is going on behind the scenes that could possibly affect the release of “Alive in HQ,” so we’ll see…

Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!

[Listen]

I want to make one thing perfectly clear: this show is not about lumberjacks…

My name is Christopher Gronlund, and every month I share a story. Sometimes the stories contain truths, but most of the time, they’re made up. Sometimes the stories are funny — other times they’re serious. But you have my word about one thing: I will never — EVER — share a story about lumberjacks.

This time, after the success of sharing a handful of stories last Christmas, it’s another multi-tale episode…two of which, are seasonally themed.

All right–let’s get to work…

THE CROCK

The first private words my mother-in-law, Rosalie, ever said to me were, “You’re not good enough for my son, and you never will be.”

In front of others, she smiled and praised me, but the moment she got me alone she became such a witch. She hated that I made more money than Anthony—going as far as saying, once, that I might as well neuter him for real. (She believed I needed to be at home cooking and dropping a steady stream of children while Anthony provided for us—not running my own software company.)

And I understand things were different when Rosalie was younger, but by the time one reaches a certain level of adulthood, they should know when to keep their mouth shut—no matter how much they want to say something snarky. Despite her constant criticisms, I still tried being the better person and giving her a chance in the hope we’d one day find we had something in common.

---

Months into my relationship with Anthony, when things were getting serious, we had Rosalie over for dinner as a peace offering. Maybe I was showing off a bit by making rack of lamb, but I hoped I’d win her over with my foodie skills.

I realized there was no winning with her, however, when she raised her fork to her lips. I knew she wanted to tell me I was a horrible a cook, even though it was clear she was surprised by how great dinner tasted.

“What do you think?” I said to her.

“It’s…palatable I suppose.”

Anthony shifted in his chair when I looked at him and said, “What do you think, dear?”

“It’s…good.”

“Just good?” I said. “Funny, when I was prepping this dinner, you told me I’m a better cook than your mother.”

I expected Rosalie to confront Anthony, but instead she remained silent and gave me the evil eye.

---

For our wedding, Rosalie gave us a Crock Pot and a card that read, “It’s hard to ruin a meal using one of these.”

I wanted to reply, “You must use one all the time, then,” but I knew that’s what she wanted. I sent a thank you card and stored the Crock Pot away in the garage.

---

That summer, when we received an invitation to the family reunion, Rosalie wrote, “We’re having a pot luck, and I do hope to see the Crock Pot I bought for your wedding.”

Anthony begged me to keep the peace and do as I was asked, so I went to the garage and finally dragged it out. As I cleaned Crock Pot before making chili, I noticed what Rosalie had done…

---

Anthony comes from a large family, and the annual family reunion is a major affair. Held on the grounds of a successful uncle’s small estate, hints of the family’s humble roots are evident: picnic tables covered with plastic, disposable plates and eating utensils, and dingy Igloo and Coleman coolers—probably older than half of those in attendance—holding cheap canned beer.

When Anthony and I arrived, Rosalie seemed genuinely surprised when I set the Crock Pot down on the picnic table with all the other dishes. In no time, praise went up for my chili—to the point the pot was the first to be emptied. Family members demanded I bring more next time. From the corner of my eye, I caught Rosalie scowling. Her plan had failed.

The rest of the afternoon Rosalie lingered nearby, perhaps hoping to hear how I thwarted her. Maybe she wanted to come right out and ask, but she never did. After letting her twist all afternoon, I finally approached her.

“Rosalie!” I said. “Thank you so much for the Crock Pot. It works like magic.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Drop the act and tell me how you pulled that off.”

I smiled.

“The old soured pot? Really? I expected much more than basic kitchen witchery from you—such an easy spell to reverse. I respect the old ways, but they are quite easy to detect with newer magic.”

---

I won’t say Rosalie and I have become great friends since that day at the family reunion, but we’re getting there. We share our secrets and make Anthony nervous with our whispering. We share cooking secrets as well—we have even discussed having a mother/daughter-in-law long weekend getaway.

It’s funny how quickly things can change when you find you have something in common with another person…

GREETINGS

On December 17th, the week before Christmas, a long-term production I was on ended. Happy holidays, Merry Christmas, and all that, right? I was out a job during a time when all my office working friends were using time off they didn’t take during the year. Use it or lose it, and many friends—workaholics that they are—would lose time again. So really, I can’t complain. My husband has a good job, and I socked away a decent chunk of money because that’s the way my industry works. One day you’re on set, putting cuts and bruises on a scream queen, and the next: you’re out of work.

I went through the holidays stress-free, the envy of all my friends. January…no worries I wasn’t working. February, March, and into April: I still had money. But as spring turned to summer, I began to get nervous. I needed a job, and a make-up artist for low-budget horror flicks only carries one so far.

That’s when Kurt said, “You know what would be funny? If you used your makeup skills to look like an old man, and…you tried getting a job as a BigboxMart greeter.”

Sure, we were drinking pomegranate gin fizzes at the time, and perhaps we were a little beyond tipsy, but there was something appealing about the idea. Were my F/X makeup skills, and the little acting I’ve done, good enough that I could pull off some Depends-wearing old guy sitting on a stool at BigboxMart welcoming shoppers to the store? I aimed to find out.

The following morning I figured, if nothing else, doing an old man application and inquiring about a job would be funny enough. (Sobriety has a strange way of bringing clarity to what sounded brilliant the night before.) By the time I was done, I looked like a 75-year-old version of myself. It was off to the store.

---

I puttered along, nice and slow, and approached the self check-out attendant.

“I’d like to speak with a manager,” I said to a 20-something guy paying more attention to his phone than customers in need of assistance.

“I was just checking a message,” he said. He shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Oh, no—not that,” I said. “I’d like to inquire about a job.”

“Ah, one moment.”

The kid with the phone seemed happy to wander off. He returned with a very round, middle-aged woman with a vast grin showing off the whitest teeth I’d ever seen.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“Yes,” I said in the old man voice I practiced on the drive over. “My name is Jeremy Howie. I have a little free time during my day, and wondered if you were hiring any greeters?”

The stool at the front of the store was occupied by an old man flip-flopping between scrutinizing young people leaving the store and trying to stay awake. Clearly, they already had their man.

I was taken aback when the woman with the Cheshire grin said, “This is your lucky day, Mr. Howie. We’re in need of an afternoon greeter.”

It turns out there’s a pretty high turnover rate for the position. Not because they are poor employees, but…well, there’s no nice way to say this: they tend to die.

“My name’s Susan,” she said. “Let’s go get you an application…”

---

I went through with it. I figured why the hell not? It was something to do until something else came along. And when nothing else came along, I found myself actually enjoying the job.

Each day I refined the character, imagining what I’d be like in my 70s. I said and did things only old people seemed to get away with. I made up stories about years before me I had yet to live in real life. And I greeted and said goodbye to everyone coming and going like nobody ever had before. I was loved more than I ever felt at any other job. I’d be lying if I said, in some ways, that it wasn’t the best job I’d ever had.

And then two things happened. Around Christmas—almost a year to the day I last worked on a movie—I got a call about a production starting up in January in need of my skills. That same day, the local NBC affiliate sent a news crew to BigboxMart to do a human-interest piece on the jolliest greeter in the city.

---

That night while watching my spot on the evening news, Kurt said, “So what are you going to do?”
I took a sip of my gimlet and said, “I can’t pass up the movie.”

“You’re going to break everyone’s heart at the store.”

“I know.” I watched news footage of me interacting with customers who came in gloomy and left with smiles bigger than Susan’s, all because I hammed it up and paid them attention.

“Are you going to come clean?” Kurt said.

“I can’t do that.”

“Then what?”

I gave it some thought and began to laugh. I couldn’t stop laughing.

“What?” Kurt said.

“I have the best idea…”

---

I’d like the record to show that making decisions while drinking gin is not in one’s best interests. I strolled into BigboxMart the next morning, sans makeup, hoping I could pull it off. I asked to speak with a manager.

A few minutes later, Susan approached and said, “How can I help you, sir?”

Any fear I had that she’d recognize me was gone.

“Hello. My name is Jeremy Howie Jr. My grandpa Jeremy works here as a greeter.”

“Oh, I see the resemblance,” Susan said. “It’s uncanny how much you look like him.”

“I hear that a lot,” I said. And then: “I…uhm…”

“Yes?” There was something about the shift in Susan’s face that made me feel like the worst human being on the planet. I could try blaming the gin the night before, but maybe I really was the worst. She must have known what was coming next, because she covered her mouth in shock.

“I don’t know how to say this, but…he passed away last night.” I added, “In his sleep,” in the hope of absolving myself of an eternity in Hell.

She hugged me and began to tremble. She was crying right there at the front of the store. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “He is—was…such a special soul of a man.”

When she finally let go and pulled back, her face was so red and swollen that it looked like she’d been stung by bees.

“I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I just thought you should know why he’d not be in today.”

I was sorry…sorry I thought what seemed funny the night before turned out to be such a terrible idea.

Susan took my hand in her left palm and patted it. “We’ll mail his last check.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Will you be okay?”

“I don’t know,” I said. It was the most honest thing I said all morning.

As I walked off, Susan called after me. “You’ll let us know about his funeral, right?”

Oh, shit.

---

When I told Kurt I planned to never go back to BigboxMart, he said, “They have what they believe is Old Man Jeremy’s address. They could just show up.”

“Fuck, you’re right.”

“Or you could…”

“Could what?” I said.

“Give him a funeral.”

I looked at the martini in my hand and said, “We need to stop drinking gin.”

“Hear me out,” Kurt said. “I have a friend who owns a beautiful old building people use for weddings, bar mitzvahs, team-building meetings, and family reunions. Even a few funerals.”

“Go on…”

“He owes me a favor.”

One of the many things I love about Kurt is that he knows everyone. And some of those everyones owe him things.

“I’ll give him a call tomorrow, and you can get back to what you do best.”

I raised my martini. “To the memory of Jeremy Howie the First.”

---

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house by the time I finished my eulogy for the corpse prop I made of Old Man Howie resting peacefully in a rented casket.

“I love that you all loved my grandfather as much as he loved you,” I said.

At the back of the room, Kurt moved to a corner to contain his laughter. As I wrapped up the service, Susan had my dear husband smothered in a tight hug against her ample bosom, reassuring him that everything would be all right.

---

I feel bad about what I did, but at the same time, at least for a handful of months, something I created made others happy. My former coworkers gained and lost a friend. People stressed out from the holidays watched a news spot that maybe renewed their hope and joy in the season. Perhaps I won’t go to Hell after all.

I didn’t drink gin on New Year’s Eve. Kurt and I spent a quiet night in, knowing I’d soon be on set up in Vancouver. It will be weird returning to a movie after being away for over a year. I might even be a little nervous were it not for one thing: if I bomb out on set, there are plenty of other BigboxMarts in the area in need of old greeters.

NAUGHTY

Bobby Johnson’s mother caught him in her bedroom closet, carefully unwrapping his Christmas gifts days before going beneath the tree.

“Bobby, what are you doing?” she said.

“Fuck you, Mom!”

Deidre Johnson went to get her husband, Ted. From the hallway, Bobby heard his parents talking.

“We can just let him do it,” Ted said. “He knows what he’s getting, now…”
Bobby’s father feared his son ever since the night he tried grounding Bobby and Bobby stabbed him in the arm with a letter opener in his sleep.

“I hear you out there!” Bobby said.

Ted entered the bedroom, but stood back from the closet.

“Heya, pal. Your mom and I work hard to give you things, and part of the joy of the season is seeing you unwrap gifts on Christmas morning and being surprised. Santa Claus has yet to bring his gift for you. If you don’t behave, he might skip our house.”

“Fuck Santa Claus!” Bobby said. “I’ll show that bitch!”

Bobby Johnson was a very naughty boy.

---

On Christmas Eve, Bobby camped out beneath the Christmas tree with his trusty letter opener. If Santa didn’t deliver the videogame system Bobby wanted more than anything, there’d be hell to pay.

Sometime after midnight, Bobby felt the letter opener slide from his hand. In that state between dreaming and the waking world, he smelled lingering cigar smoke. He looked up to see Santa Claus…only it wasn’t the Santa Claus Bobby expected.

He looked like a homeless Santa Bobby once saw downtown. With a grizzled beard and a cigar plugged between his teeth, this Santa Claus held the letter opener in his right hand. Tattooed across the knuckles: P-A-I-N – and across the knuckles on his left: M-O-J-O.
Bobby wondered if the letter opener being held by the PAIN hand meant something bad was about to happen.

“Santa?” he said.

“Think of me as Not-Santa, Bobby. You know how your parents tell you mall Santas are Santa’s helpers? Well, I’m one of them, but my job is to deal with shitty little naughty boys like you. My brother is the real Santa Claus, and he got tired of keeping two lists and taking shit from kids like you. So, when I got out of prison, to keep me on the straight and narrow, he put me in charge of the naughty ones.”

“W-what are you going to do to me?” Bobby said.

Not-Santa tossed the letter opener over his shoulder and pointed at Bobby with his MOJO hand. Bobby’s head swam; when he woke up, he was lashed to the Christmas tree with strands of colorful lights. The bristly pine needles scratched his back. That’s when he saw the battery and wires.

“This’ll hurt ya, Bobby. But it won’t harm you, if you know what I mean?”

Not-Santa attached the wires to Bobby’s earlobes with clips. All it would take is touching one wire to the battery to complete the circuit.

“Now, are you ready to be a good boy?” Not-Santa said.

Struggling against the light strands, Bobby wriggled free enough to give Not-Santa the finger.

Bobby wasn’t sure if it was the electricity now coursing through his body, or the effects it had on his vision, but the Christmas tree lit up brightly when Not-Santa touched the wire to the battery. Before Bobby could yelp, the MOJO hand went over his mouth.

“You better watch out, you better not cry…” Not-Santa sang. “You better not pout, I’m telling you why…”

When he removed his MOJO hand from Bobby’s face, the naughty boy had no mouth. Tears streamed down his face when Not-Santa pinched his nose, cutting off his breathing.

“I have options, Bobby. Now…” He let go of Bobby’s nose so he could breath. “You’re gonna listen up!”

Not-Santa spent the next ten minutes telling Bobby about all the sacrifices his parents made for him. How even though he was an unplanned pregnancy, and despite an aunt’s suggestion to terminate his time in the womb, his parents went through with it. How his dad rushed through college to get a better job before Bobby’s arrival, and how his mother put in even longer hours at the crafting company she founded so they could give him all they never had.

With his MOJO hand, Not-Santa produced a diary Bobby had never found when rummaging through his parents’ bedroom, looking for things. It was a journal in which Ted and Deidre shared their dreams. Gone were hopes of world travel and so many other wants. But in their place, new entries about how much fun it would be to one day share the world with their new child and all the other things his life would bring.

Bobby had no idea his mother had her thyroid gland removed during a cancer scare, but still tended to her son’s well-being while his father finished school. So many other tales about his parents’ love for him he never knew.

“Look,” Not-Santa said. “I know I’m laying it on thick. It’s a sainted Catholic thing, ya know? But there’s a lotta truth to it all. Most kids would give up so much to have parents like yours, and you shit all over them every god-damned day. If I called the shots, I’d grab your nose and never let go. But my brother gave me the power to make shitty little skags like you a deal.

“You’ve got two choices, kid: the big gift Santa was going to give you, even though you don’t deserve it…or you and me? We’re gonna sit down and spend the next couple hours making something for your folks.

“You get to live no matter what. I’m allowed to scare you, but I signed a contract saying I’d not leave behind any lasting damage. Once I make the offer, you’re free to go, and I can do nothing more.

“So, Bobby Johnson…what’s it gonna be…?”

---

Bobby woke up beneath the tree on Christmas morning when his parents came downstairs.

“Merry Christmas!” his mother said.

His father cocked his head. “Does anyone else smell cigars?” He looked at Bobby. Given some of the things he’d done, taking up cigar smoking at seven years old would not be beyond a possibility. His mother took a deep whiff.

“Yes, I do.”

They dropped the matter, though, when Bobby shouted, “Merry Christmas!” and ran up to his parents, hugging each around a leg. For a moment, they seemed to wait to see what Bobby’s game was, but when it was clear to Ted that his son was showing genuine affection, his picked him up and smothered Bobby in a hug-sandwich with Deidre.

In no time, the air in the living room became a blur of color as wrapping was shredded from presents. When Ted had handed out all the gifts, he said, “What’s this?”

“I don’t know,” Deidre said.

Beneath the tree was a package neither had purchased. The tag read “From: Santa Claus and his Brother. To: Bobby and his Parents.”

Inside the box were two wrapped gifts. When Bobby opened the one marked for him, he ran around the living room shouting with glee. He’d finally received the videogame console he wanted more than anything.

Ted pulled the other gift from the box and said, “Who’s Not-Santa?” He held it at arm’s length, like it was a bomb about to go off. Seeing how happy Bobby was, Deidre didn’t care. She charged over and ripped the paper off the box, revealing a bottle of Dom Pérignon. Stuck to the box, a note reading: You two have more than earned this. Cheers!

Ted and Deidre Johnson stared at each other, mouths agape. Before they could further question what was going on, Bobby jumped up and down and said, “Now it’s time for me to give you my gift!”

Any onlooker who knew Bobby might have thought, “Ah-ha! He’s about to do the shittiest thing he’s ever done, right here on Christmas morning. This was all a ruse!”

But instead, he reached behind the back of the tree and handed his parents a macaroni drawing of him and a cigar-smoking, rough-and-tumble-looking Santa Claus. Written beneath the drawing, in red and green crayon: Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad. I love you. Bobby…

When his parents finally stopped crying, Ted smiled and said, “How about I make you both the best breakfast you’ve ever had? And then we can set up your game—how’s that sound?”

The Johnsons kicked their way through piles of wrapping paper on their way to the kitchen. Maybe being taken off the naughty list and placed on the good one wouldn’t be so bad after all…

---

A big thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks. All music by Ergo Phizmiz and Chad Crouch, also known as Poddington Bear. Visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the show, the voice talent, and music.

Next time, I should finally get to that post-apocalyptic office tale I’ve teased for almost a year. But with a finished novel and some busy time ahead…it might be a story about a kid who makes a monster in his bathtub. We’ll see…

Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!

[Listen Here]

I want to make one thing perfectly clear: this show is not about lumberjacks…

My name is Christopher Gronlund, and every month I share a story. Sometimes the stories contain truths, but most of the time, they’re made up. Sometimes the stories are funny — other times they’re serious. But you have my word about one thing: I will never — EVER — share a story about lumberjacks.

This time, in honor of a new year of the show, it’s a one-shot audiodrama that I SWEAR has NOTHING to do with lumberjacks.

Oh, and a word of warning for anybody driving: this episode, near the end, does contain the sound of police sirens. So it’s not you or an emergency or anything like that. It’s just the show.

All right–let’s get to work…

* * *

Waking the Lumberjack…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
We all have families, whether we want ‘em or not, and dysfunction is the glue that holds most of them together. You can spend a lifetime trying to get unstuck from it all, and still go to the grave sticky. For most of us, it’s not even worth the fight.

Some families only operate on dysfunction and fight. And I’m gonna tell y’all a tale about one: the Mighty Howes. Maybe you heard of them? Big Papa Howe, Heavyweight Champion all across Canada? He reigned supreme over Stampede Wrestling, the International Wrestling Alliance, the International Wrestling Association, and of course, Maple Leaf Wrestling. When he owned all the titles a wrassler can own up in Canada, he stormed into America like a Blue Norther, claiming titles from coast to coast.

Only two things ever slowed Big Papa Howe down: his two boys, Big Mike and Little Mike, and Big Rick Coaster.

Ah, now you remember: the epic, house-rattlin’ battles between Big Papa Howe, the Ontario Lumberjack, and Big Rick Coaster, the Bad Boy from Boston.

I’ll let’cha in on a little secret about wrasslin’: a lotta them fellers hating each other inside of the squared circle are like brothers on the outside. But make no mistake: the hatred between Big Papa Howe and Big Rick Coaster was real.

D’Ah, It’s all coming back now, isn’t it? The Loser Quits Wrasslin’ Ontario League Wrestling Heavyweight Title Challenge: The day the two got so sick and tired of each other that they agreed to a perpetual-if-needed, falls count anywhere match with no time limit. Neither of them ever pinned the other…it’s been going on for decades. If they live to be a hundred, one can pin the other and claim the title, burying the other in the pages of history.

It was a big thing back in the day, and then it faded away, lost in the hubbub of that Kardashians show and all that the Netflixes had to offer.

But maybe you’re like me and still wonder about them…if one of them will ever storm into a hospital during the birth of the other’s great-grandchild and pin them, one-two-three, finally claiming the title neither has yet to win! Well, I hate to burst yer bubble with some bad news, but Big Papa Howe is dead.

The best we have now is checking in on his boys, who just-so-happen to be on their way to the funeral…

INT. CAR – DAY

Two brothers, BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE drive to their father’s funeral. BIG MIKE is at the wheel.

BIG MIKE
I still can’t believe he’s gone.

LITTLE MIKE
I know. I figured we’d end up dead before him. Me, at least.

BIG MIKE
Why you?

LITTLE MIKE
Juice. Not all of us are as built as naturally as you. That shit catches up with a body.

BIG MIKE
Yeah…I’m kinda surprised you’re alive. Glad, but surprised.

LITTLE MIKE
I don’t regret it, but I figured it would have caught up to me by now. So many of us are gone.

BIG MIKE
Yeah…
(beat)
I wonder if Mom will be there.

LITTLE MIKE
Dunno. I doubt it. He was a great father, but a shitty husband.

BIG MIKE
I think she’ll be there. Hope so, at least — I’ve not seen her for a while.
(beat)
You really think Dad was a great father?

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Why? Don’t you?

BIG MIKE
I don’t know if I’d go as far as great. I mean, he taught us everything he knew. He was good to us. But he was never really there for Mom.

LITTLE MIKE
That’s why I said he was a great father, but a shitty husband. Mom knew what she was getting into when she married him.
(beat)
I’m hungry. Stop at the next Timmies, eh?

INT. TIMMIES – DAY.

The door DINGS as BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE enter.

LITTLE MIKE
Timbits. I want some motherfuckin’ timbits…

They make their way to the coffee station.

WRESTLING FAN
Uhm…Excuse me. I hate to bother you two. Aren’t you the Flying Lumberjacks?

BIG MIKE
We are, yes.

WRESTLING FAN
What are you doing in town?

LITTLE MIKE
Going to our father’s funeral.

WRESTLING FAN
Oh. Oh, no…I didn’t know. I’m sorry. My condolences.

BIG MIKE
It’s okay. What can we do for you?

WRESTLING FAN
I was gonna ask for your autographs, but no worries.

BIG MIKE
You didn’t know; it’s fine.
(beat)
Do you have a pen?

WRESTLING FAN
I…don’t. Sorry.

BIG MIKE
I don’t either. I can go get one.

WRESTLING FAN
No, really, that’s fine. I don’t want to bother you. Especially, considering…

BIG MIKE
Do you have a phone? We can at least all take a selfie together.

WRESTLING FAN
I do. Have a phone. One second…

BIG MIKE
(whispers to LITTLE MIKE)
Pst, Mike…

LITTLE MIKE
Oh. Okay.

WRESTLING FAN
Hi.

LITTLE MIKE
Hi.

WRESTLING FAN
Let me just…uh…

WRESTLING FAN snaps a photo.

BIG MIKE
That work for ya?

WRESTLING FAN
Yes, thank you. And sorry again. About your father.

BIG MIKE
Thank you.

LITTLE MIKE POURS COFFEE.

BIG MIKE
Thought you were getting Timbits with your coffee?

LITTLE MIKE
I am. And maybe some snacks that travel well for the road.

A man from the coffee station approaches.

COFFEE MAN
I never liked you two.

BIG MIKE
Excuse me?

COFFEE MAN
The Flying Lumberjacks. You guys are lame.

BIG MIKE
We’re all entitled to our opinions. I’d chat, but we’re on our way to our father’s funeral.

COFFEE MAN
Oh, I heard.

LITTLE MIKE
You heard about our father and you still came up to tell us we suck? What kind of shitty person does that? What, did Twitter ban you and you needed a troll fix?

BIG MIKE
Calm down…

LITTLE MIKE
No, I’m not calming down. This guy knows we’re beat up and on the way to see our dead father in a box, and he tries picking a fight?

COFFEE MAN
Eh, listen to your brother, Mikey. You don’t want any of this.

LITTLE MIKE takes several quick steps toward COFFEE MAN.

COFFEE MAN picks up an INFLATABLE Moosehead Can and hits LITTLE MIKE with it.

LITTLE MIKE
A word of advice, eh: if you’re going to pick a fight with a wrestler, grab something better than an inflatable Moosehead can display that won’t even hurt a four-year-old. You have bottles and hot coffee within reach, and you act like you’re starting a pillow fight.

BIG MIKE
Don’t react. This is what he wants.

LITTLE MIKE
You’re right, you’re right. Okay…

LITTLE MIKE walks off in a huff.

COFFEE MAN
Eh, I’m glad your dad is dead.

LITTLE MIKE
What did you just say?!

BIG MIKE holds back LITTLE MIKE.

BIG MIKE
Hey, hey…let it go. You’re not going to do Dad any favors by getting locked up and missing the funeral. He has to live with who he is. Don’t remember this asshole — remember the other guy who wanted our autographs.

LITTLE MIKE
You’re lucky, you fuck.

COFFEE MAN throws the inflatable Molson can at LITTLE MIKE.

LITTLE MIKE
Oh, yeah, throw the inflatable Moosehead can, big man…
(beat)
I’m suddenly not hungry anymore…

EXT. TIMMIES – DAY.

With a DING, the Howe Brothers leave Timmies.

LITTLE MIKE makes a bee line for a truck.

BIG MIKE
Hey, car’s over there…

LITTLE MIKE HITS and RIPS the SIDE MIRROR off a pickup truck, tossing it to the ground.

BIG MIKE
What the hell are you doing?

LITTLE MIKE
Eh, it had to be his truck. No other vehicles in the lot, ‘cept our car.

LITTLE MIKE walks to the car, opens the door, and climbs inside.

LITTLE MIKE
You coming?

BIG MIKE
(sighs)

BIG MIKE walks to the car, opens the door, gets inside, and starts the engine.

INT. CAR – DAY

Back in the car, the Howe brothers continue their drive.

BIG MIKE
I still can’t believe you ripped the mirror off that guy’s truck.

LITTLE MIKE
He’s lucky that’s all I broke.

BIG MIKE
I know. I wanted to go at him, too.
(beat)
But like Dad always said, people will try getting a rise out of us, hoping for a lawsuit. He prepared us for that kind of thing.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah, you’re right. I still wanted to bust that guy, though. Smash him all over the coffee station, eh?

BIG MIKE
I know, I know — me, too. But we’d have looked bad. People like Canadians. We’re wholesome. Even though you’re Chicago dirt with a bad accent.

LITTLE MIKE
I was made in Canada. I just came out in Chicago. You’re lucky you’re driving until I calm down, or I’d bust your rack.

They drive along, enjoying a moment of silence.

BIG MIKE
Want to listen to some music?

LITTLE MIKE
No.

BIG MIKE
How about a podcast?

LITTLE MIKE
I don’t get why you like those things so much.

BIG MIKE
It’s something different. There’s one called The End of Time and Other Bothers you might like. I hear the guy who plays that Eggerton fella is pretty swell.

LITTLE MIKE
I don’t like podcasts. Weird people make podcasts.

BIG MIKE
We dress up like lumberjacks and fight people in spandex. Don’tcha think that’s a bit weird?

LITTLE MIKE
No.

BIG MIKE
Gotcha. So…no podcasts, then?

LITTLE MIKE
I said no!

BIG MIKE
All right, all right. No music — no podcasts. Anything you want to chat about?

LITTLE MIKE
How about this: my big brother never shuts up. If I saw a shrink, that’s what I’d tell ‘em, eh. “I love him to death, but he never shuts the fuck up…”

BIG MIKE
Sorry, eh.

Silence; then…

LITTLE MIKE
No, I’m sorry. I know I’m a hard person to travel with. To live with. I’m lucky. To have had Dad. To have Mom and especially you as a big brother.

BIG MIKE
(beat)
It’s weird…I feel like you’re the big one, and I’m the little brother.

LITTLE MIKE
I know. Me, too…

Little Mike takes a deep breath.

LITTLE MIKE
I’m glad you’re here for this. I don’t think I could do it without you.

The sound of TIRES ON GRAVEL coming to a STOP.

INT. GYM – DAY.

BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE enter the gym where their father’s funeral is taking place.

RANDOM WRESTLER
The Mikes are here!

LITTLE MIKE
Hey, guys.

The brothers head over to their MOM as others pat them on their shoulders and offer condolences.

WRESTLER 1
I’m so sorry, guys.

BIG MIKE
Thank you.

WRESTLER 2
He was the greatest…

LITTLE MIKE
We appreciate that.

WRESTLER 3
He’ll be missed.

MIKES
He will. Thanks.

BIG MIKE
Mom!

MOM HUGS and KISSES BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE.

MOM
I was worried about you two.

LITTLE MIKE
You know how slow Big Mike drives.

BIG MIKE
Well, if someone hadn’t needed a rage cool-down, he could have driven.

MOM
Oh. What happened?

LITTLE MIKE
Nothing. It’s behind us. I just got a little worked up about something. The important thing is we’re here, now.

BIG MIKE
So…there he is…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Now let me set the scene for y’all. Big Papa Howe owned a gym out in the sticks west of Nestor Falls, Ontario. So many wrasslers came up under his guidance. Some always questioned why he didn’t set up in a more populated place, but Big Papa Howe said, “If they come out this far, I know they’re serious about learning.”
(beat)
Now, in that very gym…in the middle of the practice ring, his casket rests.

BIG MIKE
Well, I guess we better pay our respects.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah…

INT. WRESTLING RING – DAY.

BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE approach the casket.

BIG MIKE
Hi, Dad.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah, hi.

BIG MIKE
Sorry we didn’t make it to the hospital, but you know how it is out on the road.
(beat)
I’m gonna miss you.

BIG MIKE breaks down crying.

LITTLE MIKE joins in.

They sniffle and regain their composure.

BIG MIKE
Ah, sorry about that.

LITTLE MIKE
No worries, eh. He was an incredible man.
(beat; chuckling)

BIG MIKE
What’s so funny?

LITTLE MIKE
Just…how big that nose of his was.

BIG MIKE
No shit.

LITTLE MIKE
It’s like a sail. You could cross an ocean in his casket with that thing, eh.

BIG MIKE
He used to say he wanted a Viking funeral.

LITTLE MIKE
I thought about that. Putting him in a boat and pushing it out on Clarkson Lake. Our luck, though, he’d float out of range before we could hit it with a flaming arrow. He floats away, and someone finds his body. Stuffs and mounts it and sells admission to see him as a roadside attraction up in Sioux Narrows or something.

MIKES
(laughing)
(beat)

FATHER KUPFER
Boys, I’m ready to begin the service.

They exit the ring.

INT. GYM – DAY.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Some might say it was a strange place for a funeral service, but those in attendance saw a beautiful send-off for a man like a father to more than just his two boys.

FATHER KUPFER
Big Papa Howe was a friend, a mentor — a man who never knew a stranger.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
If he was looking down, I’m sure he was happy to see everybody gathered together in remembrance of all he did in life.

FATHER KUPFER
He lives on in his two sons, Big Mike and Little Mike.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
So many livelihoods started in that old gym in the north woods.

FATHER KUPFER
And our hearts are with Amelia, Big Papa Howe’s wife of 52 years.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
And it was a perfect service, until–

The front doors FLY OPEN as BIG RICK COASTER, his two sons, BIG RICK and LITTLE RICK (THE BOSTON BRAWLERS), and a REF carrying a belt storm in.

BIG RICK COASTER
Aaaaayyyy, I’ve come to pin the old man before he goes under for good!

NARRATOR (V.O.)
I have a bit of a confession: I never liked Big Rick Coaster or the Boston Brawlers, not even on account that they are Yankees.
(beat)
But on account that they are just genuinely shitty people.

BIG RICK COASTER
By the rules agreed upon by both of us in 1987, this match will finally come to an end. I have with me a certified referee and the Ontario League Wrestling Heavyweight Championship belt. Now, if you’ll kindly step aside, I have business to attend to.

LITTLE MIKE
Like hell you do!

NARRATOR (V.O.)
This was an even more low-down attack by Big Rick Coaster than the infamous Longo’s incident of 1989, when he and his boys brought a ref into the store and brutalized Big Papa Howe in the condiment aisle as he shopped for Canada Day goodies.

S/FX
Fighting – Breaking jars.

VOICE OVER PA
Wet clean-up on aisle four…

FATHER KUPFER
How dare you interrupt this service, Richard.

BIG RICK COASTER
I’m sorry, Father, but if roles were reversed, I’m sure they’d do the same to me.

LITTLE MIKE
That’s bullshit, Coaster, and you know it!

FATHER KUPFER
Please, Michael…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
This was shaping up to be as bad as the Sizzler incident of 1994, when the boys from Boston attacked Big Papa Howe while eating dinner. The battle spilled into the kitchen, and it was only when Big Papa Howe pressed Big Rick Coasters cheek to the grill that he was able to escape unpinned through the back door.

FATHER KUPFER
Let’s all let cooler heads prevail…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
I’ve never been one to watch ice hockey like they do up in Canada, but I know enough about the sport to know that sometimes games develop in such a manner that tension turns into cheap shots that leave people hurt.
(beat)
Sometimes when things swell to the point of seeming like it’s all ready to explode, a fight can release that tension.
(beat)
Amelia Howe must be quite a hockey fan because she released the tension in the room by charging up behind Big Rick Coaster and splitting the back of his head wide open with a chair.
(beat)
After a brief moment of silence, all hell broke loose…
(beat)
The Boston Brawlers instantly squared off with Big Mike and Little Mike, chuckin’ knuckles and trading chops.
(beat)
It freed up Big Rick Coaster, who made a beeline for the ring with the ref.
(beat)
Before long, the battle between the Flying Lumberjacks and the Boston Brawlers made its way into the ring.
(beat)
And that’s when it happened…
(beat)
In the scuffle beside the casket, the Boston Brawlers were knocked out of commission by a pile driver and a DDT from Big Papa Howe’s boys.
(beat)
When Big Rick Coaster turned to see his sons dropped, he was met in the face by another chair hit from Amelia Howe, dropping him flat on his old back.
(beat)
When Big Mike Howe stood up, he bumped the table holding his father’s casket. It seemed to happen in slow motion time: everybody reaching for the sliding coffin, but unable to stop it from toppling to the mat.
(beat)
It was a horrifying scene as the body of Big Papa Howe spilled from from the casket, but what seemed like the most terrible thing anyone present had ever seen turned out to be a glorious sight.
(beat)
Big Papa Howe’s right arm wasn’t so stiff that it couldn’t flop over onto the chest of Big Rick Coaster.
(beat)
The ref dropped to the mat and counted the fall — ONE, TWO, THREE!
(beat)
Father Kupfer sounded the bell, and the attendees erupted into celebration…they’d just witnessed Big Papa Howe winning the Ontario League Wrestling Heavyweight title!

SIRENS roar in the distance.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
The sound of police sirens was enough to rouse the stunned Bostonites, who — realizing they’d been defeated — fled before matters got even worse for ‘em.
(beat)
The referee stayed behind, being extra careful as he raised Big Papa Howe’s arm in victory.

INT. GYM – DAY.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Once the police had come and gone (they agreed not to pursue the Bad Boys from Boston on account of Big Rick Coaster losing what he came for being worse than any punishment the law can dole out), Big Mike and Little Mike paid final respects to their father.

BIG MIKE
That belt looks good one him, eh?

LITTLE MIKE
Indeed.
(beat; snickers)

BIG MIKE
What?

LITTLE MIKE
Maybe it happened when he rolled out of the casket, but is it just me, or does it look like he’s smiling just a bit?

BIG MIKE
It sure does…
(beat)
Well, we better get going.
(beat)
Bye, Dad.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. Bye, you badass son of a bitch.

BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE make their way to their MOM.

BIG MIKE
We need to get going if we’re gonna make tonight’s match over in Winnipeg.

MOM
I really wish you’d not push yourselves so much.

LITTLE MIKE
Dad never missed a match and neither have we.

MOM
I understand. He was a good father to you boys. A shitty husband, but a good father.

BIG MIKE
A great father.
(beat)
We’ll come back through in a couple days and stay a few.

MOM
(kisses BIG MIKE’s cheek)
I’d like that.

LITTLE MIKE
Bye, Mom.

MOM
(kisses LITTLE MIKE’S cheek)
Goodbye.
(beat)
You boys be safe, eh!

MIKES
We will.

INT. CAR – DAY.

BIG MIKE
Hell of a day, eh?

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. Crazy day.

BIG MIKE
You gonna be good for tonight’s match?

LITTLE MIKE
Always am. How ’bout you?

BIG MIKE
We’re Big Papa Howe’s boys — you tell me!

They drive along a moment; then…

LITTLE MIKE
If you want, go ahead and listen to one of your podcasts.

BIG MIKE
You sure?

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. We have a few hours ahead of us. It will either keep me awake, or I’ll pull over, let you drive, and I’ll get some sleep.

BIG MIKE
Excellent — thanks! There’s one called Not About Lumberjacks I think you’ll love…

S/FX
Show intro plays…

FADE OUT

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Well, things sure turned out all right in the end for the Mighty Howes. Even in death, Big Papa Mike Howe won a title. The boys have their Mama, and she has her boys. Not much more is needed beyond that.

Maybe I was wrong about what I said earlier, that the glue holding families together is dysfunction. Maybe that’s just an ingredient on the list. You flip the bottle over and read what’s inside: Love, Grief, Humor, Dysfunction, Memories, Secrets, Shame, Honor, and a whole buncha Unknown.

I don’t know what’s in store for the Flying Lumberjacks, but I like to think they’ll do all right in the long run. There are worse things in life than having a nemesis that makes you rise to your best; I think the Howe boys and the Coasters will eventually settle their scores. When you look at it from the right angle, humanity’s just one big, dysfunctional family trying to get along at the dinner table. I hope we do…and I hope you win whatever battles you might be fighting.

Y’all take care, now — and do your thing as best as you can…

* * *

A big thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks.

Waking the Lumberjack starred Tim Czarnecki as the Narrator.

Michael Howie as Big Mike Howe.

Me, Christopher Gronlund as Little Mike Howe…doing a really bad Canadian accent.

Rocky Westbrook as The Wrestling Fan.

Cynthia Griffith as Mama Howe.

Shawn Kupfer doubled up and played two roles: the Dicky Coffee Guy and of course, Father Kupfer.

And let’s not forget our special guest, Rick Coste as Big Rick Coaster.

Additional wrestlers and grunting provided by various talent listed above.

Theme music for Not About Lumberjacks provided by Ergo Phizmiz.

Waking the Lumberjack features the song, “Beggars and Felons,” by Power and Beauty, released under a Creative Commons license.

This episode was written and directed by me, Christopher Gronlund. A big thanks to co-producers, Rick Coste and Cynthia Griffith. Be sure to visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the show, the voice talent, and music.

In one month, because people seemed to love it last year — it’s another December of micro-fiction. Allrighty, then…

Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!

[Listen Here]

Hello, this is Christopher. Except for the time I took a bit of a hiatus and explained it, here, I’ve never used Not About Lumberjacks to update listeners about things going on with me. It’s always been stories and the Behind the Cut follow-up for the stories.

But there are some cool things going on that I thought I’d share. I’ll keep it short.

I’m mostly recording this to let everyone know that today (October 12), I’m on the ScreamQueenz podcast with Michael Howie and the show’s host, Patrick Walsh, discussing the [not-so] horror film, Dave Made a Maze. Not About Lumberjacks listeners will recognize Michael Howie as the narrator for last November’s lumberjack story that was NOT about lumberjacks, “The Hidebehind.” So why were we on the ScreamQueenz podcast?

Every October, Patrick runs a Pod-o-Thon benefitting New Alternatives NYC, which assists homeless LGBTQ+ youth. If you’re so inclined, there’s a link to the fundraiser in the notes, or you can go to fundraise.newalternativesnyc.orq/sq to donate. And if listening to three bearded guys talking about a very fun movie is your thing, go to screamqueenz.com – and that’s a z after screamqueen – or click the link in the notes. It’s a fun episode, and you don’t need to have seen the movie to enjoy it.

In other news, I’m in the process of reading the first readable draft of my novel, A Magic Life. You may recall hearing the first chapter posted on Not About Lumberjacks; if not, I’ll include a link in the notes. It’s always good when you reread something you’ve written and love it more than you expected. I look forward to passing it off to some first-line readers soon.

And while work on the novel continues, work on stories for Not About Lumberjacks rolls on…at least for the next good handful of months. Were I one inclined to call a block of episodes a season, I might go as far as saying the new season of Not About Lumberjacks is about to begin.

Later this month, it’s not a Halloween story, but it IS a story about a monster. Booger is about a kid who makes a goopy monster in his bathtub…and all the mayhem that follows.

In November, I’m not sure if it will be another one-shot audio drama like Strange Audio from a couple years ago, or just a narrated story, but I hope for a self-contained (and ridiculous) audio drama called Waking the Lumberjack. Keeping with the November tradition of stories NOT about lumberjacks in honor of the show’s anniversary, it’s an over-the-top story about tag team wrestlers attending a funeral unlike any other.

Last December’s multiple super-short short stories seemed to be a hit, so this December will see a collection of micro fiction again…including a Christmas tale of some sort.

January will FINALLY make Not About Lumberjacks listener Tim Czarnecki happy with the release of the post-apocalyptic office story I’ve been talking about for almost a year! Alive in HQ is about an office worker left to pick up the pieces at corporate headquarters following the end of the world as we know it.

I have a few other stories waiting to be recorded, and several stories in various states of progress. Off the top of my head, something that I found that’s even older than Memorial Park. It’s rather dismal. There’s an FBI procedural about a circus. And I hope you’ll understand if I go on a bit of a literary kick early next year as I shop around A Magic Life.

Wow…this ended up longer than I expected. The good thing is there’s a steady stream of Not About Lumberjacks coming. Until then, I hope you’ll consider donating to New Alternatives, and I hope all is going well with you.

As always, thank you for listening. And…

Until next time, be mighty…and keep your axes sharp!