9-16-17 The True and Accurate Accounts…

                                The True and Accurate Accounts

                                                    Of

                   Goodman Llewellyn and Goody Morgan,

                              The Last Son and Daughter

                                                   Of

                                        Merrymount,

                                                  In

                                  'Vampyres-a-Poppin!'

The final leaf is torn from its billowy hammock by the first chilling gust of another grim Plymouth winter. It lilts on gentle currents to its doom; the final tree is bare. Winter is the time of wolves. Wolves and demons. The unholy, resurrected children of Beelzebub stalk the woods and raid the settlements, converting even the most righteous into a blood-crazed soldier in Lucifer’s army. The Goody Morgan and I have dedicated our lives to keeping safe the very same who persecute us as heretics. With keen ears one can hear the first footsteps of the coming hell, falling into the dried undergrowth of the impenetrable forests. And here we are just hanging around.

“Goodman Hezekiah Llewellyn, Goody Constance Morgan you have been found guilty of witchcraft and of having been naked at least once. Before the executioner opens the gallows floor and you lose your wicked souls, have you any last words,” the mayor bellowed.

“It is by the providence of these very things you deem wicked, that you still draw breath, Goodman Holmesnow,” Constance pled.

“The woman speaks in tongues,” the mayor recoiled. “Executioner…”

“What the Goody Morgan means to say is ‘you owe us your ass’,” I said, then looked at each citizen with deliberate purpose and all the menace a vampire hunter can gather. “You all owe us your ass.”

“You’ll never take our asses. You’ll be dead.”

“I don’t know what I’d do with that many mules anyway. They’re a bitch to take care of.”

The mayor sighed and raised his hand, “Executioner.”

Our stalling tactic was a success because at that very moment a villager in the rear of the crowd let loose a blood-curdling screech. Right on time. A vampire swept down gliding on his leather wings and snatched her off. Just a primal wail receding into the distance. Three more swooped in and did the same. The crowd that had been screaming for our lives were now screaming for their own. The Mayor stared at us in a daze, his hand making weak jabs toward the gallows switch.

“Please, Goodman Holmesnow, do not deign to exert yourself,” Constance mocked.

“She’s infested with demons. Completely unintelligible,” Holmesnow yammered.

“She said, ‘run along, Junior’,” I said.

Constance began to whistle. Three ravens alighted on the gallows pole and began tearing at the nooses and our bindings. In the shake of a crow’s tail we were free. Two town watchmen had gotten their heads torn loose, rendering their crossbows free for the taking. We splintered the erstwhile watchmen’s wooden shields into shards we could load into our new crossbows. It wasn’t ideal, but you work with what you have. Constance had fired off several of our tiny, improvised wooden stakes with unsettling accuracy. Five shots, five creatures of the dark rendered to ash. Constance specialized in vampires. When she was five a vampire turned her father’s boss who then promptly laid off her father. Out of work and destitute, the family had no option but to sell young Constance to a traveling circus, where she was forced to participate in a juggling act. As a prop. That day a hatred was forged for vampires so powerful that Lucifer himself couldn’t smelt it. As for me, I hunt monsters. And vampires qualify.

The vampires were few and easily dispatched. After the fray the citizens gathered around us looking po-faced, but relieved. Mayor Holmesnow was among them, hat in hand, eyes downturned and groveling.

“Goodman Llewellyn, Goody Morgan,” he squeaked, “I owe you an…”

“Spare us your interminable bleats of contrition, Goodman Holmesnow,” Constance spit her words like she was rejecting a poison. “The pathos of your visage is recompense enough.”

He looked at her sidelong and cringing.

“What she means to say is, ‘save it, pussy,’” I said.

“You saved us after we tried to hang you,” a citizen piped up.

“You’re not saved yet. That was just the recon company grabbing a snack for the trip back to the nest. More will come. More will die. More will turn,” I had my menacing speech timed perfectly.

As I finished scaring the locals, the two watchmen, from whom we had pilfered weapons and, I’ll cop to it, spare change and one wedding ring, began to rise. They leapt to their feet and bared their fangs, hissing. The Goody dispatched them with furious grace. A citizen vomited, which prompted two or three others to follow suit.

“Hang on now,” a voice called in the crowd, “How do we know these blokes isn’t in on it, then?”

The man was asking the right questions, but we didn’t have to time to establish bonds of trust. Well, Morgan and I did, but these guys didn’t. We could just go to another village. These guys did just try to hang us. But then Morgan’s probably going to want to stay just for the vampire killing. On the other hand…

“Go on, then,” the man yelled, “Give us a reason to trust you.”

I was torn from my reverie by the man’s piercing demand. “I don’t have an answer for you, but if you wish us to stay and prevent the human buffet you’d inevitably become, we’ll stay. If not, we’ll go. It’s all the same to me really,” I rubbed my neck just to be kind of a dick and said, “You did try to hang me. I’d just as soon leave, but the Goody here loves her some vampire killing. Won’t leave it alone. Even if it’s painfully clear we just spent the last week stalking a guy who works IT at UPenn. No, she’ll keep pressing the issue.”

To Constance’s delight, that attack wave I was going on about earlier happened. She got some good licks in. But, they weren’t a cabal of vampires were they, Stephanie? It was campus security. So, how do you like your first time in holding?

9-16-17 More Fool Me

Byline: Stephanie Morgan

Dateline: September 16th, 2017

Heya, SEG-er’s! This week I thought I saw a vampire. I didn’t. I got some people riled up. Things got out of hand and I got arrested. I’d like to use this space to formally apologize to the University of Pennsylvania security staff. Sorry, for trying to stake you through the heart. I apologize to the City of Philadelphia for taking up time and resources. And most of all, I’d like to offer my sincerest and most heartfelt apologies to one, Mr. Darren Walker of Claymont, Delaware who works in IT at UPenn. I’m sorry I shot at you with a crossbow. And I’m sorry I incited an angry mob against you.

9-23-17 Spirits in the Material World

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: September 23rd, 2017

Wizards. I assume they exist. I know plenty of people who say they are. But when you need some wizard shit done, they’re an endangered species who screen their calls. Talking to fortune telling cats is suddenly more interesting than a 73% chance of the Apocalypse. Fine. You think old Gary can’t whip some hedge shit up when he needs to? Think he’s a stranger to applying a little hoodoo elbow grease?

Yes folks, old Gary is peeved enough to refer to himself in third person and argue with a straw man.

So what do we have for you today? We’re making extra cash on the side as house exorcists, so some kind of fucking ghost most likely. If people knew how easy haunt breaking was they wouldn’t pay us to do it. Hauntings aren’t really something people think they need to prepare for, but that’s where they’re wrong. Haunting can happen anywhere, anytime. You think because you’re the first occupant of your plywood, wrapped in Tyvek, American eclectic dream home, you’re safe? Let me tell you something, ghosts are dumb as shit and half the time they have no clue where they are. Ever wonder why pagodas have the curly corner roofs? Because ghosts are too fucking stupid to change direction, they hit the roof and go shooting off the little ramps back into ghost space. In ghost space, they can hear you scream, because ghost space actually amplifies screams.

Just one of these little shits can just walk into your house and build a nest in your kid’s closet. A kid’s closet is a prime crash pad for a ghoul. Nobody ever vacuums in there because it’s full of junk. Next thing you know it’s ‘run to the light Carol Anne.’ And when that happens, we’re the old broad who says ‘this house is clean.’ Who is the same one who says ‘run to the light’ but you get the picture? Point is, you’re Craig T. Nelson and the Pathmark guy only moved the headstones. I put the ad up on Craigslist months ago but we finally got a bite. That bite took us to Frederick County, Maryland. Our quarry: the snallygaster. Before any of you nerds send me an e-mail, I know it’s not a ghost, but $100/hr is $100/hr. And I did specify in the ad there was a corporeal surcharge. $.15/lb. Snallygasters can get up to about 10lbs. So that’s an extra, what, buck fifty. That’s a few Slim Jims. You can go a long time on Slim Jims.

The snallygaster is a slimy little skeksis-looking thing and haunts areas of Maryland and D.C. It got its shitty Lewis Carrol name from the German settlers who called it Schneller Geist or fast ghost. So it’s like the Barry Allen of monsters. Or at the very least Max Mercury. The things scream like a train whistle, the little fuckers bite and they love blood. In the end, however, bagged and tagged was right where we had it.

9-23-17 Bouncing Round the Room

Byline: Stephanie Morgan

Dateline: September 23rd, 2017

Heya, SEG-er’s. About a week ago I put up an ad on Angie's List offering our services as house unhaunters. Well, a lady in Maryland got back to us and boy did she have a pest problem. A hideous creature with the funniest name. The Snallygaster. At first, I thought Gary was having me on, but then he explained it was German and that’s all I needed to hear. That language scares me. The creature manifested and entered the backyard of our client's home at about 11 am, during a birthday party for children. It ate the clown, forcing the children to watch as it slurped intestines like linguini and acted like it was having an orgasm. Really laying it on thick. Then the family dog ran out. They thought it was going for the monster, but it started eating the clown too. I never trusted dogs. First chance they get, they’ll eat your face. I read about it.

So it chased the ginger kid with the walleye into the bouncy castle and got stuck. When we got there it was laying on its back, struggling and snapping. Eventually, animal control came and got it with one of those nooses on the end of a pole. It turned out to be a possum with mange. And we didn’t get paid. But I got a lead on a poltergeist that keeps urinating on a lady's five-year-old son’s bed when he’s sleeping. I say we go check it out.