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TUCKER GOODE

Bump In The Night

Tucker Goode. Arcadia’s abstinent advocate approaches a small home, stopping out in front illuminated by a single street light. He holds a pamphlet to his chest as one would a holy book, sweating profusely as he stares down the home. With uneasy steps he approaches the home, knocking on the old wooden door and receiving no answer in return.

He pauses, gulping before twisting the knob, pushing the door open with an ominous creeeeeak that echoed through the empty home. “Hello? Is anyone here? I was informed that, um, someone here wanted to speak with me about the AAC?” Again, no response. The large man ventures further inside, the floorboards buckling slightly beneath him. He wanders into the living room, finding no sign of the occupants but for a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting empty on the table.

“W-wine? An aphrodisiac like that would- No, I shan’t.” He looks as though he wanted to hurl, picking up the bottle and inspecting it intently. However, a sound finally rumbles from deep within the house, Tucker leaping back in surprise and dropping the bottle to the floor!

Shatter!

Tucker immediately looks around himself, hyperventilating as though he’d just seen a ghost! But as we listen in we hear what shook him so profoundly.

The sounds of moaning and groaning escape from the upper floors. Mr. Goode can’t help but shudder, making a circle motion in front of himself before slashing through it, mimicking a cross out sign as he moves to the staircase. “Hello? Are… are you injured? Perhaps?” He wipes the sweat from his brow once more, walking up the staircase only to stop dead in his tracks.

Bump.

Bump.

Thump.

Our ears are assaulted by the impossibly loud sounds of two objects colliding into one another. Tucker lets out a shaky breath, finally ascending to the top floor of the home, finding himself staring down a long hallway, a salty smell creeping from deep within. Tucker smells the air, face going green as he steps forwards slowly, the thumping, bumping, moaning, and groaning getting louder and louder as he finally reaches the end. His eyes sit upon the door, gulping as he considers turning back.

But then he hears it.

OH GOD! OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK!

Tucker swallows all of his fear and kicks in the door with a thunderous smash! It practically flies off of its frame as Tucker storms in! But he stops, eyes wide at what he sees.

A man and woman in bed.

Marital aides.

Lubricant.

But not a single wedding ring in sight.

“Oh no,” Tucker backs away, tears in his eyes. “PREMARITAL SEX!

The Greater Goode turns to run at full speed, stumbling as he hits the stairs, crashing down them and landing in a heap upon the ground. He forces himself up, making a mad dash out of the home, slamming the door behind himself in fear and escaping through the level.

All the while, the sounds of moans and rhythmic bumps echo hauntingly through the level.

Tucker Goode