Jk lol, p.1
JK-LOL, page 1
“What a haunting, original, disturbing story. This reimagining of Jekyll and Hyde is tense and immersive, building on one of our greatest fears—that the monster is not some beast in the woods, but living next door, waving to us from their mailbox. I could not put this down."
-Richard Thomas, Shirley Jackson, Thriller, and Bram Stoker Award® finalist
“I flew through this fast-paced, action-packed commentary on society’s inseparable integration with online spaces and the ominous anonymity that many seemingly normal people hide behind, allowing them to live a sadistic secret life. Full of twists, with plenty of visceral gory scenes throughout, this is just the quick, smart, and transgressive read so many are looking for.”
-Emma E. Murray, author of Crushing Snails
“Timely, dark, and wholly committed to its pulp premise, Patrick Barb’s Jekyll and Hyde tale of online words and real-life horror is a hideous reflection of ourselves when given the mask of anonymity. JK-LOL locks the reader in a chokehold, forcing them to stare into their own abyss."
-Carson Winter, author of The Psychographist
“JK-LOL is a terrifying, blood-splattered spin on Jekyll and Hyde, dragging that old story kicking and screaming out of the past, through a broken black mirror, and into our tumultuous, social media-saturated present. A story as timely as it is horrific.”
-Austin Shirey, author of City of Spores
“We all know not to feed the trolls, but what happens when the trolls are exposed? JK-LOL dives into the horrifyingly reality of anonymous online behavior. Barb’s written a grim, but poignant story about how words do matter and bare consequences."
-Michael Bettendorf, Author Of TRVE CVLT
“Patrick Barb has proven that he knows how to deliver a gut punch of a story, and JK-LOL is absolutely that. This book is disturbing in all the right ways. I couldn't look away, and thanks to Barb's razor-sharp prose and relatable characters, I absolutely didn't want to."
-Steph Nelson, author of The Final Scene
“Told in an engaging format, and as crudely funny as it is horrifically sinister, JK-LOL is a thrilling ride from start to finish, one that will force you to question your understanding of online anonymity and the pervasiveness of Internet bigotry.”
-Chloe Spencer, author of Mewing and Monstersona
“In JK-LOL, Barb crafts a searing analysis of the ever-increasing dangers associated with social media. Who are we really interacting with on the other side of the screen? And what happens when we invite them into our home? This is a story that hits hard; a cautionary tale that made me yearn for a simpler time."
-Caleb Stephens, award-winning author of The Girls in the Cabin
“JK-LOL rips the mythos of the internet troll to shreds, blending gore and social commentary into a fast-paced thrill-ride."
-Drew Huff, Author of Free Burn
Copyright © 2025 by Patrick Barb
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact info@madaxemedia.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 979-8-9891730-4-4
E-Book ISBN: 979-8-9891730-5-1
For content warnings: Please see page 115.
Contents
Fullpage image
Fullpage image
Fullpage image
Fullpage image
Fullpage image
Chapter One
Chapter Two
INTERLUDE: TEEN GIRL RILEY (T.G.R.) VIDEO 1
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
INTERLUDE: T.G.R VIDEO 2
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
INTERLUDE T.G.R. VIDEO 3
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
INTERLUDE: T.G.R. VIDEO 4
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Acknowledgements
Content Warning
To the friends and family I've found online,
I suppose it's not all bad.
Ted Hideman answered his wife’s call from downstairs after she shouted up for him to come help put their kids to bed the first time. “Be right there, babe!” he called as he closed his laptop and pulled on the beaded cord of his desk lamp.
With a click, like a tooth pulled, the light went supernova and then dark. Ted found himself in shadows, daylight having somehow snuck past him while he was engrossed in his work on the computer. Lucky for him, his home office was such familiar territory that he had no trouble at all navigating the dark and feeling his way out into the upstairs hallway.
From there, he padded down the teak-colored wooden staircase, cocking his head to the side, listening for the sounds of his giggling daughter. Her high-pitched squealing, squeaking laughter was unmistakable. Almost as unmistakable as the scent of bathwater and no-tears shampoo mingled with the heady aroma of the piss that likely lingered in the downstairs toilet bowl. Because neither of his kids ever remembered to flush! Ted stopped shy of the bathroom door and put on his best “mean, scary giant” voice.
“Fe-fi-fo-fath, do I smell a kiddo fresh outta the bath?”
A barely restrained silence met his query. More giggles that couldn’t be held in no matter how hard the laughing girl in question tried soon burst forth in pops and snaps.
He barreled into the bathroom. The floor was wet under his socked feet, but Ted didn’t care. He scooped up the damp five-year-old, fresh from the bathtub and rubbed pink from her mother’s attempt at drying her off. “Rooooar!”
Little Louise, her hair plastered down against her round head, gave a shrill mock screech that soon devolved into laughter once again. Ted returned his daughter to the floor, then leaned down close. He took a long exaggerated sniff, really putting his all into this play-acting.
“I dunno,” he said, with a theatrical wink aimed above the little one’s head. “This one still seems kinda stinky to me.”
The wink was meant for his wife. For her part, Sharon sat on the closed toilet that Ted was even more certain was filled with pee the longer he remained in the bathroom. She wore ragged old gym shorts and a grey T-shirt. The front of said t-shirt was soaked through from bathtub splashings, but not in any kind of sexy fun times way. As far as Ted could tell, it seemed their “sexy fun times” were on indefinite hiatus, at least until both their kids could drive.
“Daddy, you are mean.”
Louise’s voice moving to that lower octave was the clue Ted needed to know she’d switched emotional gears on him. This time, as he crouched lower on his haunches, all traces of the mock ogre were gone, replaced by a caring, consoling father figure. “Aww sweetie,” he said, “Daddy was just joking around.”
“They’re doing a unit on kindness in her kindergarten class this week,” Sharon said from the toilet.
Ted nodded. “Oh okay. And they’re still teaching you your ABCs and 123s too, right?”
Her lip still quivering a little, Louise nodded.
“That’s good. Gotta teach you those useful skills for life as well.”
“Kindness is a useful skill,” Sharon said. She stood up from the commode with a groan. The t-shirt lifted off her belly and Ted couldn’t help but linger on the stretch marks, the skin like folded bread dough yet to rise. Five years since she’d last given birth…
Of course, he never said anything to Sharon about her appearance. He wasn’t stupid.
Still, she must have felt his eyes on her, as she quickly reached up and pulled the shirt down over her stomach. Ted smiled at her, wanting her to see that it was all okay, everything was fine. He listened to Lizzo. He had the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition with Ashley Graham on the cover waiting for him in the basket by the toilet in their master bath. He was an ally.
Sharon moved behind Louise. The girl’s recovery from being offended came as quickly as she was wounded initially. She hooked one arm around her mom’s leg and one around her dad’s. “Sandwich time!” she squealed, pulling them against her body.
Ted laughed. God, he thought, she’s a little weirdo. But she’s my little weirdo at least.
Sharon pulled away first. Ted let Louise cling to him a little longer.
“Can you go check on Robbie?” she asked. “Remember I’m supposed to be helping Lou go to bed and you’ve got Robbie.”
Ted whispered, “Louise” under his breath. He didn’t want to get into a whole thing about how he didn’t like it when Sharon used a “boy’s name” for his baby girl, and was hoping to avoid any sort of direct conflict.
Sharon sighed. Whether it was because she’d heard what Ted said or thanks to her general exhaustion, there was no way for her husband to be sure. “He’s in his room. Reading. Or at least he’d better be.”
Following his eleventh birthday, Robbie had insisted on leaving the room he shared with his fairy-tale and princess-loving baby sister to strike out on his own. In this particular case, that meant taking himself, all his books, and his action figures, and moving the whole lot into what was once an extra guest room down the hallway. Only a few feet worth of difference, but an opportunity for independence.
Ted remembered when he was eleven. He especially remembered dry-humping a pillow after watching a silver-haired woman in a shiny black one-piece doing laps at the country club pool while his dad wrapped up a round of golf and some overtime at the 19th hole afterward. So when he came upon the closed door to Robbie’s room, he knew better than to just barge in. He knocked. Waited.
“Robbie?”
No answer.
“Rob?”
Nothing.
Ted’s hand turned the knob. “Alright, pal, I’m coming in. Hope you’re decent.”
When the door opened, he had to put a fist to his mouth, stifling a chuckle because he worried it would embarrass the kid. Robbie was pouring over some computer game magazine, covers pulled up to his neck but more from the chill of his overhead fan than from any need to hide what he was doing. “You hear me, pal?”
Robbie didn’t turn his head and acknowledge his father until Ted put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. He flinched a little. Not out of fear, not for his father, but from general surprise. Ted should’ve expected that. His son had this way of getting absorbed in his obsessions, shutting himself away mentally from the outside world. “Sorry, Dad,” he said.
“It’s okay, bud. Good reading?”
Robbie shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“You brush your teeth?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Floss?”
“Yep.”
“Say your prayers?”
“Dad!”
Robbie laughed, but seeing the upset still etched into his son’s features, he quickly added, “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”
That seemed to calm the boy down. “Oh, okay.”
“Lights out soon.”
Thinking he’d said all that needed saying, Ted moved toward the door. But Robbie set the magazine down and called for his father. “Dad?”
“Yeah, Rob?”
“Can I get your password for the iPad? I promise I won’t stay up too late playing games like last time. Please…”
Ted shook his head but smiled. That was what Sharon had told him was needed. “Be nice, but firm.”
“No can do, pal,” he said.
“Awwww, come on, pleaaase?” The slightest hint of whining was starting. Ted knew he needed to nip it in the bud as quickly as he could.
“No way, Robert. I’m not about to have you unsupervised online. There are some real sickos online. Believe me.”
Stepping off the elevator on the top floor of the municipal parking garage, Agent Bianca Lee wasn’t counting on some weak-stomached Sacramento cop almost puking on her shoes. She hopped to the side to avoid the sudden splatter, appreciative of the years of gymnastics her mother had insisted she take.
The cop, with vomit spittle hanging from his lips, looked up at her and mumbled his apology. Bianca sidestepped the puke and the puker, waving both off as if they were no big deal. Inside though, she steeled herself for what might be waiting for her. The way she’d seen gulls circling as her Bureau-provided sedan rolled into the ground floor of the garage made her suspect that whatever the birds were waiting to sample was also what had set the boy in blue a-barfing.
Ever since she got the call and hopped on the first jet she could get out to the west coast from D.C., Bianca had consumed nothing but saltines and water. Whatever was waiting for her ahead, behind the yellow caution tape and the pacing uniforms and popping crime-scene photo camera bulbs, she had no desire to share the contents of her stomach like her green-in-the-gills welcoming committee had done.
“You got a reason to be here?”
The puker’s counterpart, a Hispanic woman with short-cropped black hair and a sheen of sweat on her brown and tan skin like she had a fever and the only prescription for it was to be a real bitch to someone else, gave Bianca the stink-eye. Her words, her body language, her facial expressions, every part of her seemed like a dare personified.
But Bianca had dealt with assholes all her life. Anyone who wanted to challenge her had a huge bar to leap over, as set by her parents. The tough guy (or gal) routine never really worked on her as a result. So, she smiled and showed her badge, giving the angry policewoman a chance to read those three letters printed above her picture.
“You’re with the Bureau?”
Bianca kept smiling. “FBI. Cyber Crime division.”
“Huh? Like computers and shit? Don’t know why they’d call you…”
The smile stayed, even though Bianca could feel it slipping.
“Officer Torres! Don’t you have some brain matter to chalk up and bag for the lab boys…”
Bianca’s interrogator, Officer Torres apparently, turned with eyebrows arched, lips twisting into a sneer. But when she saw the lanky older man dressed in a white dress shirt and pressed khakis held up by suspenders, his eyes cold blue and sparkling with a “don’t fuck with me” intensity, she went quiet as a church mouse, scurrying away from a predator.
The man, who looked like some P.I. from a film noir, extended a hand to Bianca. “Detective Fedor,” he said by way of introduction, giving no indication whether Fedor was meant to be his first name or his last.
“Bianca Lee, I’m with the Bureau.”
Fedor nodded, the slow deliberate movement of an older man who’d seen some shit and had long ago decided he could take his time as a result. “Yep. Once we got to the scene here and got the details in, the chief had us contact your division. You in particular from what I understand.”
While previously she’d just been confused, Bianca found herself intrigued at long last.
“I know you probably read all this on your way over, but humor an old man. The victim was a young woman. State senator. Real fire-brand. Like a communist or a socialist or whatever the hell it is the kids are all into these days. Had herself a real following and was making some waves…”
“So you’re thinking this is a politically-motivated attack?”
Fedor shook his head. He beckoned for Bianca to follow, ducking under the crime scene tape. The police officers and CSI nearby melted away whenever the detective came near, a sure sign of his power and the respect he commanded among his subordinates. He nodded down to the ground.
Following that nod, Bianca felt bile rising in her throat. She snorted loudly through her nostrils, trying to will the saltines and La Croixs back down. First, there were the remnants of blood and brain matter splattered across the trunk of the electric car that she figured the senator must’ve driven.
Then, on the ground, a crimson shroud over a body that seemed to have exploded outward from its trunk, like a doll torn apart and left on a playroom floor to be swept up and thrown into the garbage. It took a moment before Bianca understood that the sheet covering the victim had originally been white. The damage to the body was so severe that the blood and gore leaked up and stained the cloth as if someone had made a half-hearted effort at cleaning up a tomato sauce spill.
Fedor waited until Bianca lifted her eyes from the bloody shroud and met his once again before he continued. He had a world-weary smirk, but kind, patient eyes. A tough combination to pull off. One that implied he’d seen the very worst that humanity had to offer, but somehow still found the strength to get up every morning and do the work. “It was a savage beating. Like a wild animal was set loose on the poor girl. Woman. No signs of sexual assault though. To be honest, the way she was torn apart, like shredded fucking wheat, it’d be hard to tell if anyone had been with her … that way.”
Bianca chose her next words carefully. She kept her feet planted but remembered to bend her knees a little, so she didn’t stiffen. The last thing she wanted was to black out mid-sentence. “I assume you’re gonna check to see if any of the murderer’s blood is here. Seems like there’d be a pretty solid chance of that being the case.”
Fedor nodded. “Mhmm. Gonna see what we can find. Dunno how easy it’ll be for our lab boys and girls …”
“Detective?”
