A Fright Night On Old Shoal Creek, Coffin Lake, Illinois

Posted: December 28, 2012 in Fictional Parables

By Detective Maggie Maise

A thriller sure to excite more than Steven King getting ready to levitate you to a small, and hauntingly quaint little apartment just outside of the town limits of Pocahontus near that pub where that person named Red Neck Woman used to wait tables and singYou walked down there to the Black Owl http://secretswithinthefog.wordpress.com/every night, from The Last House on the Left, shortly after leaving the Blue Moon in Elkhart, Illinois, to visit your friend who lived about one floor above the small town tavern there.  An original Hallowed Eve story strongly written by your night of The Walking Dead author, the audience screams with sheer and graphic horror when the young man, found with several solid silver bullets still In The Dark of the Night and sunk perfectly to the depths of his innocent brain do not explain the exact number of the thirteen proceeding stab wounds. You say you only showed the murderers where to find him. But new evidence located by the young new efficient sheriff approximately this twelve years later, secretly considers you a man posing as a loving husband as the very first suspect of the crime. Everyone around the scene of one hidden creep’s infamous scandal only show up to make occasional nasty faces, as the zombie townspeople do nothing to unload the evidence behind the Cold Case to the local city sheriff. For years, the skeletal old timers, once young, now hide out. You know you dare not maim yet another. Everything is perfect until the Holy Ghost tells all.

Some hope for this terrifying and boring life to pass by quickly while others just sit at the kitchen table staring at the prop of a lime green flowered and peeling wallpaper until the sweet madness of your complete insanity leaks the liquid of the truth to you at the crime scene now turned the pungeant odor of your overly scrubbed linoleum floor. For the first time since the crime got done, you now know that Big Brother and someone named Them now watches your every move. Unable to make even a phonecall to stop the one who you think gave them the final and yet stronger new evidence – You wonder how they ever located the relative informant of the dead ghost. You cringe with the horror of it all. Did the body guard leak the information or is it yet hidden forever in the graveyard of his dead loved one he murdered. With no avenue to hurt that person, even if you try to hire a hit-man on your secret cell-phone or telephone line to suppress the new evidence, you know it’s tapped. You can’t even get into your car and drive all cool and low key like and have a secret conversation, since it’s no secret anymore.

They’re listening to everything you say. For the first time since it happened, you are finally trapped forever. Your mind, sliced wide open feels like the Chain Saw Massacre and Dreams In The Witch House all rolled into one. If only the voices of your good conscience would just stop and let you live your own dark life. And while going after the one with The Knowing forever unfeasible – You know the fear you feared all of your short haunted life has finally come upon you. Huge beads of sweat pour down your face, and your hand reaches out of a perceived grave begging for mercy. Are you in The Twilight Zone? Perhaps the authorities you threatened the poor and innocent others with for years finally reported you and had you bugged. The dumb and the stupid overstay the stay with you. The smart get out early and fast. But still, it’s all so terrifying. Everything now is happening so Fast And Furious. It’s almost as if  The Hills Have Eyes. As you stand Shocked, the tables now turn on you. This is nothing like your boyhood days when mummy tucked you in at the morning light and read you to sleep for the day from your favorite story book, Tales From The Crypt. Your only choice? Sheer madness of terror strikes you like lightening. One of you checks your pantyhose. Just as you feared. A runner. A distant scream is heard. The other one clutches his heart. That’s right.  It’s the big one. It all feels so creepy and Psycho. You, the ever clever murderer must now leave the next state over you ran to, adopt a child and try to look domestic like while you the simulataneous and spontaneous Illinois fugitive use the prop of a Highway OO, Missouri family farm, you run for your your life, and then hide out.

A new horror soap opera, soon to suck the very blood of local worms everywhere as fishing season country style all over Charmington seems to erupt from cryptic vaults and mausoleums everywhere. The farm estate of these very Dark Shadows during an equinox of The Season of the Witch and As The Cauldron Turns stars a beautiful new ghost of a you, and a nightmare of a spooky series premiers on the eve of Halloween. Mixing the last Pot of Bubbling Brew, I thought about my old dead ex-husband and how I often prayed, I mean chanted at the Voo Doo Temple, about how I wished to God he would’ve gone out on that farm and shot up some black gold. Remember the Beverly Hillbillies? Well that’s Texas talk for oil. Poor old Jed without a dime to his name goes out on the family farm too rocky for planting food to grow – And shooting at I think a squirrel as he hopefully had enough sense not to shoot at a pole cat or a skunk, and hopefully this time not me or you. Although when thick, rich black oil began bubbling up out of the ground, the family became millionaires overnight. They decided to move to Beverly Hills and leave Charmington, Missouri to find some frightfully fun people like Vincent Price, Alfred Hitchcock and you.

Our story opens up with a depth of field (close-up camera pan) on the real criminal behind the murder towel drying himself after a nice shower in a shoddy hotel room on the dark side of town. Running free for years – He seems to live a fairly normal life. Conjuring up more lies than the local town wants, the man poses (Insert high-pitched scream) as a loving, family man (Additional scream). He goes to Wal-Mart and McDonald’s. (Scream double-hard) He even takes an occasional break to wrestle with his sister’s kid and stepbrother’s kids who he gives affectionate little nick-names like, “Children of the Corn.” She makes devilled eggs while he goes fishing at Wolf Creek or the local resevoir named Fangoria: Our Perpetual Lady of the Lake Drowning. The haunted water hole reminiscent of the woman he once murdered and a man who drowned there as well, walks the grounds perpetually saying over and over and over, “I’ll never eat at Wendy’s again.” This makes the young fugitive homesick. For Hell. As a dark and ominous cloud settles over the lake, he considers the day of his own birth . (Insert nasty scream with bogus sounds of New Years Eve fireworks here). This of course, is the most terrifying part of the story to imagine of all of the facts. Although possibly too cowardly to take their own lives, the friends who know (Insert every wicked Satanic scream ever recorded on tape here), and hope and pray no one ever finds out his dirty little secret. And As The Stomach Turns, the particular hit-man who did the hit is no square.  After each hit, he turns on his portable boom box and dances a dance to Michael Jackson’s Thriller.  Be they family or be they fee-fi-fo-fum, though, they did not get away with this one mocks the holy ghost.

One night the whole family decides to eat dinner at the local haunted house. Their own home. After finishing the meal, they drive out of the driveway, and wave goodbye to the demon pig levitating outside the window in midair as usual, and proceed to ride out to an old farm afterwards to enjoy a Rubidee Road of a time going on a hayride and hotdog roast (Insert long and ghostly scream) in Greenville, Illinois. You choose to dress up as the famous singer of the Rocky Horry Picture Show: Meatloaf.  She counteracts by dressing up as Lizzie Borden and threatens to make perfect slices of you with an axe. The refrigerator opens and out comes the ketchup.  Everything is fine until she tells you she’s been spending her days while you slaved away at nothing much on the farm all day while others did all of your work for you, hanging out at a place called Terror Firmer. You wonder what kind of a person names an aerobic health and exercise club Terror Firmer. At least name it something like Behind The Mask and offer a double promotion and a set of extra-large hair curlers to every woman brave enough to show herself in public with no make-up on. (gasp). You remember trying to visit your father and your other relatives at the local graveyard last week and wonder why protestors showed up with bare feet, and wearing overalls and sporting pitchforks and holding a huge gold crucifix they stole from the next graveyard over, and with signs that said “Die You Zombie Bastard!” Such boldness of gross clarity frightened Edward, Mr. Scissorhands who working the graveyard shift presented his business card to the ghastly crowd and invited them to return at the morning hour, at a more convenient time for a time of visitation to more properly greet the Dawn of the Dead. 

Your father you reason did not mean to murder that man. He was only trying to get some money to buy a farm at Green Acres. Or was it at Greenville, Illinois? Besides, he’s dead and you got to keep the cash. Another day. Another murder. What the heck. You know that some dumb pastor at a church somewhere prays for you not to get caught. That extra thousand dollars meant so much to him. As you smile, a set of side fangs showing encourages you that you may just find a way to Take Back The Night yet. You pray hard for Satan to keep God from performing The Last Exorcism on you. The Last Horror Movie watched you find yourself sucking down innocent blood. You and your wife both smiled crookedly and discussed how it was The Worst Horror Movie Ever Made. Glad you Madeoff with so much dirty money though you think unoticed, sometimes you feel like a One-Eyed Monster from a Horror Show. That time you got so excited, you did not know whether to Let Me Out, Put Me In, Keep Them Out or Let Me In.

Do you want to know the final conclusion of our story? How I hate to leave you up in the air and only guessing at the final fate of our young dark-haired fugitive. But to this date, only a few Burnt Offerings serve to investigate the truth about the devious witchcraft of this Chainsaw Massacre, and while his Serial Smiley Face seems to cover over the facts of the Dommer story, do not let our star, precious little Jason fool you. Sometimes Guilty Hearts come to a place where they’re tired of running. One dark morning, when this life is over the young man who starred in tonight’s Hollywood Slasher Cinema might finally fess up to all of his crimes. In the meantime, beware The Flight to Tangier. Run from the Interview With A Vampire. Be a Mercenary. As me Irish grandpa always said, “Lassie, I look forward to the next Bloody Reunion!” And his son, The Name of a Rose and I both agreed.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death (712)

By Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility – We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun – Or rather – He passed us – The Dews drew quivering and chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle – We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground – The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground – Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses’ Heads Were toward Eternity –

“In a letter to Abiah Root, Dickinson once asked, “Does not Eternity appear dreadful to you…I often get thinking of it and it seems so dark to me that I almost wish there was no Eternity. To think that we must forever live and never cease to be. It seems as if Death which all so dread because it launches us upon an unknown world would be a relief to so endless a state of existense.””

“Poetry used by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, Ralph W. Franklin ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Copyright © 1998 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.”  ~ Borrowed From The Academy of American Poets

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15395

 Willfull Sin:

Hebrews 10:26-29 26For if we sinne wilfully after that we haue receiued the knowledge of the trueth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sinnes,27But a certaine fearefull looking for of iudgement, and fiery indignation, which shall deuoure the aduersaries.28Hee that despised Moses Lawe, died without mercy, vnder two or three witnesses.29Of how much sorer punishment suppose ye, shall hee be thought worthy, who hath troden vnder foote þe Sonne of God, and hath counted the blood of the couenant wherwith he was sanctified, an vnholy thing, and hath done despite vnto the spirit of grace?   1611 King James Bible

~ A prosperous Hanukkah and a very Happy New Year to all of my readers.  Please do not drink and drive. If you must, bring taxi money and call a cab.  If not, perhaps a hurst may suffice. As Dylan Thomas once wrote,”Do not go gentle into that good night.”~Julie

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