Hooking Up In The 7/19 Night Thread

I suppose the mods may have to censor this title, but back in 2006 I wrote a short story entirely in dialogue entitled Hooking Up. No, it’s not that sort of story; it’s a pun. As you shall read.

I found it recently when I moved files between computers. I think it’s rather funny. Hope you do as well. It’s a new riff on an old campfire favorite. I tried to tell it close to the way Stephen King does in Danse Macabre.

(I did change two lines: one to remove a reference which dated the story, and another which removed an adjective which I don’t think would pass this site’s filter.)

“Man, this is choice. Nothing like a cookout with a real campfire. Pass the marshmallows, Greg.”
“Here you go. Hey, you guys, wanna hear a horror story? I know one that rocks.”
“Good deal. Go for it, man.”
“OK. So there’s this guy and his girlfriend, see? And they’re gonna go to Lover’s Lane–”
“What’s their names?’
“I dunno, Kenny. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, they’re going to Lover’s Lane to hook up, right? And they’re driving over there at night and this announcement comes on the radio–”
“Guess they weren’t listening to JACK-FM. That whole thing’s on tape. I tried to call in a request once–”
“Who cares, dumbass? You wanna hear this story or not?”
“Sorry, Greg. Go on. It’s awesome.”
“OK, yeah. So this announcement comes on the radio about this maniac who’s escaped from the Arkham Insane Asylum. They call him The Hook ‘cause he lost a hand and he’s got this big razor-sharp hook instead, and before they caught him he was going around to Lover’s Lanes and cutting the heads off all the guys and girls hooking up there. So anyway, the radio says he’s escaped–”
“They wouldn’t let him have that hook in the nuthouse, would they? Don’t you think they’d give him, like, a fake hand instead?”
“Oh, Jesus, Mike. I dunno. Maybe they did, and he stole it outta the locker there or something. You’re as bad as they are. Can’t you guys shut up and let me tell it?”
“Sure, I’ll be quiet. Go on.”
“Yeah, this rules. Umm. Great marshmallows.”
“Thanks, Eric. Um…where was I? Oh yeah. So anyway, he’s escaped and the announcer warns everyone to stay away from Lover’s Lane, ‘cause they think he’s heading back there to cut off some more heads. So the girl starts getting nervous and saying, Bob, I’m scared. Let’s go home and watch–”
“I thought you said you didn’t know their names.”
“AARGHH! It doesn’t matter! I just made that up right now. OK, so they’re Bob and Carol, OK? Now shut your faces and listen.”
“. . .Go on, Greg, what’re you waiting for?”
“I’m waiting for the next shithead to say something.”
“. . .OK, that’s more like it. So Carol says, Bob, let’s go home and watch a movie instead, ‘cause The Hook might be hanging around Lover’s Lane. And Bob says, No way, it’ll be all right, I’ll protect you, ‘cause he really wants to get it on with her, right? So they drive up there and they’re the only ones there, and they’re making out and he’s almost at second base when she hears this like rustling sound, like a branch breaking or something. So she starts crying again and begging Bob to take her home, but he’s all ready to get it on and he says no way, it’s just your imagination. So they get it on some more and they’re about to do it when she looks up and thinks she sees this face peeking in the window at them and she screams right in Bob’s ear. And he jumps up and says, What the fuck’s wrong with you? And she’s like, Jesus, Bob, he was right there looking at me, I wanna go home NOW. So he sits up and burns rubber pulling out of there, with the tires screeching and everything, pissed as hell at her. And they’re almost home–”
“If they were hooking up, wouldn’t they be in the back seat? So how could he sit up and drive home?”
“Kenny, you and Mike and Eric are gonna drive me INSANE! Can’t you listen and quit worrying about everything? Jesus sucked an egg! This blows!”
“Chill, Greg. Aw, hey, don’t go. We like the story, don’t we, guys? It rules. Come on back to the fire and finish it.”
“Yeah, Greg. It’s, like, totally incredible. Please finish it.”
“Awesome, man. Come on.”
“All RIGHT! But you guys had better not say anything else. Ooo-kkaayyy…so ANYWAY, they’re almost to her house, and when they get there he stops real quick and flings the door open and jumps out and runs around to pull her door open ‘cause he’s so mad. And then he stops and stares at the door and his eyes get big as hard-boiled eggs, and his mouth drops open and he starts making these little scared wheezing noises, and then he faints, wham, flat cold on the driveway. So she doesn’t know what’s goin’ on, and she says, Bob, what’s wrong? And then she gets out and slams the door behind her and hears this weird clinking noise. And she turns around…and there…hanging from the doorhandle…is this razor-sharp hook.”
“. . .well? Whaddya think? Is that story scary or what? I almost pissed my pants when I first heard it.”
“What kind of car was Bob driving?”
“WHAATT?? I dunno. What the hell difference does THAT make?!”
“Well, some cars’ve got those flat handles that you pull up on to get in, so there’s no way a hook could be hanging from the doorhandle. But if it was a Hyundai or a VW–”
“You are so dead, Eric.”
“AAAGGGHHH! Help me guys, help me, he’s gone nuts! AAAGGGHHH!!”