No Gein III: The Final Cut Part Ten

Chapter Ten: Buried Truth

November 2nd 2004, Amherst Wisconsin

“I’m warning you, if you don’t make an Gein movie your family is going to pay.”

The email address wasn’t valid anymore, and when looking at the pictures Geinlover69 sent of George’s dead sister, he remembered the police telling him they were merely police photos. They suggested someone probably hacked their system, as sites like rotten.com eat this stuff up. Also, as the police reminded him, George had received all kinds of emails threatening his life over movies.

George was wracked by pangs of guilt as he didn’t stop and see his sister the last time he was on the east coast. Thanksgiving was just a month after Hallow-con, a New York based horror convention that he’d attended. He figured he was just see Helen and her husband for the holiday. Now, Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away, and he didn’t know what he would do. There were some distant relatives on his dad’s side, but he was never close to them and they’d grown even further apart once his father died. George figured he would probably be content spending the day himself in this house in Amherst.

Then it suddenly struck him. Hallow-con, that weird guy that came all the way out from Plainfield. He was pressing him about deleted scenes from Psycho II before insisting George make a Gein movie.

It was then he remembered that Ed Gein fan website. Sure enough, as the angelfire site loaded. He had a whole section on horror con. As the jpeg files loaded showing pictures of the con he noticed a breaking news section. Clicking on that, an article loaded about the Bethlehem murders. George read the recap about how the killer murdered his brother-in-law Chuck outside the home and then proceeded to enter the house and kill Helen in the shower. It was thought that the police discovered the crime fairly early, as the neighbors reported seeing Chuck’s body propped up in the front doorway in a gruesome manner. What police assumed to be a robbery and double homicide was the most shocking crime the Lehigh Valley had seen since the Babysitter Murders of the 1980s.

As he finished the article, something crossed his mind. Whoever wrote this, how did they know Chuck was killed first?

November 12th, Plainfield Wisconsin

The bedroom of Franklin’s parents was perfectly intact. It was the way Ed told him he should leave it. The bodies of his dead parents lay peacefully in the bed below the painting of Jesus looking up at an angel. Since disposing of his parents he also got rid of his mom’s dresser, putting a small desk in his place from which he could work. After updating his website, his small mouse clicked on his ezboards message forum he hosted. It was then he noticed he had a private message.

He couldn’t believe it. It was a private message from George Kohler. A jpeg image loaded for the movie director standing in front of a big white house on a lonely road. The flat landscape behind the director looked as though it could have been right down the street from where Franklin lived. “Here I am at the family home in Amherst.” the message read. “I got some footage from Psycho II that’s never been seen before. Also, got my first screenplay here. Maybe you can come by and check it out and we can discuss my next movie.” Looking at the image again, Franklin noticed the item George held in his hand. It was Deranged, the first screenplay he ever wrote.This was too good to be true. Did he know? Was this a trap? Even if it was, how could he not go?

It was then he saw Ed again. Images of Ed would randomly appear to him sometimes. He looked so real, as real as the bodies of his dead parents that sat in the bed. “Did you see that Ed?” Franklin said excited. “He’s got footage of Psycho II. Maybe we’ll see Norman in action more?”

“Norman didn’t need action,” He heard Ed say. “he needed help.” The image of Ed Gein looked down at the desk. Franklin still had his notes regarding Leon who briefly worked at the Mendota Health Institute back in the 70’s. “I wish I could have gotten help.”

“Really?” Franklin answered aloud as he looked back towards his dead parents. “I thought you two would have been like brothers.”

“Brothers, you know what happened to my brother?”

Outside Franklin’s house the leaves had long left the branches of the tree that stood over his car. The fallen foliage crunched below his feet. After taking a few more steps towards his car he heard another sound, it sounded like a cross between a person yelling and a dog barking, and it was coming from below him. Looking down to the cold earth, the dead leaves had yellow faces that stared up at him with an evil look. In an instant he bolted to his car, the inhuman barking sound followed with each step as he frantically removed the keys from his pocket to unlock his car door. Plopping himself down on the car seat, he looked out the window to the tree lurking over him. Way up high on a rotting empty branch, a slack necked buzzard glared at him with blood red eyes. Then, looking back at his house, he saw Ed standing on the porch. “Are you coming or not.” Franklin shouted. Looking back up, the buzzard was gone, then looking to his right, there was Ed sitting in the passenger seat. It looked like Ed was trying to say something but Franklin interrupted with an enthusiastic, “Off to the film’s climax!”

Approaches the house, Franklin could see the light on in upper bedroom. He hoped George didn’t start it without him. Walking into the house, he didn’t see anyone, but his body shook in anticipation as he heard George’s voice upstairs. Stopping in his tracks he takes a deep breath. Something about the director’s voice sounds different, then he realizes, it’s the movie playing upstairs. George put himself in Psycho II as a film director who gets murdered by an obsessive fan. Life was about to imitate art as he gripped his machete handle tight and ascended up the steps.

Peering down the at the end of a the dark hallway a door sat open, light and sound emanated from within. Creeping down the corridor, he only heard one sound, but it was a sound he recognized, it was dialogue that he knew by heart. Franklin stood in the doorway as he looked into the room, it was empty, but there it was, Psycho II playing on a big screen TV. Approaching the big screen TV in holy reverence, he reached up towards the footage, his finger tips lovingly caressed the glass on the TV screen, the static electricity crackled on his skin. It was like touching a woman for the first time.

Looking behind him, he remained alone in the room. An empty wooden chair sat in front of a desk. A desk lamp was left on, its light shining down to what looked like an old stack of papers. Coming closer, he saw they were bound by heavy staples. Reading the red ink on the cover, he gasped in amazement as if he were an archaeologist discovering ancient stone tablets.

“Deranged.” The blood red letters read. This was George Kohler’s never produced screenplay that he wrote in film school. Evidently, it was inspired by his Aunt’s stories of encountering Gein, decades before the general public ever knew of the Plainfield Ghoul’s existence. Anxiously, he turned the page, but it was not the opening scene he found underneath. Instead, it was a wedding picture. Confused, he looked closer to realize it was a picture of Helen and her husband Chuck, Franklin’s last two victims. Turning the photo over, he’d found beneath that was a small pile of photos and other items. There pictures of George with his father on the red carpet at Maan’s Chinese theater, Christmas cards, but no screenplay. He slammed the pictures down on the desk in disgust as the Psycho music played behind him. Then suddenly, the music climaxed with an electronic zap. The room went dim, save the light of the desk lamp. Franklin turned around to see a small object hit the ground with a small crashing sound. He presumed this to be the remote control as he looked in the doorway. It was there that he saw him. He knew that George had cut weight, but the director’s frame still filled the door. His hair was cut short, and, from the shadows, a chainsaw blade protruded from the doorway. The figure remained still, but then its hand pulled the ripcord, and, just like in the movies, the chainsaw roared to life.

“YEAH!” Franklin shook his arms in excitement. George entered and the two circled around the room. “The film’s climax! The director fights to avenge the death of his slutty sister!” Frankling laughed mockingly. George took two quick steps forward, for a moment it looked as though he were going to charge, but his feet quickly stepped back and the two continued their circular movement around the room.

Franklin’s hand shook with excitement as he and his opponent circled the arena that was the director’s office. George revved the chainsaw a few times lightly thrusting the blade toward him the way a heavyweight boxer might throw a few light jabs. Franklin himself parried the knife while licking his lips in excitement. In his mind he and his opponent would swing their weapons simultaneously, colliding these instruments of death in the center of the room. That would be the image on the poster for the movie that would be made about them someday. The two combatants standing atop of a pile of bodies, their blades colliding in a dance of death. Sparks would rain down over the film’s title, which would be… hell, maybe they’d call it, ‘Deranged.’

In the midst of this mortal combat, Franklin’s mind raced through thoughts of how this movie would be cast. Maybe Edward Norton would play him. Who would play George? Perhaps Jack Black?”

His mental casting couch was cut in half by the site of the chainsaw being tossed up in the air. “This wasn’t part of the script,” he thought to himself as he watched the power tool fly through the room before the blade bounced on the wooden floor and the motor came to a stop. He turned back to his opponent who had quickly pulled something from the belt at his waist. Franklin’s ears burst from a loud popping sound as a white light flashed in the room. Instantly, he felt an incredible pain, as if someone speared liquid metal through his gut, the force of which knocked him flat on his back. A puff of smoke floated in the room while the scent of gunpowder filled his nostrils. Franklin’s neck stretched up just in time to see his assailant place the revolver on his desk, but his mind was still dazed at what had just transpired. 

“That couldn’t have been in the script!” Franklin protested as his head rested back down on the hardwood floor, his eyes looked up at the ceiling above while the palm of his hand pressed on his wound. George was now back in his line of site. Looming over him, he planted a boot on Franklin’s chest, the chainsaw was again in his hands.

Now Franklin smiled as blood trickled from his mouth. His ears welcomed the sound of the motor being revived, the saw-blade now buzzed inches from his face. It was so much sweeter than the sound of a firearm. It was honorable, it was pure, it was classic. “Yeah!” Franklin cheered with what little breath remained in his lungs. “That’s more like it!”

Then, standing to his side, looking down on him, Franklin again saw the image of Ed. He knew this wasn’t visible to George, only Franklin could see Ed this past year, but there he was observing the proceedings. He looked back to George and said, “This is gonna be one hell of a movie!”

Suddenly the saw blade went still. The room was again silent save Franklin gargling the blood that rushed up his throat. “Movie?” George looked down confused. Did he still not get it? George was gonna direct a movie about all of this, and it was gonna be great. At least that’s what Franklin believed right up  until this moment, this moment when he heard former director say “No one is ever going to even know your name.”

“What? What, no! NO!” but Franklin’s cries were smothered by the chainsaw roaring back to life. Desperately looking to Ed, Franklin pleaded, “Help me! Help me!”

The vision of Ed just stood there, hat in his hands. Inside his head Franklin heard Ed’s voice. “You never listened to me.” it said. “I was trying to warn you.” 

“I just wanted my movie!” Frankling pleaded.

“I just wanted my mother.” The voice answered. Franklin saw the man put his hunter’s cap back on his head and turn his back to Franklin. Soon the image of Ed Gein quietly faded away into nothingness.

Meanwhile the roaring blade of the chainsaw inched closer to Franklin’s right shoulder blade. “No, No!” Franklin cried out as his left arm was severed from his body. George wouldn’t know this, but the shrieking of his victim was not out of pain. This crying was born out of fear; and it was not fear of the unknown, as H.P. Lovecraft described most fear as being. No, the fear Franklin screamed in was fear from the known, as he now realized exactly what George was intending. Franklin was indeed going to die right here in this small town in Wisconsin, another small town just like Plainfield, just like so many small town across this part of the nation. His body would be cut up right here on this wooden floor, and no one was ever going to know.

George was in a daze driving down the highway. He didn’t even bother to activate his Pandora and actually had the old-fashioned FM radio on. The dial was set to a random oldies station playing some song about going on a moonlight swim. Driving through the darkness, George thought how his Aunt Sally, his father’s sister, probably made this same drive almost half a century ago. In a way, her journey that fateful night started all this. He couldn’t help but wonder, what if Sally hadn’t gone down this road? Would she still be alive now? If so, she’d probably be some old hippy out in the streets protesting Bush’s war in Iraq. Had she still lived, his father might not have ever moved to Pennsylvania. Hell, he would have grown up in Amherst playing for the Falcons in the Tomorrow River School District. Looking out over the pure black empty space that enveloped his car, he mused how he once considered that a horrifying thought.

As the now infamous Plainfield approached, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of something else. What about Ed Gein? If Gein hadn’t ended up dying that night he encountered Sally, what would have happened? Would he have killed more unsuspecting people in this little town? Would Gein have died in obscurity, his horrible secrets buried with him, or would he have eventually gotten caught, still bringing infamy to this little town? Was his Aunt Sally a sacrifice made by the gods of fate to prevent more madness from occurring? George remembered his late mentor Robert Bloch, who had been dead for ten years now. Bloch lived not too far from here back in the 50’s. Who knows, maybe he would have written Psycho back then.

This thought sent George’s thought’s down a third path, one he couldn’t stop himself from mentally exploring. What would filmmakers of the 1960’s done with Bloch’s novel? Imagine Alfred Hitchcock directing it. The fan in him couldn’t help ponder the possibilities. How would Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the 80’s slasher scene have looked with the Ghoul of Plainfield lurking over American horror. In another world, he might have been lauded as a sort of grandfather of American gore.

And what would George himself had thought of this patron saint of splatter had he only known of him in the abstract? Remembering the morbid nihilistic attitudes held in his youth, George knew full well he would have idolized Gein just as his own obsessive fan had. George recalled his days dressing up as the Zodiac killer, and understood that a Gein costume wouldn’t have been far behind.

The empty shell of the burned building ahead brought him back to reality. Coming off the interstate at the town of Plainfield, George shook his head at the ruins of the Gein Ghoul House. Looking in his rear-view mirror, thinking of what was in his trunk, he spoke out loud. “Did you do that?” It just now occurred to him that it was probably this psycho that killed the owner and two others before burning this attraction to the ground a few months ago.

Soon he came to a stop. While his property in Amherst wasn’t far from this place, this was the first time since that night ten years ago that George was on the former Gein property. Roger, a local he’d met in this spot was gone now, but he remembered standing here with his father while Roger told him the story of what happened to Aunt sally, and the night that Gein died. Opening the trunk, it already smelled as he reached past the trash bag and pulled out a shovel. Then, he pulled out the trash bag and slung it over his back as though he were the Santa Clause of violence. Setting the bag down on the wet grass, his shovel pierced the earth below. George began digging deep into the ground. He knew no one was around for miles, and did not fear being seen. It was ironic that no one ever came out to this spot where Gein actually lived. It wasn’t close to the interstate, it wasn’t close to anything. That asshole Leon knew what he was doing, building his sick attraction right off the interstate. George knew that, had circumstances been different, he’d have done the same thing.

Digging deeper into the earth, he couldn’t help but wonder if any other remains were still buried here. If there were, they were about to have some company. Pulling himself out of the hole he’d dug, George grabbed the trash-bag and unceremoniously tossed it into the hole. Covering the fresh grave with dirt he looked out over the empty field. Nothing remained of Gein’s house, nothing stood here for decades. Remembering that awful attraction up the road, he figured the world would have been better off never knowing the name Ed Gein. Shoveling the last pile of dirt, he knew that at least no one would know of this murderer that lay buried before him. As a matter of fact, George himself didn’t even know his name.

No Gein III: The Final Cut, Part Seven

Chapter Seven: The Shower

Customer: Bartender, what’s a Gein beer?

Bartender: It’s got lots of body, but no head.

Why did Ed Gein always have the heat on in his house?

So, his furniture wouldn’t get goosebumps.

November 2nd 2004

George hated to admit it, but that last one was pretty funny. While surfing the web looking at various horror sites, George stumbled upon an Angelfire page called the Ed Gein Appreciation Zine. While George wasn’t appreciative of the adoration expressed towards this deranged individual that terrorized his Aunt, he was impressed with the thoroughness of site’s information. He knew, had circumstances been different, he himself would have designed a site like this. What little information about Gein’s life, as well as his grave robbing and apparent murder of Mary Hogan were all covered in gruesome detail. Of course, much of the site’s information was “borrowed” from Kohler’s own book Deranged, which detailed the personal and disturbing story of how George came to learn the secret to his Aunt’s madness.  

However, there were a few original essays, such as one comparing Gein to Norman Bates, the character from Psycho, as well as Gein’s influence on George’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Reading the article about Chainsaw, George chuckled to himself as he remembered how people falsely assumed that his remake took inspiration from Jeffrey Dahmer.

Then there were these Geiners, morbid jokes about Ed that were all the rage now. While he couldn’t help but have some respect for the gallow’s humor, what was not amusing was a section of the website that directed it’s ire towards George himself. “George Kohler is a fucking pussbag.” read the page titled No Gein Movie? “He’s had the greatest story in the history of modern horror fall right into his lap and that fucking tool won’t act on it. The fat lazy fuck is sitting at home counting his millions while the greatest horror movie ever goes unmade.” George shook his head as he wiped the sweat still hanging off his brow. Just before he sat down at the computer, he was working out on his bowflex machine. Taking a sip of water, he continued reading. “Kohler owes it to us fans. Let him know we demand our Ed Gein movie.” Then one of George’s personal email addresses was listed below for the world to see.

“Ah shit, I guess I’ll have to close that account now.” George thought to himself. It was a shame too, because he used this particular email to talk to fans. Opening this email account, he scrolled through hundreds of messages, most of which had clever subject titles like Make that Gein Movie or Die or Gein Film or Bust. Messages like “advice for breaking into the film business,” or honest fan questions about his films were now few and far between. While this was certainly annoying, George was able to brush it off. He remembered himself firing off angry messages in Friday the 13^th forums, especially toward the director of Friday the 13^th Part Five, The New Horns. It was embarrassing now to think he had acted like these trolls once. Perhaps it was some form of Kharmic justice.

The wanderings of George’s mind were interrupted by the ringing of his flip phone.  “Is this my famous director brother?” the familiar voice said on the other end.

“Well, I think I’m still famous.” George answered his sister as he looked back at the monitor and its angry emails. “Though looking at some of the online chatter its maybe more infamous.”

His sister Helen laughed as she said, “Well I hope you’re not too famous to join us for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely be in for that.” George assured her. “Sorry I couldn’t see you after Hallow-con, I had to fly back to LA and sort shit out for Psycho III. Also, big news,” his voice raised in excitement as he rapidly spoke, “something opened up at Paramount. Tomorrow, I got a meeting about maybe directing the next Friday the 13^th film, Freddy vs the Devil vs Ash!”

“Wow, that’s awesome!” Helen was well aware of her brothers life-long love of the Friday the 13^th franchise. The two of them spent many a night watching them on TV when they were kids. Their father even once took them on a camping trip in New Jersey to look for the legendary Jersey Devil. “You’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’m sure you’re gonna do great.”

“I hope so.” George said humbly.

“Well, you’ll have to let me know how it went over Turkey.”

“Sure thing. How’s the Chuckster?”

“He’s good. He’s just hanging out watching TV now.” Helen then looked to her husband, who she saw looking out the window. From outside she could hear their dog barking as the sun set behind the homes across the street. “What’s wrong hon?”

“I don’t’ know, the dog’s acting up.” George heard her brother in law Charles say. “Probably barking at the skateboarders again.”

The dog’s barking then stopped as Helen said, “Anyway, I’ll see you soon. I’m real proud of you.”

“Thanks Helen. You know I’m proud of you too.” Hanging up the phone, George closed the window of his email and started began to work.  

Opening a word document, he began jotting down ideas for Freddy vs the Devil vs Ash. The Necronomicon, was a good place to start. That mysterious and evil book which originally appeared in the prose of H.P. Lovecraft before being used in the Evil Dead series was a natural fit to tie the three franchises together. Maybe Ash Williams, the Deadite slaying hero of the Evil Dead series from the evil dead series would work at the Crystal Lake S-Mart, the fictional equivalent of Wall-Mart. George then typed out random ideas for how the Freddy, the Devil, and Ash would interact. Maybe Freddy could use the Necronomicon to bring back the Devil’s past victims as Dead-ites, the creatures of the Evil Dead series.

Even cooler, he thought to himself, would be if the surviving characters from Friday the 13^th and Nightmare on Elm Street would appear, such as Friday’s Tina Shepard and Nightmare’s Alice Johnson. This could be the horror equivalent of Crisis on Infinite Earths, the epic DC Comics story from 20 years prior which featured pretty much every DC comics character. George leaned back and stopped himself for a moment. He remembered his departed mentor Robert Bloch, advising him against over-stuffing his stories. “A good story is like a good recipe.” He recalled Bloch telling him. “Too much stuff can ruin it, just stick with what you need.” Still, he felt really intrigued about this idea of surviving characters from past films. Who knows, maybe this idea could be in the next sequel? Yet again, George knew to restrain himself. Knowing how Hollywood works, he was aware of the dangers of getting too far ahead of himself. He knew to take things one movie at a time.

“You know I’m proud of you too.”

Helen felt glad to hear that from her brother as she hung up the phone. “I’m going to take a shower.” she said to her husband as she felt the cool November breeze blowing into their house. “Chuck?” she said as she looked out the open door. She didn’t hear the dog barking anymore, but she didn’t see her husband either. She figured he probably went to talk to the neighbors and closed the door behind her making sure it was unlocked.

In the safe comfort of her shower, she thought about how the relationship between her and her brother had grown stronger over the last few years. They were close as young kids, spending afternoons playing outside and watching monster movies at night. Once they moved east, their teenage years found them drifting apart, especially when he developed that massive ego. Strangely enough, fame seemed to have made George humble. Well, there were other reasons too. Especially since their father died, that was so hard on both of them, not to mention how bizarre and macabre that whole situation was. “Be careful in the shower.” Helen hated remembered the dying words of her father, rambling and nonsensical in his final moments. While lost in thought, the steam from the shower formed a fog around Helen as her mind wandered to that place where she was still bitter; resentful that her father had been taken from then so soon, just a few years after they’d all grown closer as a family. At the very least, she was appreciative of George, who often took the time out of his busy schedule to check on how she and Chuck were doing.

What she didn’t know was that Chuck wasn’t doing well, not anymore. His body now rested in the bushes and wouldn’t be found until the next day. As she’d drifted in that mental fog, she didn’t hear the light footprints enter her bathroom. She did hear the shower curtain pull back, and she heard herself scream as the knife plunged into her body. She had no idea who Franklin was, but as her brother’s stalker repeatedly plunged his steel into her, she knew his face would be the last thing she ever saw.

George’s head was swimming with the possibilities of another sequel to these franchises. Taking a break from his brainstorming, he closed the window on his word document to find his Firefox web browser still open. It was then he noticed something on that Gein fansite hadn’t noticed before. Clicking on ‘Gein Today,’ he uncovered some more recent and gruesome news. According to this page, Gein apparently now had a copy-cat. In Plainfield Wisconsin, where Ed resided and is buried, someone dug up several graves, apparently the same graves Gein himself violated half a century prior. A jepeg file of the local newspaper clippings seemingly confirmed this crime to be true. Adding a gruesome showman ship to the foul acts, a color photo, separate from the newspaper clipping showed some of the remains were laid out on the cemetery grass in such a way that they spelled out a word, one word. Ed. Even worse than that, the bodies of two youths, a young couple that just graduated high school, were found murdered in the cemetery. The webmaster of this morbid site seemed to take particular delight in describing the tragic death of what seemed like a bright and beautiful young girl.

“Enough of that.” George thought to himself, clicking on the X closing that awful window. He didn’t feel much better as he again checked his email to find even more messages from demented fans demanding a Gein movie. His mouse clicked on the small boxes as he prepared to delete them, but one message caught his eye. ‘Your pretty sister.’ the subject read. “What the fuck? Not cool messing with family.” he thought to himself as he clicked on the message. Text at the top indicated this was a follow up to an earlier message. “I’m warning you.” The older message read. “If a Gein movie is not in development by Horror-con, your family will pay.” George hadn’t recalled seeing this message before. He probably deleted it on sight just as he had most of these crazy messages. But the new email below sent a chill through his spine as it read. “You’d been warned.” Below the text were a series of icons indicating this email contained several images that would soon be visible.

George grew cold as the Jpeg files loaded on his monitor. He recognized that house, that home that he’d plan to visit in just a few weeks, the dining room where he planned to cut the Thanksgiving Turkey, the TV they would watch football on. George quickly grabbed his phone and speed dialed Helen. The phone kept ringing as image after image of Helen’s home loaded on the screen. Scrolling down the email, the trail of jpeg files led up Helen’s steps, down the hallway, and finally, through the bathroom door. George almost vomited at the site of the red streaks staining the shower curtains. Finally, the last agonizing image loaded. There, laying in the tub, naked and violated, was George’s sister Helen.

No Gein: Leftovers. Halloween H2K Chapter Five

December 27^th: 1999 Milwaukee Wisconsin

Franklin and his family went to the big city for a religious retreat; where they’d be spending New Year’s Eve singing hymns and waiting for the apocalypse, anxiously awaiting the apocalypse in Franklin’s case. Thinking back on the events of this past year, he remembered those kids in Colorado. They were doing us all a favor, taking us one more step into the fiery abyss, burning the whole world down and taking out as many worthless souls as they could. Way in the back recesses of Franklin’s mind, he wasn’t entirely sure if the world really would end in a few days. Just in case, he had one thing he wanted to do.

Sixty-Seven Wild Rose Lane, Franklin remembered where that guy from the message boards lived. He sent an email saying he’d be coming by, and the car was parked outside so Franklin knew he was home. After knocking on the door a couple times, Franklin paced back in forth in the cold. Soon, Patrick opened the door. “Hey, what’s up?” he said.

Franklin said only one thing. “Can I see it?”

“Good to see you too, dude.” Patrick laughed. “Come on in.” Entering the house, Patrick asked “How was your Christmas? Did you get lots of cool stuff?”

“Yeah, a few things.” Franklin didn’t want to reveal that his family only exchanged a few gifts this year, as his mother earnestly believed there wouldn’t be much time to enjoy Christmas presents.

Then he saw Patrick look up towards his staircase as annoyed as a female voice spoke from above. “Who is it?”

Patrick lowered his voice to say, “Just handled my business with this girl. Wait here, I’ll go get rid of her.” Patrick watched his friend ascend back up the steps. Soon he heard faint whispers from upstairs, including that incessant whining of a teenage girl which he heard all the time in school. “I guess girls in the big city bitch too,” Franklin thought to himself while looking around the living room. Hanging from the walls there were a few framed pictures of Patrick and his mother. It was a shame, his mother seemed nice. Franklin wished he would have had cool parents, but with any luck, after a few days it wouldn’t matter anymore.

Once again Franklin heard a pair of footsteps, this time they were descending. Franklin forgot about that annoying female voice when his eyes rested on her toned legs moving downward. Each step revealed more, as he soon saw her blue skirt with gold trim, and the rest of her body followed.

Patrick followed behind, or at least Franklin assumed she did. He still wasn’t looking at her face when Patrick said whatever it was her name was. “What’s up?” he heard her voice say. Franklin simply nodded and smiled; her voice no longer annoyed him.

Patrick then said, “Well, Franklin and I are gonna chill. I’ll call you later alright?”

“Awesome.” Her now cute voice replied. Her moist wet lips kissed his cheek before she gave Franklin a coy smile and walked away. Both Patrick and Franklin were now watching her legs as they walked toward the door and her body exited the house.

Franklin almost forgot why he came here as the door closed with a thud. The next sound he heard was the voice of his friend saying, “smell that,” as he put two fingers up to Franklin’s nostrils. Franklin’s head jerked back at the wet musty smell that was completely alien to him.

Patrick laughed at his reaction. “Come on man, don’t tell me your not getting any poon tang back home. You got a girl right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure I am.” Franklin said.

Nodding his head Patrick said, “Alright, it’s cool. Let’s go upstairs.”

The two walked up the steps and into Patrick’s bedroom. It looked the same as the last time Franklin was here. His sports posters still adorned the wall and his trophy case remained intact. This hardly looked like the room of someone who’d won the Halloween H2K contest. He watched Patrick going into his closet, from which he pulled out a cardboard box. “This is it man.” Patrick said, placing the box on his bed.

Franklin was shocked. “You put it in the closet?”

“Can’t get head from the head cheerleader with this laying around my room.” he laughed while removing the lid. Franklin had no understanding of what he meant, but he approached this holy grail of horror while Patrick removed the contents.

First, Patrick pulled out a werewolf mask. “Halloween Six, Curse of the Werewolf.” Franklin said in reverence. Next, Patrick pulled out a prop ceremonial dagger, fake blood decorated its plastic blade. “Part Five, the Revenge of Samhain.”

Looking on as though witnessing an ancient archaeological dig, he heard Patrick say, “And the crown jewel.” He slowly raised the mask of the Shape, the mask of Michael Meyers, and presented it to his friend. The dead black hollow eyes of the mask stared at Franklin, who stared back in reverence.

“Can I,” Franklin nearly stammered, “can I put it on.”

“Sure, knock yourself out.” He tossed the mask to Franklin. It made a flopping sound as it landed in his hands. “I owe you one anyway.” Franklin looked down at the mask, tilting his head slightly to the left. This statement was confusing to him. When Franklin thought about all the people that owed him, Patrick was not on that list. “You helped me win that you know?” Patrick said while taking seat at his desk and booting up his computer. “I got stuck on that last code, but then I remembered what you showed me about Easter Eggs on DVDs. That’s how I found the last one.” Franklin wanted to scream, instead he pulled the mask over his face, its rubbery material covered his mouth. He could hear his own breathing as well as the sound of a lighter as Patrick lit up a cigarette. “Want one?” he asked, holding a pack in his direction.  Franklin said nothing, but the smoke from the just lit cigarette already made Franklin cough, ruining the aura of donning the mask. Stepping out of the room he heard Patrick say, “Bathroom is the last door on the left.”

Walking into the bathroom, he looked in the mirror to admire the sight of himself in the mask. The room was silent save the sound of his breathing. He could distantly hear the clacking of the keyboard. While he felt amazing with the mask on, he still felt like Franklin. Looking at the reflection of his skinny body donned in blue jeans and a red sweater, he didn’t feel like the Shape. He intended to relieve himself here, but he stopped cold in his tracks when he saw it. The used condom floating in the toilet was a reminder of what had just occurred in that bedroom. It wasn’t like he didn’t know; the scent of Patrick’s two fingers clued him in, but there floating before him was a mocking reminder of what he never had, what he never would have. Slowly turning away, he again caught his reflection in the mirror. Those dead black eyes stared back at him; his breathing echoed powerfully through the rubber surrounding his face. Now it had finally come, that secret signal had been sent to his brain, and the body standing before him was no longer Franklin, it was merely a shape.

Patrick laughed as the form of his friend stood in the doorway. “You make a good Michael Meyers.” he said sarcastically. The brain underneath that rubber mask screamed, “It’s not Michael Meyers it’s the Shape!” However, no sound emerged from the body’s mouth as it took a slow step forward. Looking back at the computer screen, it appeared Patrick was in some local chat room. “Hey, my friend Shaun is having a party tonight. Let’s check it out. They’re gonna have some wicked egg nogg.”

The body behind Patrick remained silent as the computer shut off. Patrick then stood up and faced his friend saying, “Come on, you’re not going to the party looking like that. We’ll get you some girls and you’ll forget all about this shit.”

The body before him remained motionless, making no sound except his breathing.

“Oh, so you’re Michael Meyers now. Come on let me get it back.” Patrick reached up for the mask but the body before him pushed his hands away. “What the fuck man!” Patrick pushed shoved the person before him, then got pushed back while reaching for this mask with his own hands. Patrick’s hands gripped the rubber mask; but a second pair of hands hung onto it like a petulant child. “You’re gonna rip the mask you asshole!” Patrick swung a body shot which made the shape before him recoil and release his hands. Patrick then ripped the mask off the child’s face. Franklin took a deep breath as beads of sweat fell from his cheeks to the floor.

Patrick then tossed the mask on his bed before saying, “Get the fuck out of my house!”

With all his strength and rage Franklin punched Patrick in the groin, bringing him to his knees. Still feeling the pain in his gut, Franklin knew the truth, he was no Shape. He could never take this guy in a fight. He knew there was only one chance as he reached for the thick power cord below Patrick’s desk. While Patrick’s hands still covered his groin, Franklin wrapped the cord around the teenager’s exposed neck. Patrick desperately tried to pull off, he was the stronger of the two, but Franklin wrapped the cord tightly around the boy’s throat. The victim desperately thrashed around the floor, but Franklin couldn’t let him get away. He couldn’t stand knowing someone else had gotten what was rightfully his. Not only did this boy win the prize, but he had friends, girls…sex.

His victim now had his stomach on the floor. Franklin thrust his hips forward pulling upward on the cord with all his strength. Patrick made one final thrash of his arms before the life left his body.

Rising back to his feet, Patrick looked at the Meyers mask as well as the other prizes that were now his by right of conquest. Grabbing a backpack from the closet, Franklin loaded the items into the bag, and quickly exited the house.

Running back to the Church where his family was staying, the night air chilled his lungs. If the world really was going to end in a few days, then at least he could spend his last days with the only things he loved.

Epilogue: August 25^th: 2003

Driving in his car, Franklin long forgot about how the world was supposed to end a few years back. He still felt like most of this planet wasn’t worth a damn, but that was only when he took time to think about it. A few years back, he was actually planning to follow in the footsteps of those kids in Colorado, but someone called him about a job. Before he graduated, someone recommended him to the local nursing home. Bernice and her husband lived there now, and he always got along with them. Now that he was out of school, he was working at their full time, and he kind of liked it. He was still living at home, but his dad stopped drinking, and his mom wasn’t on his case as much now that he was bringing in some income.

Also, in an amazing turn of events, things were actually a little exciting around town. A few weeks ago some remains turned up just a few miles away from where he lived. Looked like someone was trying to wipe out this boring place long before he’d thought of it. “Too bad he didn’t get them all,” he thought to himself. Driving back to work from his lunch break, the radio had the latest news. The local sheriff called a press conference, and a huge bombshell was dropped. The property on which the bodies were found was once the residence of a solitary figure by the name of Edward Gein. Apparently, around 50 years ago, Ed had murdered a local bartender, but that was not the least of his crimes. According to the sheriff, one night, almost half a century ago, the local authorities had discovered, and covered up, the fact that Ed Gein had robbed almost ten graves in the area, before dying and before his property burned to the ground.

Hearing this amazing news, Franklin felt a tingling sensation in his hands while they gripped the steering wheel. He had to pull over to the side of the road as he began hyperventilating. Hearing this news, he could never have imagined, never in his wildest dreams, that something this awesomely gruesome could occur in his own backyard. He knew right then and there this was about to become his new obsession.

Something else occurred to him. Edward Gein, he’d heard that name before, but where? Who would have possibly known him that would ever bring his name up. Looking down at his name badge for the nursing home, he thought perhaps Bernice would know something about this.

Finally catching his breath, he looked at the tree close to him on the side of the road. The branches looked oddly shaped, bending in a way he didn’t think branches could bend. A buzzard sat perched on a thick branch and glared at him with dead black eyes. There below the leaves, a man stood. Frankling hadn’t noticed him before, but he wore a red hunters cap, had a weird lopsided grin, and a saggy baggy eye.

The End

Stay tuned for Franklin’s awful exploits in the final entry of the No Gein saga,

No Gein III: The Final Cut!

No Gein: Leftovers. Halloween: H2K Part 3

Milwaukee Wisconsin, August 15^th, 1999

“In fulfillment of Bible prophecy, the world today is beginning to speak the same language. We are satellite- and Internet-connected. We are fast moving toward a cashless economy, a one-world government, a one-world court and a one-world church. We are building a universal city with a one-world church whose tower reaches into heaven.”

“Just like the Tower of Babel!” Franklin’s mother shouted in enthusiasm while other members of the congregation clapped and cheered in agreement. Jerry Falwell’s sermon continued.

“But the Trinity has come down and looked us over,” the reverend said, “and it seems that God doesn’t like what he sees. He may be preparing to confound our language, to jam our communications, scatter our efforts and judge us for our sin and rebellion against his lordship. We are hearing from many sources that January 1, 2000, will be a fateful day in the history of the world.”

Franklin stood up and cheered. Caught up in the moment, he briefly forgot about his mind off his nearly passed out drunk father sitting next to him. Since he lost his job last year he’d taken to the bottle while his mom took to religion. Deciding they needed to escape the sin and debauchery that she claimed gripped their tiny town of Plainfield, Franklin’s mother took the family to the big city of Milwaukee for a religious retreat. Franklin was familiar with Falwell. He remembered a few years ago the reverend said something about one of the Teletubbies being gay. Franklin wasn’t sure about that, but he hoped Falwell was right about January first. Back home, the church his mom drug him to preached hard on the Y2K scare that was in the news and how it was a sign of God’s judgement. At first Franklin was annoyed at having to get up early on Sunday mornings, but a wrathful god massacring humanity sounded pretty awesome. In the last few months he’d been obsessed with those Columbine kids who massacred their school. Reading some of their journals that were posted online, and he started to think both them and God had the right idea. Fuck the world and everyone in it, blow this place to smithereens and start again. Maybe almighty God will get creation right next time.

Like all the speakers before him, Falwell started hawking his book and other merchandise to the crowd before him. Franklin looked at his watch impatiently as the program was running over. After hearing one last plug of merch he looked to the door behind him. One of the local ministers made an announcement that after a short break the adults would have special small group sessions and there would be some programming for the youth.

“Oh wonderful, you can make some new friends.” His mom said.  

“Mom I’m going to meet my friend, you know that.”

“Oh, dear just go check it out. It will be fun.” She said before she and Franklin’s dad went to the adult study.

Franklin felt agitated as he got off the bus. According to the horror message board he frequented, Patrick was going to LARP with some people in nearby Cooper Park. Franklin planned to meet him there, but he was late. He never tried Live Action Role Playing Before. No one in his little shit town would have the imagination to try something that cool. He looked around the park and didn’t see anything yet. Then he spotted a girl dressed in all black standing next to a guy that was big like a football player. The girl’s bright red lipstick was noticeable from afar, when he approached, she smiled at him, her exposed jaw revealed a set of plastic vampire teeth.

“Hey Franklin.” He turned around at the sound of a male voice to see a teenager, dressed kind of normal, t shirt, jeans, Air Jordon’s, but he was carrying a plastic crossbow so Franklin presumed he was a LARPer. “Patrick, good to meet you. Sorry you missed the LARP. We ended up starting early.” Nodding his head to the other guy he said, “Tim here has to go in for early football practice.”

“Hey I’m Tim, nice to meet you.” the other teenager said waving his large hand at him. Franklin said nothing as Tim said “Sorry, I gotta head out.”

“Later.” Patrick said as Tim walked away with his arm around the vampire girl.

“He plays football?” Patrick said in disgust.

“Yeah, he’s cool. He also plays in my Shadowrun campaign.” Patrick said, referring to the cyberpunk themed table top role playing game. Patrick couldn’t conceive of a jock being a gamer. He didn’t have a lot of time to ponder this as Patrick asked, “So, you want to hang at my place?”

Later, walking into Patrick’s house, Franklin asked, “Aren’t your parents home?”

“Well, I just live with my dad and he’s at work.”

“Sweet.” Franklin said as he followed Patrick up the steps. He wished he didn’t have to live with his mom. Walking into Patrick’s room, Franklin expected a shrine to horror movies. What he saw were posters of sports figures he didn’t recognize. He looked confused as he stared a few athletic trophies set up in a display case.

“Those are for track.” Patrick explained before asking. “What sports do you do?”

That question was preposterous. “Uh, I’m, I’m not into sports really.”

“All about the scary movies huh?” Patrick said, picking up the Night Skies DVD. “Cool, well, you want to check this out then.” Patrick had Night Skies Four, Kayeri, the direct to DVD sequel that came out last year.

Franklin nodded and Patrick loaded the DVD player. Picking its remote control, he said “On the forums you said something about Easter Eggs?”

“Yeah, if you fiddle around on the menu screen.” Franklin took the remote control from Patrick’s hand and pointed to the TV screen.” “Look here,” he explained, “it doesn’t look like the cursor can go here, but watch.” Pushing the left arrow button on the remote, an area of the screen was highlighted that wasn’t highlighted before, indicating this was an item to be selected.

“Oh cool, how did you do that?

“Like this.” he said, holding up the remote. Pushing the directional buttons, Franklin moved the menu icon back and forth. Them after clicking the icon on the hidden spot, a deleted scene was loaded.

“Wow, that’s awesome!” Patrick said as the gigantic star filled sky of the southwestern united states appeared on the screen. The two teenagers watched as the sound of a Native American wind instrument drummed through the speakers of Patrick’s small TV. On the screen, the camera panned down to the image of a campfire. A mother and daughter sat among their fellow tribesmen.  Looking up at the sky, the mother said  “Our people have stories about a tribe that flew on an eagle all way up into the heavens.” The child’s eyes widened with wonder as her mother went on. “They flew so far away they had to live among the stars.”

“Really, they’re speaking English?” Patrick laughed.

“Listen to this part.” Franklin said urgently. To him, this wasn’t hanging out and socializing, this was getting his friend up to speed.

They both resumed watching as the woman explained that that one day this special tribe will come back to their lands. Just then, a flurry of shooting stars streaked across the sky. “Is that them?” The young girl excitedly pointed her tiny finger up to the heavens.

“Maybe,” the mother said, “maybe they’re coming to take you away!” The young girl laughed as her mother proceeded to tickle her. “OK, that’s enough stories. It’s time for you to go to bed.”

Later, while the young girl lay down beneath the open sky, she could not bring her self to close her eyes. Her gaze remained fixed on the sights above her. One of the shooting stars she’d seen seemed to have been moving slower, almost hovering over her people. In fact, it looked like the light was drawing closer. It’s bright white glow grew larger and larger. The rest of her people slept as she watched in wonderment this ball of light landing on the Earth as though it were a giant eagle. No sound was made as it appeared to touch the soil. Her eyes unable to move from it, the young girl said but two words. She drug out the syllables as she spoke, it was a phrase the filmmakers knew the audience would be familiar with.

“They’re here.”

“Cool, I remember I was a little kid when Heather O’ Rourke died.” Patrick said, referring to the child actor who starred in the original Night Skies film, and tragically passed in the late 80’s.  “That really sucked.”

“Yeah, she could have been in the TV show.” Patrick referred to the Night Skies spinoff TV series that aired on the sci-fi channel.

“Uh, yeah,” Patrick said, turning to his computer. The sound of the 56K modem indicated that he was connecting to the internet. “Anyway, you want to watch the movie a bit.” Franklin agreed and selected the ‘play feature’ option on the menu. They continued to make small talk while the movie played and Patrick typed on the keyboard. The familiar bleeping sound of AOL messenger occasionally accompanied the sounds from the movie. Soon Patrick asked, “You got a girl back home?”

“Uh, yeah there’s this girl back home. Lindsey.” Her name hung from his lips, like honey on a spoon that was just out of reach.

“Cool.” Patrick continued typing on his keyboard. After a few minutes he said “Hey, what time do you have to get back?”

Looking at his watch, Franklin said “Yeah, I should probably get back soon.”

“That’s cool. I’m gonna go meet this cheerleader chic in a bit, but I can give you a ride if you need it?”

“Sure.”

Later, after saying goodbye to Patrick, Franklin entered the church where he saw his mom kneeling in prayer with the minister. His father looked at him, his eyes betraying no emotion but his mother immediately looked back after the sound of the door opening. “Oh my heavens where were you?” She rushed up to her feet and came toward him. “We were just about to call the police.”

“Told you he was fine.” His father said. Smiling and nodding at his son he speculated, “Probably out with some girl.”

“No,” Franklin responded, frustrated. “I told you I was out with Patrick.”

“Who’s Patrick?” His mom asked.

“I told you who Patrick is.” Franklin couldn’t believe his mother’s ignorance. “That guy I met online.”

“Wait,” The minister interrupted, “You met a man online and you went to his house?”

“He’s my age.” Franklin said annoyed. “I came on this trip so I could meet him.

“And what were you doing with him?” His mother said, still concerned.

“God mom, we just watched a DVD.”

“Son,” the minister interupted again, “was this a pornographic DVD?

“No you asshole, it was Night Skies IV!”

“Franklin!” his mother scolded. Meanwhile, his father looked at his watched, appearing just as annoyed as Franklin was.

“It’s OK.” The minister said to Franklin’s mother. “Franklin, you have to be careful about meeting people on the internet.”

“I only came on this trip so I could meet him, and I hardly got to hang out with him because your crap went on all day!” Then, turning to his parents, he said. “Now come on let’s go home.” He stormed out of the church and walked towards his parents’ car. He couldn’t believe in the stupidity of these people. Sitting in the car, fuming, he thought to himself, there was one thing he hoped these people were right about. He hoped the world really did end this year. If he ever would have prayed, he would have prayed for this planet to be obliterated. Watching his mother sobbing while coming out of the church, his father meekly following behind, he cursed his lot at having to be raised by these idiots. As they opened the doors and plopped themselves down in the car seats, he thought to himself, if they’re still alive in the new millennium, he might have to do the finish them off himself.

No Gein: Leftovers. Clarice, The First Taste Part Four

The Final Friday of August, 1993

“You can’t wear that on a date!” Emily complained regarding her granddaughter’s black t-shirt. It’s white skull like image on the front underneath a Misfits logo didn’t seem very lady like.

“We’re just going to the movies grandma.”

“Times of changed!” Whitman laughed while standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Tell her grandpa!”Clarice looked in the mirror putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Black lipstick was applied while Danzig’s melodic “Sistinas” played on her CD player.

Resigning to her granddaughters outfit, Emily looked her over. Finally giving her approval, her eyes welled up as she said “Out little girl’s first date. I wish your father were here to see this.”

Clarice’s own eyes grew moist as she replied “I wish my mother were here.”

This sweet moment was interrupted by the sound of a horn blaring. “Oh, that’s him!” Clarice said, quickly wiping her tears. “Shit, my mascara.” she looked in the mirror saw her makeup was slightly running.

“Here dear, I’ll touch it up for you.” her grandmother said approaching the mirror.

“No time!” Clarice said in frustration as she used a tissue to simply remove the makeup she’d just applied. The horn beeped again as she rushed out her bedroom door. “Sorry, I gotta go.”

Her grandparents followed her out of her bedroom to the living room, where out the window they could see the mustang in the driveway waiting to pick her up. “OK honey, have a good time and be safe.”

“OK I will, love you guys.” Clarice said as she rushed out the door.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Emily said as the figure of Clarice grew smaller as the distance between them grew.

Remembering his first date with Emily, Whitman playfully smacked her bum and said “Honey, there’s not a damn thing you wouldn’t do.” His wife giggled in response.

Watching the car drive away Whitman said “That’s a nice car.” Then, something just occurred to him. “You know, he didn’t even come in and introduce himself!”

“Times have changed!”

Darryl looked good with his shoulder length red hair and his Metallica shirt which fit tight to his body. “Hey Darryl.” She said excitedly while her eyes looked him over.

“Hey.” he simply said. He was so cool with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth, it’s glowing red tip bounced slightly as he drove. He removed the cigarette and asked “want some?” She immediately took it in her slender fingers and wrapped her black colored lips around the tip. Her lungs quickly filled with smoke and she coughed heavily. Her face turned beat read from the smoke as well as the embarrassment. Even worse was the sound of Darryl laughing, but it wasn’t a mocking cackling kind of laugh. He made more of a chuckle while taking the cigarette back. He then patted her on the back and asked if she was OK. She shook her head yes as she felt the heat from Darryl’s hand through her cotton made shirt. This sensation more than made up for her embarrassment. “Don’t worry about it, it’s cool.” Everything seemed cool about Darryl, from his jeans to his car to the Iron Maiden cassette tape playing in his stereo.

Naturally they sat in the back of the movie theater. Her body was excited to feel the caress of his hands, but she slowed him down occasionally, not wanting to go too far. When the film’s logo came on the screen, she did allow him to kiss her. His mouth was hot and tasted like ashes, but she didn’t care, she loved the feeling of his tongue inside her while his whiskers brushed against her cheeks. As the movie progressed they fooled around a little, she occasionally giggled which drew the ire of film goers in front of her.

Later during the film, as she again felt Darryl’s hand on her leg, something caught her attention. It was an evil looking tome, apparently bound in human skin with a horrific facial design on the front cover. Clarice was sure she’d seen it before but she couldn’t remember where, but when one of the characters from the Cult of Vorhees held the book up Darryl identified it.

“Cool, the Necronomicon.”

Clarice wasn’t dating Darryl for his brains, but she was impressed by his knowledge of this mythical book. “Oh, you read H.P. Lovecraft?” she immediately whispered.

 “Who?”

“Lovecraft, the guy that wrote about the Necronomicon.” Clarice explained, referring the the pulp writer who was a bedrock of American horror.

“You mean he wrote Evil Dead?” Darryl asked, thinking she was referring to the Sam Raimi horror flicks in which the tome also appeared.

“No silly, like Call of Cthulu and stuff like that.” This boy might have been cute, but she was getting annoyed by his ignorance as well as some one shushing them a few rows up. From here on out the two of them were quieter. She happily held his hand on her lap, but now her full attention was on the movie. Darryl also turned his gaze to the naked breasts that occasionally graced the screen before the Jersey Devil, the killer of this decade plus long franchise, disposed of the horny teenagers.

The climax of the film had the full attention of both Darryl and his date as the Devil got stabbed with what both Clarice and Darryl recognized as the mythical Kandarian dagger from Evil Dead 2. Clarice cheered the Devil on as it fought off demonic hands that now reached up from the ground trying to pull it down to hell. Then, the whole theater erupted in applause as that familiar bladed glove burst from the dirt. Actor Kane Hodder made a surprise cameo, leaping up from the earth in the role of Freddy Kruger from the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. The film ended with Kruger pulling the Devil down to the depths of hell.

Riding in Darryl’s car after the movie, Clarice was a chatter box. “Wow, I can’t believe they put the Necronomicon in that movie. Do you think that means the Devil is really a Deadite?” she asked, referring to the zombie like creatures of the Evil Dead franchise. Darryl said nothing as he parked the car.

Clarice looked around, realizing her date parked in a secluded spot, she looked at him with a devilish grin saying “Perfect place to get slaughtered.” He then planted his lips on hers, his tongue pushed its away into her mouth again, and in no time they hopped in the back seat.

She was so hot for him, but he was getting a little rough. His lips wandered her cheeks and his teeth grazed her neck when she said “Could you slow down a bit.” He continued kissing her roughly as he lay on top of her, and it was getting hard to breath. Her hands tried pushing against his shoulders trying to make some space between the two of them but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the seat cushion.

Now it was getting even harder for her to breath. “Darryl.” she panted as he continued pressing against her body, her head moving down to her chest. “Darryl stop I can’t breath.”  He did not stop as she wiggled underneath him. Finally, in a panic, she kneed him in the groin. He cried out in pain and his body slightly rolled to her right. Her arms frantically reached for the door handle and, while still on her back, she managed to push the door open. Darryl leaned forward towards her and she kicked him in the chest, sending his body back to the opposite door. Tilting her head back she saw a man standing outside the car. It was Ed. Her brain didn’t have time to register why her childhood imaginary friend was here on her first date. She just knew he was standing there, his hands waved in a gesture suggesting “come on.” Her body wiggled out of the back seat of the car. She turned around as her skin hit the damp wet grass below. Brushing herself off as she rose to her feet, she saw Ed walking away, continuing his hand motions suggesting she follow her.

She took a few steps forward when she stopped at the sound of Darryl’s voice. “Fucking bitch.” he said, “You can walk home.” His laid against the back door rubbing his aching crotch when he said what would end up being his last words. “I should have stayed with Diane instead of a cocktease like you.”

Ed shook his head in sorrow as he witnessed the rage boiling in her face. He faded away into nothingness while Clarice turned around and dove back into the car. Lunging towards Darryl, just for a moment he looked excited, perhaps thinking he was about to get the fuck of his life. Her eyes were crazed as she wrapped her hands around his neck, the pain in his crotch was gone, replaced with the aching excitement of adolescent lust. That was the last moment of pleasure he would feel as her teeth sunk into his flesh. Darryl screamed in pain as blood splattered from his body just as it had in the movie they just watched. The car rocked back in forth for the next few minutes. Had there been any witnesses, they would have presumed that what was occurring within that vehicle was pure ecstasy. Ironically, they would have half presumed correctly, it was incredible ecstasy, for one of them.

Back at the homestead, Whitman and Emily sat on the porch in separate rocking chairs. Emily, her nose in a book, said aloud. “Clarice was right.”

“About what.” Walt asked. 

“This is better than that Bloch novel.” Emily answered, turning a page of American Psycho.

Walt was not reading a book like he did many nights with his wife. Instead, he sat on his porch and watched the stars. “I hope Clarice is having fun on her date.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. If anything happens, well, she’s feisty like her father was.”

Walt, like both of his sons, was often a man of many words, but this time he replied with a simple, “Yeah.”

Looking up at the stars, Walt figured Frost was up there somewhere watching down on her, on all the family. He missed his son, but he knew full well with the life they chose, some disaster was bound to happen sooner or later. Still, it had been almost twenty years now and he and his wife both still missed him so terribly much. He looked down to wipe his eyes when he noticed the two beams of light approaching; and approaching fast. “Who is that?” Emily asked. 

The engine roared louder as the car approached, it appeared to swerve slightly on the road, as if it were driven by someone behind the wheel for the first time. Feeling this looked like trouble, Walt head for his front door. “I’m gonna get my gun.”

“Wait.” Emily said as the mustang became more visible. As it pulled up to the house Walt heard his wife exclaim “It’s Clarice.” Now parked in the driveway they could both see their granddaughter at the wheel. She leaned over and opened the passenger door. Emily squealed in excitement as the dead teenager that was once Darryl plopped onto the macadam. Walter grinned from ear to ear as the engine shut off. Clarice emerged from the car and said one thing. “I brought home dinner!”

No Gein II: A Second Helping

This is a sequel to No Gein: An Alternate Horror, a story I wrote last year that was an experiment I called Pop Culture Alternate History. The premise was what if real life murder Ed Gein never got caught. To understand this sequel, it may be helpful to read the original here.

No Gein II: A Second Helping

Chapter One: The Truth Unearthed

Plainfield Wisconsin, August 5th, 2003

Bits of earth flew up towards the hot August sun as the dirty steel pierced the ground. The sound of the mini bulldozer engine was partly smothered by the nearby radio on which “These Are the Days” belted out over the small speakers. This song by Burn Victims was now considered a classic from the recently departed decade of the 1990s. Though the 90s were not as far back as Toby’s own childhood, that song still filled him with a sense of nostalgia. While operating his machinery he remembered this tune playing at the Hancock skating rink during his son’s birthday party. Back then, Tommy lived for Mortal Kombat and Michael Jordan. Now he was a high school student, crazy for cars and girls. That birthday party Toby remembered was only a few years ago, but, knowing his son now, and remembering him then, it might as well have been another lifetime. 

A different sound now struck his ear, it was a quick scratchy sound, like metal scraping on metal. He gripped the machine lever tight as he noticed his partner waving his arms in the air while standing near the small pit. 

Stepping out of the bulldozer he saw Nick kneeling down holding something in his hand. It was cylindrical and rusted. “Fucking assholes using this for a landfill!” Nick shouted.

“That looks pretty old.” Toby observed as he got a closer look at the decayed coffee can.

Looking around at the flat Wisconsin plain, Nicholas asked, “Well, nobody ever lived out here, did they?”

Turning back, looking at the nothing surrounding them, Toby remembered the stories his grandmother told about the old days of Plainfield. “Actually, I think there used to be a farmhouse about a quarter of a mile from here.” 

“Really, who lived all the way out here?” 

Toby shook his head as he tried to jog his memory. “Don’t remember.”

Tossing the can to the ground, Nick said “Man, if I lived out here….” pointing to the tiny town up the road where they both grew up. “Plainfield is small enough as it is, but living out here, that’d drive a person nuts!”

“Yeah,” Toby agreed. His own son was at that age where he was getting restless, wanting more action than any rural town in the plain states could offer. His teenage daughter Lindsey was felt the same way. Toby wasn’t ready for this yet, but he knew that pretty soon, it’d be time for them both to go off into the world. “Anyway, I’ll dig the rest of this out.” Toby said as he walked back to the min-dozer, trying to keep his mind off the future. “Probably have to call the garbage company to haul all this shit.” 

The newly exposed pit began to smell as the engine re-started. Steel jaws bit into the earth and more waste was scooped into the machine’s metal mouth. After digging about two feet in, Toby noticed a patch of denim fall out of the metal jaws and back down to the earth. It looked like an ancient pair of overalls, but it appeared they were used to wrap something up. He didn’t register Nick giving a startled look into the pit, but he did notice him fall backwards as he undid the brass button on the overalls, unwrapping their contents and exposing them to the humid air.

“Ah shit!” Toby heard Nick shout before racing back to his pickup truck to fetch a shovel. Nick then waved his arms into the air, yelling “Stop, stop!” Toby turned the engine off. Stepping out of his machine, he watched Nick digging into the pit with his shovel. He made quick but delicate thrusts into the dirt, as if he were an archaeologist unearthing some prehistoric Babylonian temple. “Shit, shit, shit!” Nick shouted.

The smell was now becoming overpowering as Toby approached. “What’s wrong?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question. Given that awful smell, he knew full well what they had just unwittingly uncovered.

“We gotta call the police.” Nick coldly said, as they both looked down to see a nearly complete human skeleton, among other human bones buried in the ditch.

Hope you enjoyed this opening appetizer of No Gein II. Come back in a few days to see some old familiar faces at a world premiere of a remake of a classic horror film. Does it have any connection to the awful truth that has just been unearthed? 

Find out in No Gein II: Chapter Two, Terror Remade!

No Gein: An Alternate Horror Part Seventeen

Part Seventeen: These are the Days

August 5th, 1998, Wisconsin

“Boy they sure murder you on this popcorn!’ Bernice said as she put her change back in her purse. Her grandson carried a large tray towards her great grandkids, Tommy and Lindsey, along with their friends. The young teens eagerly snatched the bags of popcorn and paper cups filled with soda. Bernice remembered when she could see movies for a whole year on the amount of money she’d just spent, and these were matinee prices!

No matter though, these were her golden years, her platinum years even, in which she not only enjoyed grandchildren, but great-grandchildren, both of whom she spoiled rotten. She’d long sold her hardware store, and she and Ronald, her second husband of over 30 years, now enjoyed all of their free time. 

The screen lit up the darkened theater as the previews began. Bernice smiled as the trailer began with a familiar tune. She figured the kids wouldn’t recognize the song Mr. Sandman by the Chordettes, but to her it brought back fond memories. Then the mood of the trailer shifted as that familiar 90’s preview voice spoke. “It’s 1998, in a California beach side town.” It then cut to a group of kids boasting about having a Halloween party. 

Bernice blushed as the characters joked about having a roaming orgy. “What the hell is this?” her husband Ronald complained, probably not wishing to explain the word “orgy” to the young ins. Bernice just laughed, figuring the kids heard much worse than this, given the kinds of things they put on TV these days.

On screen characters also took issue with the teen’s behavior. An attractive teacher says, “No booze, no drugs, no kidding.” Then the trailer cut to the action. In the nature of trailers these days which gave away half the movie, the kids in the theater laughed and cheered as one by one the horny teens were dispatched by a mysterious shape.

That familiar trailer voice returned saying, “The face of evil, will meet the face of good.” Some in the audience laughed, and others groaned, as a familiar, but long forgotten face appeared on the cue of “the face of good.” Ronald smiled as he recognized the face of Sylvester Stallone, whose career had fallen far from the heights of the 1980s. Ronald remembered when a few years back the actor even tried a few comedies. Hopefully, Ronald thought, a horror movie would be Sly’s ticket back over to the top of the movie business.

 “This time,” the voice over said, while images of what looked to be a sea creature floated across the screen, “it’s going to be a fight to the finish.”  

It looked like the eighties all over again as Stallone faced the screen, his wet muscles bulging as his hands gripped a shotgun. “Hey yo,” he said in his trademark deep Italian voice before pumping the shotgun, ‘this monster’s gotta go!”  Like the action films of old, bullets were flying, and boats exploded on the water while Stallone spouted out lines like, “I shot it six times!” and “You don’t know what death is!” 

The trailer’s narrator concluded with, “At this beach, terror won’t be taking a vacation.”

The words “Halloween: H20” then appeared onscreen.  

“Cool.” One of Tommy’s friends blurted out. “I hope it’s better than Halloween: Resurrection of the Vampire!” 

“Be quite Franklin!” Tommy said, shushing his friend. Ronald was also annoyed but Bernice just smiled. She presumed the kids would want to see this once it came out in a couple months.

Finally, the feature presentation started. Bernice liked it already, it had the credits upfront the way movies used to, with a shrieking violin orchestrating the soundtrack. One credit got Ronald’s attention “Based on the novel by Robert Bloch.” 

“He was a local author,” he whispered to his wife. Ronald knew Bloch wasn’t from Plainfield of course, but he did graduate high school in Milwaukee. As the movie Psycho properly began, Ronald remembered hearing about the book. It was the author’s last work before he died about four years back. He said nothing as another familiar credit lit the screen. “Directed by George Kohler. He remembered the Kohler family from his home up the road in Amherst.

Not long into the movie the teens hooted and hollered at the sight of a beautiful woman taking off her clothes before getting into the shower. “Yeah, let’s see some titties!” Franklin yelled, but much to his disappointment, there were no naked female breasts to be seen.

Ronald didn’t like the outburst, but he did enjoy the sight of the woman in the shower. It was an actress he’d seen in a few other films recently. In fact, Ronald thought she might have been the teacher in the trailer for that Stallone movie . Her name was Jamie something. She reminded Ronald of Janet Leigh, who was an actress he enjoyed back in the 1960’s. Thoughts of this starlet vanished once he felt his wife’s soft skin squeezing his hand as she whispered, “I remember when I looked like that.”

The elderly couple had seen their share of horror movies, and sitting near the front of the dark theater, they were not frightened, but both were a little disturbed. Not at the murder scene on screen, as what looked like a female form pulled back the shower curtain and stabbed the young beauty to death, but that the kids laughed and cheered while it happened. Franklin particularly took delight at this scene, mimicking the stabbing motions while the violin music played. 

After the movie they all went to the skating rink in Hancock, Bernice and her husband sat down at a table with the kids. Pizza pies and soda were spread out ready to be consumed while the jukebox played a mix of current pop music.

“How did you like the movie? Bernice asked her great grandson Tommy.

“It was great! Tommy said. “It was so scary, and that ending was crazy!”

“Did you like it? Her great grand-daughter Lindsey asked.

“Yeah, I liked it, it was a scary one.” 

Tommy agreed, “Yeah it was, and that ending was nuts!”

As Bernice thought about that ending, with a twist she was sure no one saw coming, she had a strange moment of reflection. “That Norman Bates sure was an odd fellow.” she said, “He kind of reminded me of old Eddie Gein.”

“Who’s Eddie Gein? Lindsey asked.        

“He could have been your great grandfather!” Ronald teased.

“Oh, stop it!” Bernice swatted him on the arm.

“Oh, it’s true,” Ronald persisted, “he used to hit on Bernice all the time.” He then excitedly leaned toward the kid, as if about to tell a secret. “He even asked her to come roller skating right here!” His old, wrinkled finger pointed down to the ground as he spoke.

“Oh you!” Bernice’s cheeks were glowing red.

“What happened to him?” Tommy asked.

“Oh, he died in a fire way way back.” Bernice thought hard about exactly when it was but couldn’t recall anymore. “It was a shame really, the poor guy.”

“Well why did he remind you of Norman Bates?” Franklin inserted himself into the conversation.

“Well, the poor man was dominated by his mother all his life, kind of like that Norman.” Bernice noted. “Wouldn’t let him have any friends, I don’t think he ever even had a girlfriend.”

“Did he kill anybody?” Franklin asked excitedly.

“Franklin you’re never gonna have a girlfriend either if you don’t stop talking about serial killers all the time.” Tommy objected.

Bernice laughed, “Oh goodness no, no no no, but he lived all alone in a spooky farmhouse, kind of like the house in the movie. All the kids in town thought it was haunted. Especially after he died, we would all tell stories about seeing his ghost at night and all such things. Most people remember him as a good man though. Always willing to help people out, he was harmless,” Bernice remembered, “if not a little odd.” 

“What kind of stories?” Franklin pressed, sounding anxious to hear further details.

“Oh god, we got Franklin started on killers again.” One of the teens said in annoyance. 

“Come on let’s go play some Mortal Kombat.” Tommy said as he and his friends ran to the skating rink’s arcade section.

Franklin remained, still pushing to hear more. “What kind of stories, did you ever see any ghosts?”

“You go run along now.” Ronald said, waving his hand at Franklin in irritation. “Go play with your friends.” 

The kids then spent the rest of the afternoon playing video games and roller skating as the music continued to play. After a while, they all gathered back at the table to sing happy birthday to Tommy. Bernice Worden didn’t know the band Burn Victims, but their lyrics echoed through the skating rink. “These are the days to remember,” with the word “days” drawn out by the female singer. Bernice smiled as the song played. These were the days for her to remember, enjoying the love and the company of four generations of family and friends. As her great grandson blew out the candles on his Michael Jordan birthday cake, she thought about how next year she would be one hundred years old. Regardless of if she even made it that far, she sure felt lucky for what she had.

The End

Happy Halloween! Hope you all are safe and taking care of yourselves, and I hope you enjoyed this experiment in horror and alternate history. How many pop culture deviations did you find? What was the first one you noticed? Feel free to comment below. If you enjoyed this, stay tuned for No Gein Two: A Second Helping! 

No Gein: An Alternate Horror Part Sixteen

Part Sixteen: Course Correction

August 5th, 1991. Plainfield Wisconsin

George was still in a daze while Henry ordered two drinks at the local bar. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his father must have been feeling, having just learning about what happened to his aunt, his father’s sister. “I don’t know what to say dad.” George thought aloud.

Looking up at the TV, Henry replied, “Let’s just talk about something else.” George nodded before his father then asked, “George, well,” George wondered what his father was about to say. What he heard was a question. “What do you want to do with yourself?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You still got your whole life ahead of you.” Henry said, still staring at the TV. “What do you want to do with it?”

“I don’t know.” was the best answer George could give.

“I think you do.” Henry said firmly. The bartender brought two bottles of beer to them. After taking a sip of his Henry asked, “Ever read Joseph Cambell?”

George replied, “Isn’t he that philosopher that inspired Star Wars?”

“Yeah, Franki introduced me to some of his books. He says this thing about following your bliss. It’s like, you gotta do what makes you happy. So seriously son, what do you want to do more than anything else?”

George took a drink and then thought for what felt like a long time. Finally, he answered. “I guess I still want to do movies.”

“Well alright then.” Henry raised his bottle to his son then realized out loud, “You know, we never had a beer together.”

“You’re right, we never did.” George said with some surprise.

“Two shots!” The father immediately ordered.

Two shots were delivered. George watched his father take his shot without hesitation. He could then see his father’s eyes on him as he raised the tiny glass to his mouth. George could feel his whole face grimace as he barely got the liquid down his throat. He then heard Henry burst into a much-needed laugh.

“That your first shot son?” the bartender asked.

“First shot with me!” The proud papa proclaimed.

“Well let’s make it a second,” the bartender immediately said. Puring two more shots she mischieviously grinned saying “On the house.”

“Oh god.” George’s eyes rolled while everyone at the bar laughed.

“Tonight son,” Henry announced while looking across the bar, “you’re gonna learn the true meaning of horror. I see they’ve got some vodka over there.”

Father and son proceeded to drink and mingle with the locals. Neither revealing much regarding the purpose of their visit. Over beer and pool, they mentioned they were originally from a town up north and were just passing through. George watched a side of his father he’d never seen before, boisterous and social, and George found himself being rather reserved, not gaudy and demanding of attention. Perhaps, he thought, because he knew he wasn’t around people that would carry a conversation about splatter movies, video games, or Dungeons and Dragons. He was around regular people, the kind of people he’d usually look down on.

“He’s going to be a movie director!” His father announced to his new best friends. George looked on in confusion, not knowing how to respond. 

“Oh really!” The bartender then asked, “What do you think of that psycho in Milwaukee, you could make a movie about him?” His father looked at him with drunk eyes smiling while the woman waited for his response.

Looking back at his father, George answered, “Nah that guy was sick.”

As the night died down, father and son sat back at the bar. On the television the Brewers were tied with the Baltimore Orioles, that was until Milwaukee’s Robin Yount hit a double to bring Darryl Hamilton home to a 6-5 lead. Pointing to the boxed television set, Henry said “When you were first born, I imagined taking you to a game in Milwaukee.” 

George turned to his father and said, “We did see the Brewers, remember?”

“We did?”

“Yeah, we went to a Phillies game when they played them. You were mad because I was cheering on Mike Schmidt.” George recalled, suddenly remembering a part of his childhood when he actually had sports heroes.

“Well, he was the best third baseman to ever play the game.” His father happily pointed out. “Damn, I forgot all about that.” The two then looked up at the TV to watch the rest of the game. Not too long after, the last Baltimore batter struck out, and Milwaukee won the night. Once it was wrapped up Henry said, “Thanks for coming out here with me.”

“No problem.” Struggling to find what to say next, he said “I’m sorry dad, I’m sorry about, I don’t know,” he looked back at the TV hoping to find some inspiration.

He felt his father’s hand on his back while hearing the words “It’s alright son. You were so little; you probably don’t remember her much.”

“I remember her a bit.” George recalled. “I remember when she stayed with us. We went to the store one day and I wanted a magazine.”

“You always were a reader.”

“Yeah, and mom didn’t want me to get this monster magazine, but Sally got it for me.”

“Really? I don’t remember that.”

“You don’t?” This was a surprise to George. “That’s what got me into horror movies.”

Henry’s eyes widened “Wow, really?” He shook his head, took a big gulp of his drink, then stared off into nothing.

“I remember when I was a kid,” Henry said after a while, “we had this teacher who brought in a guest speaker. Jewish guy. I’d never met anyone Jewish before.”

“What did he talk about?” George asked, not realizing when this story would have taken place.

“He’d lived through all the shit.” Henry answered. “It was God awful. He was right there in Auschwitz.”

“Oh my god.”

“What he saw was unbelievable, stacks of bodies, and that awful smell. We were just kids though; we should have known better. We had to stay after school that day.”

“What happened?”

Henry looked almost too embarrassed to admit it, even decades later. He explained “Me and my friends, we were laughing at the guy. We were just dumb kids, but still, we should have known better.” Henry shook his head in disbelief.” I guess when it doesn’t happen to you, it’s almost like it’s not even real. With my sister, it was always real to me.”

Local news now came on the television. The Dahmer story was still hot, and the gory details of his crimes were once again the lead. George took another sip of his drink and thought out loud. “That son of a bitch.” Soon the bartender changed the channel and announced last call. Father and son closed the bar that night.

Waking up the next morning, Henry decided they should, in fact, go to the cemetery to see Roger one more time. George felt odd attending the burial of someone neither he nor his father ever knew. However, it was likely no one noticed, as it seemed all of Plainfield was out. George and his father had to park their rental car down the road from the cemetery gate, as so many cars were already there. Walking on the dirt path, they passed an old couple, “That’s where I’ll be Ronald.” The elderly woman said, passing an empty plot amongst the tombstones. 

“Well don’t rush!” Her elderly companion said, squeezing her arm playfully.

The weather was pleasant that day at the Plainfield cemetery. The crowd gathered around as the priest read the words of Psalm 23, which was common for such occasions.

“The Lord is my Shepard; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside the still waters.

He restores my soul; he leads me in the path of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff they comfort me.

You have prepared a table before me in the presence of my enemies, you have anointed my head with oil, my cup runs over. 

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all of the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

After the service most of the crowd dispersed. George and Henry kept to themselves as Roger made small talk with a few of the locals. After a few minutes, Roger appeared surprised when he saw George and Henry. “Thanks for coming.” he said, to which the two nodded. “Come on over here.” Roger then motioned. George and Henry followed him across the cemetery to a series of graves. “These were his parents.” Roger whispered, pointing to two tombstones on the right which read George Phillip Gein and Augusta Gein. “This was his brother Henry.” he said pointing at the grave to the left. Then, pointing to a grey tombstone between Henry and Augusta, Roger said, “and here he is.” George and his father looked down, and there was the tombstone of one Edward Theordore Gein. Here lay the Ghoul of Plainfield, and no one ever knew.

“The Sheriff ‘found the body,’” Roger spoke using air quotes, “the next day. We couldn’t bring ourselves to go to the funeral. My wife went; said a lot of people came out. Everyone saw him as this odd guy, but they all remembered him working hard. Kids liked it when he babysat them. In the winter he would have snowball fights with them, in the summer he would buy them ice cream. We figured it was better no one knew.” 

Then he teared up. “I’m sorry.” he said, taking out a handkerchief and blowing his nose. “I’m sorry, he was my friend. We just had no idea.”

“It’s okay.” Henry said. “There was no way you could have known. It’s a good thing you came along when you did that night; you know, for my sister’s sake.” 

Putting his handkerchief away Roger revealed, “Except for your friend Robert, I never told a soul. I mean my wife suspected a little I guess, but me and Arthur, we never told anyone. It really ate Art up inside.” Looking at Henry he continued. “I don’t blame you for being mad about what we did, but I’m glad you know. You deserved to know. To tell you the truth it feels good to tell someone, as awful as it is.”

Henry gratefully put his hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Thank you for helping my sister, and, and for everything.”

The two embraced, then Roger pulled away and shook George’s hand before saying, “You two take care now.” and left the father and son to themselves. Henry turned to his son and fell into his arms. George held his sobbing father while looking down at the grave. 

There was a time when George would have reveled in the story of Ed Gein. At one time, had he the opportunity, he would have ripped this tombstone right out of the ground and sold it for notoriety and fame, but here it lay, perfectly intact. It’s smooth stone reflecting the sunlight. Only a few people in the whole world ever knew of what the corpse that lay beneath had done in life.

There will be one more chapter of this tale of horrific alternate history tomorrow, just in time for Halloween. In the meantime, be safe.

No Gein: An Alternate Horror Part Fifteen

Part Fifteen: Point of Divergence

Reader advisory, this chapter is graphic.

8/5/1991 Wisconsin

Henry and George were not about to drive all the way to Wisconsin. Flying out of the Lehigh Valley airport, after a short layover they landed in Green Bay. It was late when they arrived, and they didn’t talk much as they spent the night at a hotel. The next day they rented a car and headed west. George had forgotten how flat it was out there, with its pink soiled fields that stretched for miles. Later, looking at the road map, George noticed Henry turned on 76 North at the town of Shiocton, when he was expecting to still follow 54 west.

“Why are we going north?” George asked.

Henry’s eyes still kept on the road. “We’re going home,” he answered, “we’re going to see my sister.”

Not long after, they reached their old home of Amherst and found themselves at the gates of the Greenwood Cemetery. George followed as Henry slowly walked through the graveyard. Still remembering right where Sally was, Henry knelt down and touched his sister’s tombstone with his hand. George stayed a few feet behind, and after a few quiet minutes Henry rose back up. Together they looked down at Sally’s final resting place. Henry remembered how all those years when nobody believed her. Well, that wasn’t true, he believed her. Somehow, he knew she was telling the truth, and he always stood by her. Whatever really did happen, he wished it wouldn’t have. He wished she was there with him now. He wished she could have met Franki, and he wished she could see his children, now all grown up. “She would have liked you.” Henry said to his son.

“You think?” He heard George quietly ask behind him.

 “Yeah,” Henry nodded, still looking at the stone. “She was, well, she always did her own thing, like she really didn’t know how to do any different.” He might not have realized it until just now, but that’s the way his son is. Finally, he looked away from the stone and said, “Well, let’s go find what this shit’s all about.”

Now heading south to Plainfield, Henry was surprised at what good time they were making. He didn’t remember the roads being this good when he was a kid. He also didn’t remember what few homes were out here having swimming pools. What was once called the great dead heart of Wisconsin appeared to have been resuscitated a bit. The run-down farms he remembered in his youth were now what looked like high yield potato fields, while once modest ranch homes were now equiped with satelite dishes so farmers could watch the same pointless TV shows that big city folks viewed.

Another thing Henry didn’t remember was a time when his son was so quiet. George just kept staring out the window, looking out over the miles of outstretched plains. Eventually, his son did say something. “I wouldn’t have been able to grow up here.”

“It’s where I grew up.” Henry said matter of fact like, still looking at the empty road ahead.

“Why did you leave?”

“Hmm, once Sally was gone,” Henry reflected, “well, people were teasing Helen in school about it, and your mom always wanted to get out of Wisconsin.” He laughed and looked at George to say, “I guess you can see why.” Looking back at the open sky he said, “Bethlehem Steel was always hiring, so off we went.”

George looked back at Henry and added “I think mom wanted out of everything.”

Remembering how she ran around on him as soon as they settled into their new home in Pennsylvania, Henry replied, “Yeah I think you’re right George, I think you’re right.”

Later that afternoon they pulled into the tiny town of Plainfield that seemed to be the center of this mystery. Henry previously informed Roger, a local resident, how Bloch contacted his son George about the matter at hand, and Henry had told the man he would call him once he got to town. After checking into the hotel room he got Roger on the phone. “Get me a paper and pen.” he instructed George, who handed him the stationary. “Alright, empty lot on Archer and Second, about 6 miles out of town. You can see me in about an hour? OK great, thank you.”

About an hour later Henry and George pulled into an empty lot on the outskirts of Plainfield. Before making this trip, George asked why they didn’t just call these people on the phone. Whatever the truth was, Henry wanted to find out face to face. 

A blue pickup truck waited for them on the side of the road. The sun was beginning to set when Henry and George arrived. Henry was expecting to meet two people at this site, but it was a sole old man that got out of the pickup. He had a long grey beard and denim overalls, probably a farmer, as Henry’s father had been. Henry pondered how, had George grown up here, they both would have ended up looking like this guy. George probably wouldn’t have liked that. As the man approached, Henry couldn’t help but think he looked familiar, but he couldn’t imagine where he could have seen him before. The man gave him a glance of recognition as well, before pointing at the two of them saying, “Henry and George Kohler?” 

“That’s correct sir.” Henry said. 

“Roger.” the man stuck his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you.” He then shook hands with both of them. Looking around at the near empty land, Henry could see a house off in the distance. “So, is this where you live?”

“Down the road a bit.” Roger then pointed to the ground to explain, “This was Eddie Gein’s property.”

Henry asked, “Who’s Eddie Gein?”

The night was slowly creeping in while the trio walked down the road by the empty field. It was here that the man began his tale. “It would have been around this spot where I found the car.” The father and son followed behind as they heard Roger say, “I was driving home that night when I saw it,” turning back to look at Henry he said, “what would have been your sister’s car, pulled over on the side of the road. Figured it was outta gas or something. Got out to take a look, that’s when I heard the gunshots. Wasn’t hunting season yet.” Pointing to a pile of rubble he said, “I knew this property was right down the road. I figured someone was pulling a prank on poor Ed.”

“A prank?” Henry asked.

“People took advantage of Ed.” Roger explained. “He was a simple fellow, people borrowed money from him and didn’t pay him back, borrowed shit from him and kept it. One time somebody put a smoke bomb under the hood of his truck.” He shook his head, taking no pleasure in recounting this story. “Boy he was mad at that one. He was so mad he could have, could’ve….”

“Could have killed somebody?” George finished the sentence.

“Yeah.” Roger shook his head before speaking again. “Anyway, I head on down the road, next thing I know this girl is jumping up and down waving her arms around right in front of me. Almost ran her over honestly, but I just barely managed to spin the truck around without getting into a damn wreck. She hopped in the cab and screamed ‘Go go go!” Roger motioned with his arm. “I heard another gunshot and hit the gas. Couldn’t see anybody else out here, but I could have sworn I heard some squealing sound, like a hog got loose or something. You know,” he stopped and shook his head, “I never thought much of that sound until just now. Too much going on at the time for me to think of it, but Ed hadn’t had livestock for years.”

“So, the girl you picked up,” Henry asked, “this was my sister?” 

“That would be her,” Roger answered, “she was hysterical. Got her back to my place, the wife made her some tea and tried to get her to calm down. She was babbling all this stuff about bodies and what not.” He looked at Henry to say, “I’m sorry to say this sir, but I thought she was whacked out on dope.”

“It’s OK.” Henry assured him.

“Anyway,” Roger continued, “hearing those gunshots I was worried someone was harassing Eddie. So, I called the Sheriff and told him to meet me here.”

Now walking off the road onto the former Gein property, Roger pointed to the ground and noted that Eddie had a woodshed right around this spot. “I pulled my truck up and looked around. It was all dark, but that was to be expected, Ed didn’t have no electricity. I called out to him a few times but there was no answer. I couldn’t make heads or tails out of most of what your sister was saying, but she insisted there was a body in the woodshed. I was half afraid somebody killed Ed and put his body in there! So, I went in.” Roger was growing visibly upset as he told this part of the story. He lit a cigarette, took a puff, then looked at George and Henry and asked, “Do you hunt?” 

George nodded no but his father said, “Sure I do.” 

“So, you’ve gutted a deer?” 

Henry nodded and George asked, “So, there was a deer inside?”

“No, it was a person!” Roger nearly shouted as both George and Henry gasped. “She was hanging upside down off a crossbar that was shoved right through her ankles. Her arms were tied taught with rope to the crossbar, and she hung there naked as the day she was born.” Fred sniffled as he took a drag of his cigarette. “Gutted like a damn animal, big gashing hole in her, her…”

“Jesus.” Henry said, now fully understanding how his sister suffered for what she must have seen. He also knew this man had to live through his life haunted by this memory.

“I ran out the shed and puked right then and there, probably right where he’s standing.” Roger pointed to George, who calmly took a step back. “Arthur, the sheriff that is, arrived soon after.” Roger managed a smirk while he took time to wipe his eyes. “Bastard was laughing at me for puking, but his laughing scared the shit out of me. He comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulder asking if I was OK.” Now laughing himself he recalled, “I almost shot him. Wasn’t laughing then, but he must have noticed the shed door open, so he went in and took a look. Next thing I know he comes running out and now he’s puking right next to me.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry.” Henry said, astonished. 

“Who was in the shed?” George asked.

“You know,” Roger remembered, “I don’t think I even noticed her head was taken off, but later he told me her head was laying in that shed. Said it was someone we knew, someone who had just died. Arthur and I were both at her funeral just the week before.”

“Wait, so her grave was robbed?” George said in disgust.

Roger nodded before continuing. “The Sheriff stormed to the porch. Even then I don’t think I realized what Ed had done. I think in that moment, I was still thinking somebody else did it. But the Sheriff was pounding on the door, he was hot. ‘Eddie! Eddie!” Roger mimicked knocking on an invisible door. “Get your ass out here now!’ He didn’t wait for an answer and just kicked his damn door in. I followed behind. I was still worried about Ed. I remember yelling ‘Ed it’s Roger, are you okay?”

Pointing to an area in the now empty field, Roger continued, “It would have been right around here where we went in. The first thing we noticed was the smell. It was awful. There was no electricity in the house but we both had our flashlights. Apparently, Ed lit his house with kerosene lamps, so a few of those were around. Eddie’s mom died years before, he was really close to her. I think once she died, he just fell apart. We could see coffee cans stuffed with chewing gum, cracked yellow dentures laying around. There was a washtub filled with sand, piles of these old mystery magazines. It was a mess, and we didn’t even see the worst of it yet.”

“So was Ed in the house then?” Henry wondered aloud.

Roger nodded slowly. “We heard that sound, that squealing sound, almost like an animal crying.  We went in the next room, which looked like a bedroom, that’s where the sound was coming from. There it was, sitting on the bed, it was rocking back and forth, cradling a rifle in its hands.”

“Was it Ed?” George asked.

By now it was dark, the only light they had was from the moon, and the burning red glow of the cigarette. “I don’t know what made me say it.” Roger thought back to that horrible moment. “I didn’t think it could be Ed, I just didn’t think it could be. It had long grey hair like a woman, and its skin was old and wrinkled. I don’t know what made me say it, but I looked at this thing and said his name, ‘Ed?”

“Oh my god.” Henry shuddered at the realization.

“It wasn’t Eddie’s face, but it was his eyes, Ed had this fleshy growth under his left eye, and I could see it. Those familiar eyes looked at me, but they had a hate in them I’d never known. It let out this horrible shriek and charged at me. Now Eddie was a small man, but he was farmer strong, knocked me down and got right on top of me. His hands flailed at me. I reached up and pushed the face away, that face, it felt so strange, really oily and unnatural.” Pushing his hands in an upwards motion Roger said “his head stayed still but his whole face pushed to the side like his skin was sliding on his skull. Then I saw his whole body get ripped off of me. Sheriff grabbed him by the collar and threw him hard into the wall. Then Arthur smashed the thing’s skull with the butt of his rifle. Now it just lay there, perfectly still on the ground. By then I knew what it was, but I didn’t want to admit it. Only when I got back to my feet, and the Sheriff pulled the mask off, did I face the fact that underneath was Ed Gein.”

George asked, “Wait, what was this mask he was wearing?” 

Roger took another long puff of his cigarette before revealing, “It was the face of the woman we found in the shed.”

“Jesus Christ, are you fucking serious?” George exclaimed.

“So, what happened to Ed then?” Henry asked. “He didn’t go to jail?”

“Jail, huh, it was too late for that.” 

“Don’t tell me,” Henry said, “don’t tell me you…”

Thinking back to his former friend lying face down in a pool of blood, remembering this accidental death, this awful homicide, Roger explained, “Sheriff checked his pulse, he was gone. He then asked me if I was alright. I sat down on the bed to catch my breath. When I put my hand on the bedpost,” holding up his hand palm down he said, “I noticed it felt weird, then my hand jerked back, like it knew before I did. Jesus.” He took another puff of his cigarette.

“What was it?” Henry asked.

He then stated the horrible truth. “There were human skulls on his bed posts.”

“What?” George was astonished.

“Yeah. And while this was scaring the shit out of me the Sheriff examined the body. It wasn’t just the face Ed was wearing.”

Henry asked, “What do you mean?”

“He was wearing a whole torso of human skin. It was a woman’s skin; the breasts were intact.” George and Henry listened in shock. “We didn’t even notice till later, but he was also wearing leggings made of human skin.”

“And you were his friend, and you never knew!” Henry began to grow angry.

“Nobody knew!” Roger insisted. “Nobody was at his house for years; didn’t let people hunt on his property. The guy didn’t even hunt deer because he couldn’t stand the site of blood!” 

Then George asked, “How many bodies do you think were in there?”

“We think ten.” 

“Why ten?” George asked.

“Because between the two rooms, there were eight other skin masks hanging from the walls.” Roger wiped the tears from his eyes as he recalled, “We could actually recognize some of the faces. Bastard even put lipstick on some of them. On the walls nine obituaries from the newspaper were pinned up. We think he dug graves of women that reminded him of his mother.”

“Why would he do that?” Henry asked.

“I’m not a shrink.” Roger answered. “I don’t know, maybe he thought he could bring her back.”

“Wait, you said there were nine obituaries,” George observed, “but you think there were ten bodies?”

“In the kitchen, the Sheriff found a brown paper bag.” Roger explained. “I don’t know what made him reach in it, just instinct I guess, but he reached his hand in and grabbed a clump of hair. When he pulled his hand out, he realized he’d found another skin mask, and we both recognized the face.”

“Who was it?” George wondered.

“It was a woman named Mary, she ran a tavern up the road in Pine Grove and disappeared a few years before this. At the time, the rumors had it she was mixed up with the mob, all we knew was she disappeared one day. A cartridge was found on the floor of her tavern along with a pool of blood. We always figured someone from her days in Chicago caught up with her, but there she was. The Sheriff put her face down in a bowl, before realizing that bowl was made of a human skull.”

George’s father broke down weeping, almost falling into his son’s arms. “My god my god!” he wailed, fully comprehending both the horror his poor sister suffered, and the madness she escaped. 

George was tearing up himself. “OK, we’ve heard enough” he said, holding his hand up toward Roger.

“No, no,” Henry looked back up. “No, tell us everything, we came all this way to hear this.” Wiping his eyes, he insisted, “Go on. I wanna know everything you saw.”

Having already begun his grotesque tale, and knowing his audience fully accepted its insanity, Roger recounted the rest of the facts as if he were merely reading from an encyclopedia. “In the kitchen there were four chairs that were covered in human skin.” he recounted. “We also found human skin lampshades, bracelets, human skin covering a wastebasket, and on the sheath of a hunting knife. There was a belt made of nipples, and on the shade pull to the curtains was a pair of human lips.”

George fell to his knees, no longer able to contain the bile in his stomach, he leaned over and vomited on the ground, just as Roger and the Sheriff had all those years ago. His father wrapped his son in his arms and helped him back to his feet. After Henry wiped his son’s mouth with his own handkerchief, George looked up and said, “Go on.”

“We found a box with nine vulvas’ inside,” Roger stated, still in a monotone voice, “one was dabbed with silver paint and trimmed with red ribbon, the one on top seemed the freshest. Art noticed they were covered in small crystals, then we realized they were sprinkled with salt. In another box were four noses, and in a cardboard Quaker Oates container were scraps of human innards.”

Having recounted the last of the gruesome details Roger apologized to Henry.” I’m really sorry sir, but I have no doubt that whatever your sister told you was probably true.”

George wondered. “What about the rest of the house?”

“The other rooms were boarded up,” Roger recalled, “so naturally we thought ‘Jesus Christ what are we gonna find next?’ I didn’t want to know, but we had to find out. I closed my eyes as Arthur kicked down a locked door to a room downstairs.” 

“What did you find? George asked in dreaded anticipation.

“It was nothing. Apparently, he only used the kitchen and the adjacent bedroom on the first floor. All the other rooms in the house were abandoned. There were five whole rooms upstairs that went completely unused. His mother’s upstairs bedroom was like a shrine to her. He had her Bible sitting on the nightstand, and this painting of Christ looking up at an angel was still hanging on the wall. The room was perfectly preserved, he didn’t even go in there to dust. It was downright creepy how untouched those rooms were. So that was it,” Roger concluded, “that was everything we found.”

Looking at the empty space where the nightmarish structure once stood, Henry asked, “Then, what happened to the house?”

“Arthur was pretty adamant, if word ever got out about this, every freak show in a thousand miles would come take a look.” George nodded in perfect understanding as Roger explained. “Carnies would be showing off his car and would have turned the home into a spook house.” Randomly pointing to a few spots around the land he revealed, “We gathered up what remains we could and buried them in a few spots around the property. Not deep enough, as your buddy Robert found out last time, but we buried them. Gein’s house was lit by kerosene lamps, and luckily there was plenty of kerosene lying around. So, we left Ed’s body in there and burned the place to the ground.” 

“And nobody ever found out? Henry said, aghast.

“Arthur made sure nothing turned up.” Roger then dropped his cigarette and stomped it out.

“How do you know he didn’t kill anyone else?” Henry asked angrily. “There could be someone else out there just like me with relation that ran across this maniac and maybe got killed and the family never knew!”

“You think I never wrestled with that?” Roger answered back. “Mary was the only suspected murder case in the area. I mean sometimes a hunter would go missing or something like that. I remember this teenage girl disappeared years before, but that was nowhere near here. The Sheriff insisted this be kept quiet, and I wasn’t gonna disobey him.” Raising his hands up he said, “I’m not saying what we did was right, but we did what we did, it’s done. I’m really sorry about what happened to your sister.” 

Henry was still angered at what had just been revealed, but he kept quiet while George asked, “What did you tell Sally then?” 

“She was still pretty upset when we went back,” Roger answered, “but I think it was some relief to her once she saw us again. I told my wife to go upstairs while we talked to her in the kitchen. We assured her the man was dead and told her about the fire.” Lighting another cigarette, he continued. “I’m sorry to say it, but the Sheriff got a little hard on her. Made her swear she’d never tell anyone what she saw and told her to never come to this town again. He threatened to plant dope on her and throw her in jail. I didn’t like that he did that, but she promised. We let her sleep in our spare room that night. The Sheriff slept on my couch, though I don’t know if he did much sleeping. The next day we got her some gas and took her home. I actually drove her car back, and she rode with the Sheriff.” 

“I remember you now!” Henry recalled. “I remember the Sheriff bringing her home that day. I was wondering why someone else was driving my dad’s car.” Henry said, remembering his childhood innocence. 

“Shit that was your dad’s car!?!” Roger exclaimed almost laughing.

“My sister and him got into an argument that night and she took off with it.”

“Well god damn!” Roger shook his head. “I guess you would have been just a little kid then huh?”

“Yeah.” Henry said sternly, still upset about the secret he’d just learned.

George interjected, “You said the sheriff is still here?” Both George and Henry anticipated talking to him as well. Roger looked down. “Well, he was. He just passed away actually. Funeral is tomorrow.” He thought for a minute, then said, “You should come by the cemetery. I’d, I’d like to show you something.” 

“We’ll be out of here in the morning.” Henry quickly said. George put his hand on his father’s shoulder and interjected.

“We’ll see how we feel tomorrow.” George said.

Roger breathed a deep sigh and nodded his head. “Alright, you two take care now.” He then went back to his truck, and soon both vehicles drove away from the empty field. 

It was eerily quiet in the rental car as it rode by the empty fields. Henry didn’t even turn the radio on. George stared blankly out the window; not daring to touch the dial. As they approached what few lights shined in the town ahead, he finally looked at his father and said, “We ought to go to the cemetery tomorrow.” His father remained silent. “Well don’t you want to know what he wanted to show us?” There was still no answer as George turned and looked back out the window just in time to watch the sign for their hotel pass by. Continuing down the road, George looked back at his father, who was eyeing a neon sign down the street. “Dad, where are we going?”

Parking the rental car near a tavern he looked to George and said, “Son, I think we both need a drink.”

No Gein: An Alternate Horror Part Thirteen

Part Thirteen: Mother

July 23rd, 1991. Plainfield Wisconsin

“Just a little odd.” Sitting in his hotel room looking over his notes, Bloch wondered how many people thought that about him. Every town has their local weirdo, but something about this Eddie character drew Robert in, as if they were destined to be linked somehow. Those shrunken heads, was it possible they were from the Philippines, or, could a ghoulish killer with perverted appetites have flourished in a small rural community where everyone prided themselves on knowing everyone else’s business? Quite a story it would make, a domineering religiously fanatical mother, a quiet, unassuming, isolated fellow who lived with a terrible secret. Quite a story indeed. 

The light remained on as Robert lay in the hotel bed. He couldn’t get Gein out of his mind. He also wondered if anyone else was even staying in this hotel. Looking at the old flimsy door to the outer hallway, he was reminded of his long-deceased friend H.P. Lovecraft. In Lovecraft’s story, Shadow of Innsmouth, the main character stumbled across a strange town, and, after staying in a cheap hotel, is almost kidnapped, before narrowly escaping and learning the town’s deadly secrets. Bloch wished for no parallels to his current experience.

Looking at his notes from the bar, he was sure he heard the name of Gein before, but where? Then it hit him. Now thumbing through his library notes, he remembered how the Gein property was the site of two seperate fires in the 1950’s. Finding some satisfaction to his curiosity, he decided that in the morning he’d drive out to what was the Gein property, just to take a look. If anyone questioned him, he could just say he got lost. That sheriff that saw him at the bar looked long retired, and he didn’t expect any trouble from the proper authorities. He would check it out in the morning, yeah in the morning. As his head rested on the pillow, he looked at the shower through the open door of the small dingy bathroom. He needed a good shower. As his eyes grew heavy, he thought he would wash up then get a good night sleep, then in the morning go check out that property.

The walls were glowing white. Laying there in the hospital bed, his mother’s skin looked a pale yellow, almost like she was already to… no, don’t even think it. She’s still here, he’s holding her weak hand in his own. He can’t believe how much smaller she looks, it’s as though the cancer shrunk her. He’s crying again. Robert hates this part. She’s looking at him now, but only with her eyes as her face remains deathlike in its motionless. He can only bring himself to say one word in that boyish voice he had so long ago. “Mother.” 

Robert hated that dream. He hadn’t had it in a while, but tonight it hit with extra potency. His whole body shook when he awoke. It’s never like in the movies where you sit straight up after a nightmare. He was still laying in his bed, but his chest heaved rapidly as he looked up at the light in his room. 

He couldn’t wait anymore. The shower remained dry as he rushed out the door. The clerk was fast asleep as he walked out to the vacant streets that were soon filled with the sound of the engine of his rental car. 

Robert guessed that back in Ed’s time this drive must have taken longer, but now in the 90’s even godforsaken places like this had paved roads. It didn’t take him long to reach his destination, especially since he felt pulled by some synchronistic force, as if the whole universe conspired to have him drive down this particular road on this particular night.

The former Gein property looked to be an unassuming empty field. Still, as he turned the engine key but left the headlights glowing, he felt an eerie sensation, as if he had found some long missing link in the chain of madness that was this soon to be ending century.

Stepping out of the car, the headlights revealed nothing special for him to see, but then he heard the sound. It was the sound of dirt flying through the air and hitting the earth. Had some ghoul still lurked in this place, was a spirit haunting these woods? At the edge of the light Bloch spotted a patch of fur, which was soon accompanied by a pair of white fangs. Bloch bounced back at the sound of barking. Two dogs fought in the darkness, their animalistic growling and grunting filled the humid air. When the two animals rolled into the light, Robert could see what they were fighting over It was a bone, long and white, with specks of dirt on it that were now mixing with the dogs’ saliva. Robert couldn’t help but notice how large this bone was, in fact, it looked long enough to be, no, it couldn’t be, could it?

“Get out of here!” Bloch shouted as he kicked a bit of dirt towards the dogs. He surprised himself at how loud he shouted. Off in the distance, he could scarcely make out the shape of another house. A second-floor light was on, its white glow almost like a star in the distance. He hoped he hadn’t awakened the occupant from a good night sleep, something he should be having instead of spooking around on an abandoned property.

When the dogs ran off into the trees, Bloch spotted an exposed patch of earth they had dug up. In the dirt illuminated by the car headlights Bloch could see another shade of white. A set of teeth covered in dirt grinned back at him with a deathly smile. He couldn’t admit it, but he suspected as much when he saw the size of the bone the dogs were fighting over. Now, the evidence lay before him plain as day. Robert Bloch was looking at the remains of a human being.

Still, his mind couldn’t believe it, he had to feel it, he had to touch it with his own hands. Without fear he ran to the shallow grave and scooped up the skull. Its eyes, black as the Wisconsin night, stared back at him. What truths did it have to reveal? Robert felt like Shakespeare’s Hamlet, speaking to the remains of Yorick. Perhaps these were the remains of Ed Gein himself. Alas poor Gein, a fellow of infinite strangeness, he carried this town on his back a million times and is now abhorred in the townsfolk’s imagination. Here in Bloch’s hand rests the final fate of all mankind, no matter what fables we write or athletics we achieve, one day all will be bones in the ground such as these. 

Bloch turned to see a second pair of circular lights shining on him, but this set of lights were moving in the darkness. The truck’s engine kept running as the driver’s side door opened, before swiftly slamming shut. Robert heard the ratchet of the shotgun before seeing Roger from the bar angrily step forward.

“What the hell are you doing out here!”

Robert’s trembling hands dropped the skull, it hit the earth below in a low thud as the truck’s engine continued roaring. “Sir, uh, we need to tell the police, there’s…”

“You aint telling the police nothing!” Good God what horror had he stumbled into? Was Robert now looking at a murderer? Bloch glanced down at the small hole in the earth and knew full well this man could shoot him and bury him out here and no one would be the wiser. Country such as this could hide violence for years and never give up its secrets. The man then shot not bullets but words at the helpless author. “What are you doing on this property!”

Robert’s hands still trembled as he held them in the air. Sweat erupted on his face, both from fear and the humid July air. “Sir I’m very sorry to trespass on your property, I was just…”

“This aint my property, it’s not your property either!” Roger shouted. “Sheriff was all riled up when I took him home, said you were writing shit down! You one of those Goddamn reporters?”

“No, no, I promise you I’m not a reporter. I’m a, I’m, I’m a friend of the Kohler family, did you know Sally Kohler?”

Now it was the armed man who bore a look of trepidation. As the shotgun barrel drew away from him Robert spoke more confidently. “I’m a friend of her family, and they asked me to look into something.” The man’s jaw fell, and the shotgun lowered to the ground. “You probably wouldn’t have known her, but she was out here a long time ago. I believe”, Robert looked down to the bones lying at his feet and said, “I believe she may have met Ed Gein.”