I now had two bone spiders. A large one from the huge fish, and the small one from the librarians desk. I realized I had never asked her name. I looked at the desk and saw her nameplate. “Collette.” The obvious thing to do was go shopping.

I needed cover, so I headed out towards the countryside to the river. There I visited the rusty van. Mosley the homeless man had what I needed; a grocery cart. I’d have taken one from another store, but they all had those devices that made the wheels lock up if they got too far away from the store. Mosley’s was taken long before that. I knocked on the side door of the van. Mosley leaped around from the side of the van and came at me with a knife. He laughed like a hyena who’d taken crazy pills.

“Come here and steal from me!” he says. “How about I steal from you instead! Give me your money!”

I said I would be keeping my money if he was going to be all threatening like. Before I could say why I was there, he attacked.

He thrust the knife but I jerked sideways and avoided the blade. He swung and I ducked. This went on for a while, him attacking, me blocking. I ended up tripping in a hole and Mosley jumped me and held a knife to my neck and took my wallet.

“Two bucks, you fought that hard for two bucks?” he says, looking in my nearly empty wallet.

“I thought you were going for the $200 in my shoe,” I says. He went for my shoe and I kicked him in the face. He staggered back into the van and he dropped his knife.

“My nose!” he said, sounding like someone had just kicked him in the face.

“Listen,” I says. “I’m going to borrow your shopping cart.”

“No, you can’t,” he tells me.

I hold my foot up to his face.

“I mean yes, you can, just don’t …”

I tip over the cart and dump everything out.

“… dump everything out.”

I pushed the cart back to town and headed to the site of the new grocery store.

I began rolling the cart through the metal framing and avoiding drying cement.

“Hey yous!” yells a voice.

A man in a construction hat comes my way.

“What are you doing?” he says.

“I’m with the grocery cart commission. I’m making sure this location obeys all the regulations for shopping carts.”

“Yeah, ok, but I mean, why aren’t you wearing a hard hat?”

“I forgot?”

“Those yahoos are supposed to give them to any visitors. Hey, shouldn’t you be escorted?” He looked at me and reached for his walky talky.

“Let me borrow your hat.” I says and I grab it from his head.

“I need that!” he says. I knock him over the head with it. He falls over and I hide him in a stack of sheet rock. Then I replace my fedora with the hard hat, wearing it just so. I kept searching the location for clues.

Clues found me when a small hoard of zombies began chasing me. I picked up a nail gun and aimed for a head.

The zombie put up his hands.

On a hunch, I asked “Did Araneae put you up to this?”

They looked at each other, then scattered. I pushed the cart towards one and knocked him over. I pinned him down the the front wheels of the cart.

“You aren’t real zombies, are you?” I says.

He shook his head.

“Tell me what is going on, or I make all these wheels wobbly by running over you repeatedly.”

The zombie took one look at the cart wheel by his face and sang.

“This guy, he calls himself Araneae, came to us and says we need to scare the people away from here. We overheard him talking to himself, he does that a lot, about making this whole town pay for what they did. I don’t know what he means, though.”

“Why are you working for him?”

He looked dumbfounded.

“I, I dunno, I thought I had too.”

“Did you want too? Why did you think you had too? How did he contact you?”

“We read about a zombie flash mob and showed up. He was there, and, he started talking, then, I can’t remember what happened next, but next thing I know, I’m door knock ditching and shambling about the city, making people think that odd things are happening. I think there are others too, doing other things.”

I ask if he’s seen lots of spiders.

“Well, Araneae likes em, so, yeah.”

“Bone ones?”

“Yeah, I see them all over. Hey, is there one one me?”

He began frantically checking his body. I took the cart off him and helped him up. There on the back of his neck was a small bone spider. Its legs dug into the skin. I pulled it free.

“Ow!” He looked around quizzically. “Where am I?”

“Do you remember what you’ve been doing recently, or where you’ve been?”

“No.” He looked at his watch. “Two weeks! I don’t remember the last two weeks!”

“You mean you can’t lead me to Araneae’s secret lair?”

“Araneae? No, I just met him, well, two weeks, I’ve gotta get outta here!”

“Wait, your other zombie friends, they are under the control of these.”

I help up the tiny spider.

“What?” He touched the back of his neck, a look of realization in his eyes. “So that’s what … lets find them!”

Stan Prolongo by David Avila is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

I sat down to put some serious effort into the clues I had. A card with the word Araneae from the late Mothman impostor and a bone spider from the back of the giant carp. I had an idea these two things were connected, although I didn’t know why. My first destination was Wikipedia, the oracle of all things fandom, with a few pages of useful facts thrown in. I looked up Araneae and found it meant spider. I looked for all kinds of information on bone spider carvings. I used Google, Bing, and even tried Wolfram Alpha. Nothing. While at Wolfram Alpha I typed in ‘Stan’ and found there was a statistical chance I was 51 years old.

Before I pounded the pavement, I still wanted something else to work with. I looked up Spiders and Visalia. I found an interesting article about the new grocery store being built. The construction site is over top a buried mausoleum. In the place of the dead rested the body of Baron von Eighlegs, a lover of spiders.

With a solid fact to work with, I headed out to the library. I looked around the city archives but anything related to the baron could not be found. Three volumes were clearly missing. I walked up to the librarian. She was a cute lady with black rimmed spectacles. I asked her about the missing volumes. She told me they were kept in a special room with the rarest texts because they contained original documents from Visalia’s history. She looked me over carefully. I started to look her over carefully, but she gave me that evil eye only librarians can give. She asked who I was and why I needed to see them.

“Stan Prolongo, private investigator,” I says. “I’m interested in learning about Baron von Eighlegs.”

She gave me another once over. “I like your new shoes.” she says. “Let me show you the books.”

She led me to a back room and unlocked the door with a large silver key. The room’s light dimly illuminated ancient books and tomes. She warned not to read just any old book. Some were dangerous. I thought she was just being silly until I heard one growl at me when I walked past. Finally I found myself at a small table with the three books. I had to wear white cloth gloves. I asked the librarian that if I wore a top hat if she would be looking for a sharp dressed man. She just gave me a sarcastic smile and told me to leave the books on the table when I left and to check out before I left. She left me alone to research.

After several hours I found that the Baron had sailed from Anansilvania to America in the late 1800s. He lived alone right on the spot where the grocery store was to be built. He was also buried there by his only son. An odd thing was, the location was also an old Indian burial mound. Disappointingly, I couldn’t find anything else of interest. Maybe I could ask the librarian for help. I left the books and went to find her. She was missing. On her desk I found a tiny spider, carved from bone.

Stan Prolongo by David Avila is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Before I did any serious research, I wanted to replace my shoes. At the I walked into the store to get a new pair. The girl behind the counter didn’t acknowledge me when I entered. Normally this bothers me, but her face looked like it was peeled right from the picture in the dictionary entry for dejected. Hoping the trail of flour on the floor wouldn’t increase her plight, I walked right up to her.

“Why the unhappy face?” I asked.

Startled, she looked at me. She said she was sorry, and that something was on her mind. I asked if I could help remove it from her brain. She looked at me all queer like for a second, then shrugged. She pulled up her left sleeve. Another sleeve lay underneath, covering her arm, but not a cloth sleeve, it was a tattoo.

“You don’t like your tattoo?” I asked.

“Don’t like it?” she said. “I didn’t even want one. I just woke up with it today!”

I asked her how much she drank last night. She glared at me, then told me she didn’t drink, even if all her other high school friends did. “Look!” she said, then pulled up her other sleeve, revealing her other arm. “I only got vandalized on one side, so now I’m …” she looked at her blank arm. “… Lopsided.”

I asked if she knew who did it. She didn’t. I told her I was a private eye, and I’d investigate for her. She said she didn’t have the money. I said she could just give me her employee discount on the shoes. She took a moment to consider, then agreed.

New shoes on my feet, I broke them in following the clues she had given me. I went to her apartment and looked for evidence outside. She didn’t want me going inside, since she really didn’t know who me, but I did what I could. I found some footprints outside a window that had been forced open. I took a digital photo of the print and went back to my office. The print looked familiar. My case notes might tell me why.

I sat in my chair and chewed on a pen as I stared at the photo. When I started tasting ink, I decided I was thinking too hard and threw away the ruined pen. It took a while, but eventually it pulled a memory out of the depths of my mind. A kid stabbed a gentleman and ran from the law. The movie Dead End. I’d watched it at Visalia Theater. Many people have scoffed at my filing system of envelopes, boxes, and old movie ticket stubs. I always remember the past by what movies I was watching on the silver screen. I found the right box and there it was, a photo of a shoe print made of paint. Taking the old photo with me, I walked out into the streets to find the villain of this tale of ink and home invasion.

As I pulled Tommy Allen by his arm to the shoe store, I explained to him than when I told him to stop graffiting the buildings, that I didn’t mean he should graffiti something else. He told me he had seen Miami Ink and It Takes a Thief on the television box and couldn’t help himself. When we got in the store, I made him apologize. He looked pretty pitiful apologizing on his knees and explaining how to better secure her apartment against intruders. She looked at her arm and decided she actually kind of liked it, but wanted the other arm done too to make up for it. Tommy obliged and promised never to break into a home or tattoo people while they slept again.

Stan Prolongo by David Avila is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

RoneyZone Productions have taken you to many places in our audio productions, but we now take you back in time to the days of the Bible. Jeff always had the idea to bring some of the incredible stories of the Bible to life, as if they were lived by real people. This is not just a “read the lines from the Bible,” project. This is as if a Hollywood producer/director of films today would sit down and bring the characters and situations to life, even if some of the characters weren’t specifically mentioned in the story. We keep the intent of the story and translate it into a story as if you were taken back to the time, and listen to it unfold before you.

Cast:
Hosea (The Prophet) – David Ault
Gomer (The Prostitute) – Ara Pelodi
Shopkeeper and other various voices – Jeff Roney
Priest – Dave Avila
Marcus – Nathan P. Butler
Hosea and Gomer’s children – Abigail and Sophie Avila

Many times I heard from people that they weren’t interested in doing “a Bible story” production. Obviously, if that feeling is a religious or anti-religious decision, you are free to make those decisions. However, if it because you are wary of the quality of the final product (because of bad religious audio projects in the past), I hope you see that when RZP does a production, we do our best, to make it the best. The only way we can get better, is to get a larger and more diverse group working on these projects.

I DO NOT exclude anyone from working on my projects based on their religious beliefs or non-beliefs. I am committed to the project, and as long as we can agree on that, then I think we both can work together to make it the best possible.

I understand this is a radical idea – people who don’t agree ideologically working on a project that some don’t agree with, but I want the best, and I need everyone who feels the same way. The sad thing is that even people who are Christian actors, are uneasy with my bringing this story to life. So, as you can see, I have painted myself in a corner; Too Christian for Non-Religious actors, Too Racy for Religious actors. So, if you find value with this, and want to help me, let me know:

jeff.roney@gmail.com

Thanks.

There I was getting my golden jalopy a once over at the local car wash. When I heard my name called from across the street. It was my friend, jen, from the jen and dave show. She ran to me. Crossing the street like frogger on redbull. She reaches me out of breath. She was panting and sweaty. I kind of liked it.
But back to my story. She says to me She has lost her friends Chris and Colleen. They came to the local shanty town to purchase from the shanty town beverage bots the highly coveted Dublin Dr. Pepper. But before they could make their purchases, her two lady friends quietly disappeared. Jen wanted me to help her find the two lost ladies. The search and the heat was on. Poking and peering into darkness. Going from shanty to shanty. We found nothing.
Once again a name was called . But they called for Jen and not me. In the distance a mammoth of a man came intermittently running toward us. He would take a multitude of steps and stop to take a breath and would repeat the process until he finally reached us. He was a heaving sweaty mess. I did not like it as before. This time a little different. The giant man wrapped his arms around Jen and lifts her up off her feet and in a wheezing manner squeezed out the words @Jenavila! We finally meet. Jen blurts out @jtindie I ‘m heavy. @jtindie agrees with her and sets her down. They continued with their meets and greets speaking in 140 character intervals when i interject,” Excuse me but we are looking for Jen’s friends, Colleen and Chris. Have you seen her?” “Yes,” he replies, “I’ve been looking for you all over. Colleen must have an ear for music because she found our underground do wop convention. They are there now as celebrity judges and asked that I come look for you” he says. I see that this mystery has a happy ending and I excuse myself . I walked back to my car to vacuum it clean as I enjoy my newly acquired Dublin Dr. pepper. And that is another story from the seedy streets of Visalia.

Stan Prolongo by David Avila is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

I rose early from a short night’s sleep. I got dressed for a day on the water. It was the day of my monthly fishing trip with my father in law Barry. I put on my boots and noticed that my shoes were covered in flour. The tortilla factory had not been nice to them. I’d need new ones if I wanted to remain looking credible. I headed towards the docks. On the way I found the card from the false Mothman in my pocket. I’d forgotten about it. I’d have to research about it after my day with Barry. He has the oldest boat on Lake Kaweah. Several patches and bad paint jobs give the boat a texture like no other. His latest engine is older than the boat, but he says he got it at a good deal at the swap meet, and it seems to work just fine. The boat has a command chair, too. It is a latticed deck chair with an old truck seat belt that’s duct taped to the bow of the boat.

Before long we were out in a shady corner of the lake where the water is deep. Not many folks know to fish there, so it is quiet and relaxing. We each had a few bites here and there, but nothing but small fry. I wondered if I could super-size my small fry for just fifty cents more. We talk about Barry’s latest woodworking projects, and he asks about my cases. What we don’t talk about is Jenny. She was dear to both of us and it still hurts when we think about her being gone.

Barry had just started in on a really good joke when he got a bite. He said it felt like a big one. I knew he was right when the next tug from the fish pulled his right into the lake, deck chair still belted around his waist.

I scrambled to the bow of the boat. I looked down into the water, but only saw a few bubbles bursting on the surface of the water. Had I just lost my father in law? What would I tell his wife? I heard water splashing beside me and I turned to see a gigantic carp burst from the water. Its eye glowed red like an angry stop light. It splashed back into the water and swam along the surface. It had to be as big as a pickup truck. Behind him surfaced Barry, still in his chair.

“I’m reeling myself closer!” he says.

I crank on the engine and follow, hoping that the fish doesn’t go back under.

To my amazement, Barry got closer and closer to the fish as he reeled himself in. The boat barely kept up. I felt helpless. Much of the dread faded away when Barry climbed up the back of the fish, waddling because the chair was still strapped to his butt. He used the rod, still hooked, as a balancing pole. The fish slowed and I came alongside me. I yelled for Barry to jump over to the boat. He said no, he saw something on the fishes head and wanted to see what it was. He made his way to the head and I saw him looking closely. I couldn’t make it out, but there did appear to be something there. Then the fish went back under, and Barry held on, going down with it.

I didn’t know what to do. I continued straight for a few moments, then began circling. Barry had to come up soon. A whoop from behind me confirmed this. I moved the boat to Barry. He was floating in the water, bobbing like a rubber ducky, as happy as can be.

“I got it!” he said.

“Got what?” I asked.

He drops a small white object into the boat and I help him in. He tells me he lost the rod and had to lose the chair to swim back up. I ask if he lost the fish too. He smiled and said that he thinks he got the fish, but not in the traditional sense. I picked up the object. It was about hand sized and looked like a spider carved from bone. I’d have to figure out what it was later. I nearly tumbled from the boat when it rocked. Beside us was the fish, rod hanging from it’s mouth. Its eye was black, like a normal fish’s. It looked right at us. Just before it dove in, I could swear that it winked right at Barry.

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