Just the Facts, Ma’am

Deadly Delivery

Blondes, redheads, brunettes – bitches

I was going to write about the above — and perhaps I shall still. Certainly, it involves a bitch of the redheaded (bottle) and old (truly) variety. A quality moment to be sure and worthy of filing under “no good deed goes unpunished.” We have a delivery, two dames, and a what would be viewed as a crime only by the paranoid.

Okay, maybe we’ll do it like this; a paragraph on the nonsense and a little about life back on the planet, which I regret to see as I write this on a beautiful Sunday morning on the last day of May, is not looking too well. Nature is happy for the respite, but mankind is losing its collective mind. America is drowning and burning and I can’t help but think this is a deliberate evil plan orchestrated by monsters.

Perhaps this is where these two seemingly unrelated topics intersect. The redhead, a neighbor, let’s call her Mary since that’s her name and we only protect the innocent. She (and what happened) is a microcosm of the present situation. She is a monster. And like all good monsters, she doesn’t look like one. The old lady thing is a genius cover. She’s aggressive, bullying, insincere, devoid of empathy, a liar: like her larger counterparts who make the news.

This morning brings more footage of protests and strife in major cities. There is a great deal of assigning of blame and righteous anger. I get it. I also can’t help but wonder if this is precisely what “they” want — to have us at each other’s throats, to start a civil war in the midst of a horrific pandemic that winnows people out. I pray to God that was not part of the plan…

To return to Micro Mary: she utilizes the same methods – blame, pitting people against each other, dining on the drama of other people’s pain. What happened was that I, by accident, received her delivery of groceries, which I returned to her once it was sussed out whose they were. Here we can bring in a giant of industry: Jeff Bezos who owns Amazon and Whole Foods. The groceries, inside and out, had nothing to indicate whose they were. There was just the Amazon “smile” and the Whole Foods logo. Top secret. I opened the bags to see if there was a receipt with somebody’s…anybody’s name on it. Not even a number for Amazon/Whole Foods. Oh, I forgot…we should have that memorized or on us at all times. Anyway, who cares right? I certainly didn’t. The deadly delivery was sorted out in minutes.

Yet, in this sad pokey grocery order were — wait for it — pantyliners! Again, I don’t care. But I do think it was these pantyliners and the sad pokiness of Mary’s things that revealed too much of her miserable self to me, which is what led to her lashing out a day later. For monsters, controlling the narrative is of the utmost importance. By the way, the resemblance to Pennywise is not much of an exaggeration.

The secrets, lies, the fragile ego under all the brash — sound familiar? Seems like just another day in America. And, having the goods on people. I don’t mean merely a Twitter storm; I mean the real goods. Can’t appear weak — God only knows what would happen. People might think you’re human. So, these crafty monsters deflect and maneuver.

The next morning, before I began remotely working, Mary calls me. I have to say framing the accusation by positing a hypothesis was quite skillful. She begins by saying that she was up all night wondering about the grocery affair. People are dying all around us — terrible painful deaths — and this is what keeps her up at night. I won’t bore you with the details but she indirectly accuses/blames me. I ask her what she’s getting at because I want her to come out and say it. Coward. Did I mention that characteristic of all of these monsters? She says, “You take care.” Which I know is, “Fuck you.” Fine.

As we are spoon-fed propaganda and bread and circus, those in power don’t seem to care too much about the death toll, the hate, the anger and destruction. I noticed yesterday afternoon that they launched a rocket. Courtesy of Elon Musk who is another very important monster from another planet. The timing is interesting, isn’t it? Good way to distract people, if only temporarily, from the fighting in the streets to watch money go up into space. And it worked. SpaceX it’s called. For a soi-disant genius that’s not the cleverest name for whatever all this is.

Regarding Mary and the other big fish: I swing from fury, resignation, and disgust. A dear friend tells me to write it down — but just the facts. Don’t editorialize. My brain has a hard time with that one.

Here goes nothing. We’re being duped, and while being duped we are dying, our society is crumbling, monsters are stealing us blind, the very rich are getting richer…but I do believe we can rehabilitate the world and ourselves. However, that’s a lot more work than tearing it down.

Mary, well she’s a malevolent c*&t.

And that’s a fact — Jack!

Clare

Images: Laura, Mad Max franchise, Gretel and Hansel, Stephen King’s It, and Mickey Spillane’s pulp crime novels.

My True Ghost Stories – I

I wrote this piece last year, and in the spirit of the Halloween season I decided to republish. I found my notes to this story whilst cleaning out my office. The suburban legend I reference at the end was told to me by a girl who lives near the purported melon heads. In this desolate area there’s an unpaved street called Velvet Road, with one solitary abandoned house. The old colonial is inhabited by the melon head family who are faceless, easily insulted, and envious. The local cheerleading squad calls that stretch of road “Drakula Drive…”

I will describe, as best I can, two events that happened years apart which defy explanation. The common denominator is they both took place in a remote area of New England, in the same town, and they occurred in the month of October — one on Halloween night. It’s Native-American ground up there, you can sense it, and I don’t know if the town’s founding fathers respected that. I need to channel Stephen King; I cannot do it justice. He is the master. I’m thinking about the Mi’kmaq burial grounds in his writings. The names of places in my story are all Native-American too. We would find arrowheads in the woods, which we gave to the historical society; if a tribal elder was passing through, or we had an address, what we found was returned.

I was not a child who was afraid of the dark or had any issue with ghosts or monsters or things under the bed, so I tend to trust that my memory is reliable, if not definitive. I don’t have a strong opinion one way or the other about believing, or not, in the supernatural, I am open to the idea and certainly there are things in this world that are mystifying.

The first encounter happened when I was around 10. I had come out to the town to visit a family I knew and Halloween fell during my stay. So, I went trick or treating with my friend Sara, her little brother Eddie, and her older brother Andy as our “escort.” There was a fair distance between houses, no lights on the road and it was pitch dark. Halloween began as one would expect, knocking on doors and getting candy. Then the weirdness crept up gradually like a music crescendo. By the fourth house, which was rickety looking – the local gossip was that the older couple who lived there were odd and creepy – an unearthly feeling fell. No one was home. Candy was left with a note on the porch, but everything was a mess like a creature had run riot. We surveyed the disarray and decided to leave without partaking, when we sensed that someone was watching us – that someone was home in the dark house staring. Even so, we shrugged it off and continued.

Next was a house we knew. A lovely restored barn owned by a glamorous couple who weren’t around much. Above the front door was a beautiful carved horse’s head – smooth and elegantly realistic. We were familiar with the aesthetic because the couple had a marvelous swing that went over a steep hill, and in the summer months we would play there. We rang the doorbell, there was no answer and the house was dark. All at once we looked up at the horse’s head which appeared to be looking at us and at something in the distance; the pale moonlight gave it an eerie cast. That was when we started to get jittery.

We set out to the next house which was far away. The back of the country club golf course was between us and our point of destination. We were walking on the side of the dark road where the soft hills of the golf course were and a fine mist was hovering. On the other side of the road was dense wood. Not a house in sight. We were walking, talking, goofing around. Simultaneously, it seemed, we all looked towards the golf course and saw a silvery tall and slender figure of a man in leather skins – in profile. I can still see the image – no color just the moiré effect of silver/grey that defined him. Andy yelled, “Run!” And we did. As we turned to look, the figure was running parallel to us with long strides and keeping up with ease. As this point we were frightened and we kept on running until we got to the next house (which was owned by a woman who locals claimed was a witch – I think that was because no one liked the family much and they had strange ways). When we approached the house, Eddie asked, “What was that?” No one answered him. As we reached the door it opened and spilled out a flood of light. We scrambled in and were greeted by the witch mom. She seemed to sense we were rattled and she had an slight smile at the corners of her mouth (did she know?). She made us welcome while Andy called their mom to come pick us up.

We never spoke of it. Ever. And we remained friends and in touch over many years, until our parents fell ill and passed. They moved away and started their adult lives. I often wonder what it was we saw. I am convinced it was not a person trying to mess with us, but what was it?

In the last couple of years, I have gone back to visit the town and other people I know there, and I hear from them and the local teenagers that there are still strange occurrences. One girl told me that due north, where the woods are even deeper and there are no houses at all, there is a “Suburban Legend” that has been around for a time. The land is owned by the state and there are reservoirs and nature preserves so it’s virtually uninhabited. Except for one abandoned house. The legend is that a family of “melon heads” lurk there. “What do you mean melon heads?” I asked. A head like a melon with no face, no eyes, nose, or mouth.

She was on the cheerleading squad and told me that they were heading to a game with one of the mothers driving a Suburban 10-seater on this stretch, and the car just stopped. Dead. For no apparent reason. Cell phone service there is spotty at best, but they survived unscathed. I can imagine the piercing screams and shrieks that were coming from the car as they were stuck there.

Now that would have scared off just about anything.

In respect to indigenous peoples, to the land they hold sacred, to the unknown, to the fact that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.

Clare

Coming Soon – My True Ghost Story II – Housecleaning. And I don’t mean vacuuming!