Creepyskullz Book Of Creepypastas

The Shepard Cane

My girlfriend and I have this special spot. This nice little place that serves up food, drinks, and amateur stage performances. They named it the Stage Harbor Dinner Theater. It used to be a loading dock but what was once a place for blue collar grunt workers is now a quaint setting to showcase local talent. Rachel and I first laid eyes on each other there and have made it an unspoken rule that we return at least once a month. We love the open mike nights.

Our small-town doesn't seem to have many serious artists and yet we have one person with dreams far larger than those of its simple residence. Jeffrey Buttfellows. He aspires more than anything to become a comedian.

For years we have watched in discomfort as Jeffrey leaps out from the red curtains all smiles and self assurance. He joyously grabs the microphone and proceeds to tell the unfunniest jokes imaginable. His intentions are so sincere, his confidence so undeserved, and the setups so horribly timed, that even laughing out of politeness is impossible.

Most of the audience has become exasperated at this point. Whenever his rusted Ford pickup truck can be seen in the parking lot the dinner theater loses business. His shows always end the same fashion: whenever he's getting overly heckled and hissed by the audience, this old fashioned vaudevillian shepherd's cane reaches out from the side curtain and pulls him away by the neck. The audience usually gives this shepherd's crook lavish applause as soon as it hooks him. That stick has undoubtedly saved Jeffrey and his spectators from further humiliation on countless occasions.

I liked Jeff though. A true artist. With absolutely zero support he's able to go out there and shoot for his dream. Even his own lack of improvement doesn't discourage him. I believe if all joes had his kind of ambition we'd be a world brimming with genius.

My admiration changed a few months ago when Rachel and I were celebrating our three year anniversary. We bought a bottle of champagne and waited for another lousy attempt by our persistent stand-up. Rachel had on a screaming lemon dress that may have been a little too revealing for her plump form. Perhaps it was that dress that had garnered Jeffrey's attention that night.

For that evening a couple of drunk frats from the city were at the club. I suppose they had even less patience then us locals. They would interrupt Jeff with, "This guy sucks giant hippopotamus balls!" other times they'd simply scream, "NEXT!" One even threw a bottle at his head.

Talented comics can handle hecklers with devastatingly vicious comebacks, but as you know Jeff was not a talented comic. Realizing his material was unfit for these city boys he looked around for something he could make funny. He saw it. Rachel. All 4'11 and 220 pounds of her. He started making fun of her size.

She was silent and chuckled quietly with poorly disguised hurt on her face while the rest of the audience roared with laughter. This went on for twenty agonizing minutes as if he'd been planning it in his head all these years. Eventually he exhausted himself of fat jokes and moved onto more neutral subjects which left his listeners hot and bothered. Once more the shepherd cane materialized behind the curtain and relieved him.

Though she pleaded with me not to confront anyone I talked to the stage manager backstage. He had his back turned holding the shepherd's cane. As he turned to face me, the first thing I detected from his face was that he was blind. His eyes lacked that glint of focus.

"Hey listen pal," I began, undeterred by his handicap, "Jeff went too far tonight when he made fun of my girl. It was completely uncalled for and I didn't like it."

The Stage manager raised his hand and lowered his head in respect,

"Sir, I understand completely, but that was first time that I ever heard such laughter coming from that kid. And I mean ever! I'll talk to him for you. Though you gotta admit the guy was due. Let's just hope the confidence boost can help him find other material."