Scary Tales for Children

I've never been a fan of trick-or-treating. It doesn't make a lot of sense to me, buying unhealthy food so that strange children wearing cheap costumes can come to your house and steal it from you.

Don't get me wrong, I mean, I get the concept behind it, that kids are dressing up like monsters, because of a multicultural mixture of mythologies that says Halloween is a time when evil spirits and monsters are more likely to roam this Earth because of... reasons (I think mostly having to do with religion), and you can stop these monsters and evil spirits from harming you or your family by appeasoing them with tributes and offerings. So, people dress up as monsters/demons/spirits, either as a representation of the evil you're appeasing, or as a parody of those monsters so as to trick people into giving them appeasement, so you give these costumed people offerings. But since these "representations/parodies" of monsters are children, you give them candy and stuff that kids like. That's why they say "trick-or-treat", if you don't appease them with a treat, they're supposed to trick or curse you, play tricks on you, and generally make things unpleasant for you.

So, it's a lot of weird mythology and American culture, wrapped up in sugar and child neglect, so I'm glad that it's not very common in Australia... but, things have started changing, recently.

I don't know if it's because of globalization, or media - but, to be honest, I blame Aldi. That's right, the grocery store chain ALDI. They've been around for just a few years now, and I remember the first year around Halloween, they started selling Halloween buckets. Y'know, little buckets for kids to collect candy in, with bats and pumpkin faces all over them.

And when Aldi started selling trick-or-treating stuff and people figured that since it was available, other people must be buying it and using it, which means other people must be celebrating Halloween by trick-or-treating. And then, because Aldi is a super-cheap store, they often sell stuff for like half or three-quarters the price of other stores (because they hire less staff, and have a really streamlined storefront), so other stores tried to compete, by selling the stuff Aldi sells for the same price - so, other stores started selling Halloween buckets, and trick-or-treat candy and lots more costumes for little kids. So, the infection is spreading...

So, more and more people seem to be trick-or-treating in Australia. And, I don't like it, because I don't like the idea of taking a dumb, American idea and adopting it warts and all. I like the Halloween Horror Party thing that's more popular here, that's what Australians do, if they do anything at all. Don't go to random people's houses, go to your friends houses, and share food there, and if you're old enough (or know someone who looks old enough), you can even drink alcohol and be merry.

But... that being said, I'm also shameless. See, I got this idea, two years ago...
Have you ever heard of Chick Tracts? They're comic strips from an Extremist Christian organization, and if you've never heard of them, I highly recommend you check out the Chick Tract readings by Hannah & Jake, since they make fun of them, making the hatred more tolerable. But after reading a few tracts you can see just how sexist, racist, homophobic, anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, anti-Catholic, anti-atheist, anti-freedom, regressive and hateful they are. They are so backwards that they believe in the devil, witches and magic (yes, really), so Chick Publications absolutely hates Halloween, so if you visit the website for Chick Publications, Chick.com, it has a page all about how they use Halloween as a chance to give propaganda to children, and teach them that by enjoying Halloween, they're all going to Hell. So, they talk about all the different ways you can offer candy and chick tracts, or wrap candy up in chick tracts, or just put out an entire table of chick tracts without any candy, so people can, and I quote "choose their favorites".

Now, whilst I do enjoy scaring children, I highly disapprove of scaremongering, especially in the form of propaganda for bigotry, regressivism & religion.
And I was thinking, if not for the propaganda, that would be a cool idea, giving kids candy and something extra. I mean, it's Halloween, what if you gave kids a horror story for Halloween? I mean, I write horror stories, I'm sure I could write a better story than a chick tract... and that's when I had my idea.
     What if I gave out some short horror stories with candy?
Now, I don't approve of the candy aspect... but, I can't deny that if a child comes to my house this Halloween, they probably want candy. I mean, I've heard stories of people giving kids toothbrushes or apples for Halloween. Dude, that's a dick move. Whilst I disapprove of trick-or-treating candy, I much more highly disapprove of dick moves. So, I've written four different horror stories that are small enough that I can print them out on small pieces of paper, and I can staple them (carefully) to some pre-wrapped snack-sized chocolate bars, and hand them out to kids.

So, why am I telling you? Well... because of COVID-19 (of course).
See, here in Australia we have had very few cases (at least, not in this state), and so it's actually relatively safe for people to go around to other people's houses. Of course, I'm not going to be stupid about it. When I make everything, I'll wear gloves, and I'll put it in a container with a lid, and I'll make sure I'm not risking contaminating everyone by cleaning, and offering hand sanitizer, since there's no telling where children have been, and they usually have disgusting hands...
But, I'm lucky. Australia has fared pretty well, but if you're in say... oh, I don't know, America right now? Yeah, don't trick-or-treat this year. Stay home. Everyone is cursed with deadly lung-snot demons, don't go to strange people's houses and share space or air or food. And if you're at all high-risk, definitely don't let strange children come anywhere near your doorstep.

So, to encourage others to stay home, I figured that I would offer you all the same thing I'm offering the kids this year - some short, horror stories. Okay, I won't be giving you any candy, but let's be honest... I've only bought a few bags of chocolate anyway, and you can get chocolate at any time of the year! Besides, I didn't like the idea of this being about candy, so if you want to trick-or-treat, but can't, well hear's my treat for you this year...

These are the four, short horror stories I wrote for Halloween this year...

Mrs Warth’s Garden by Matthew A.J. Anderson The tennis ball bounces in front of me, then flies overhead. I turn to see it crash through a hedge.   “Shame,” says Paul, “that ball had good bounce.”   “What are you talking about? Go get it,” I say.   “I’m not going in there, that’s the Warth house!” says Paul, pointing at the dark, tall building.   “So what?” I say. “Don’t be a dork, go get it.”   “I don’t want get hit with her cane!”   “Fine. I’ll get it...” I say, shaking my head. I cross the road and head to the hedgerow. There’s a gap between two plants, so I step over the stone around the garden’s edge and head in. Behind the hedge, the branches are wild with thorns, but after edging past, I see the tennis ball resting by a statue. I head over and pick it up. As I stand up, I’m face to face with the statue... eye to eye. That’s when I realize, it’s not a gnome or a stone angel, it looks like a kid my age, and the detail is incredible. In fact, it looks a lot like me. I reach out and touch the shoulder. As I touch the cold and grey stone, colour and warmth slowly begins to spreads through it. I feel a cold chill down my back as the stone version of me comes to life.   “Thanks,” it says, with a cheeky smirk. You’re welcome, I want to say... but I can’t. I can’t speak. My whole body is stiff. The other version of me rips the tennis ball from my frozen fingers.   “Paul! I got it!” it calls out; then it steps around me and heads out of the garden, leaving me in its place.

Knock, Knock by Matthew A.J. Anderson It was getting late, so I decided we should try to trick-or-treat just one last house. There was one at the end of the street that didn't have a whole lot of decorations, but there was a bloodied body hanging from a rope in one of the windows, and they'd splattered red around the front porch. It wasn't much, but the lights were off, so you couldn't see how fake it was, making it pretty creepy.   "This one, then we go home, okay?" I said to my brother. He nodded, and put his eye-patch over his eye again. I went up to the front door and knocked, but as I did the door pushed open.   "Hello?" I called, but there was no answer from the dark hallway. I checked inside, but there wasn't a bowl of candy or anything. Just darkness. I stepped back and noticed a small button, so I rang the doorbell. After a moment, I heard a loud thump coming from one of the rooms. A minute later, a man with angry, bloodshot eyes came charging down the hallway, and swung the door open.   "What do you want?!" he growled.   "Trick or treat," I said, gesturing to my brother in his pirate costume. He held out his bucket with a smile.   "We don't celebrate Halloween!" snapped the man, slamming the door.   "That was just rude," I mutter, turning away. As I turn around and take my brother's hand, I just smile and say "Come on. Let's try another one."

The Bravery Club by Matthew A.J. Anderson My three friends and I were sitting around a table in the dark basement, with a ouija board lit only by a single lightbulb, but I wasn’t game to touch it.   “If you’re too scared, we can stop. Maybe throw more rocks at Mister Brume’s house,” says Jack.   “No no, I’m not scared,” I lie, staring at the board, “I helped catch Sarah’s cat, didn’t I?”   “Ha-ha, yeah,” says Theo, bouncing excitedly in his chair. “And we have the tail to prove it!”   “So come on, then, be brave,” says Jack, pushing the planchette towards me.   “Come on...” says Robert, “don’t tell me you believe in ghosts now, do you Danny?”   “Daniel! What’s going on?” calls my Mum.   “Oh no! Hide it!” I say, sliding the board away. I stand up as Mum walks down the stairs.   “Daniel? What are you doing down here in the dark?” she says.   “Nothing,” I say. “My friends and I were just...” I look at the table, but there’s just an upturned ouija board, and empty chairs.   “Mum... where did all my friends go?” I say.   “You can’t see them?” she says.   “No,” I say. Suddenly, she grabs me in a tight hug.   “Thank God! The medication must be working!” she says. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”   “But... my friends,” I say. I look around at the empty chairs again. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I just hope I’m brave enough to bring them back.

Made with Love and Care by Matthew A.J. Anderson   “Don’t eat them all at once, now,” says Mrs Warth, her old hands shaking as she drops a handful of candy into my bag, “You’ll make yourself sick.”   “I won’t. Have a good night, Ma’am.” She grins and closes the door as I join my friend.   “See, I told you” says Karl, unwrapping one of the treats. “She gives you a whole handful!” As we keep walking, I reach into my bag and take out one of the candies wrapped in red cellophane.   “Do they taste good?” I ask.   “Yeah. Old ladies always make the best desserts,” he says, popping it into his mouth. I unwrap a chocolate, and it looks like a little flower so I pop it in my mouth and chew. It’s crunchy, and the chocolate tastes good, plus there’s something gooey in the centre, but I’m not sure what.   “What is it?” I ask, swallowing it.   “I dunno. Chocolate?” says Karl, eating another. I unwrap another one, and pop it in my mouth, but instead of chewing, I sit it on my tongue, to suck off the chocolate. It really is good chocolate. I roll it around in my mouth, and I feel something tickle the inside of my lips. I try to push it with my tongue, and it scratches my cheek, so I spit it out, and something black hits the sidewalk with a splat.   “Dude, gross! Don’t spit at me!” says Karl. I look at the black, slimy gob wriggle around, legs flicking wildly, until it rolls upright, and then the wet, black spider scrambles away into the grass.

These were fun to work on, and I hope you enjoyed reading them! And, if you're trick-or-treating this year, I mean... why? Please, stay home, unless you can do it safely. At least when I'm handing out candy, I can stay in my house. But, if you do, just be sure not to get too close to folks, bring hand sanitizer with you and wear a mask - heck, if you're giving out candy, feel free to turn away anyone not wearing a mouth-covering mask. Your safety is important, and so is the safety of the little kids coming to your door.
I know I'm safe since I was tested for coronavirus the other day, and it was negative, and I'm making sure the candy I want to give out is in a sealed wrapper, and I'm going to be taking precautions, but you do whatever is necessary to make sure you and everyone else is safe.

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and this is meant to be fun. Don't make it less fun by getting you or anyone else sick. I hope you enjoy these stories, feel free to share them around this Halloween - just make sure to leave the byline! I want credit for my writing; this is microfiction, not creepypasta - and Until Next Time, be safe out there everyone, and have a Happy Halloween...

Outbreak Diary - Day 121

It's been a long time since I've written an Outbreak Diary. Unfortunately, these take more research than usual, because I like to make sure that this isn't simply an editorial or an opinion piece. I'm trying to provide you with the most important facts that I can muster, and when I am presenting opinion, I try to make that clear.
So, when I say that the Black Lives Matter movement has become the most important issue of the day - despite the fact that we're in the middle of a pandemic which has killed (at time of writing) almost three-quarters of a million people - I don't say that lightly. Now, I freely admit that "importance" is subjective, and therefore my opinion - but to me something is important, or significant, when it affects millions of people and those people are suffering because of something that not only can be changed, but must be changed.

#BlackLivesMatter

Now, there are issues because the Black Lives Matter movement has included a lot of people protesting and rallying, and the fact of the matter is that protests and rallies - just like any congregation of people, in this time - put people at a much higher risk of contracting coronavirus in this time.
But, that's not the only fact in this matter. It is also a fact that non-white people, in Western countries, are at a much higher risk of being detained, abused, harmed or killed by police.

And this is not just an American problem. America's issues are historical and much more blatant, but there are also issues in the United Kingdom, and as an Australian, I'm aware of institutional racism against indigenous Australians by businesses and authorities, as well as a disgustingly high incidence of injury and/or death in police custody - there are over 400 recorded instances of Aboriginal people who have died in custody, and not one policeman has been prosecuted over it.
And, did you know that, per capita, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have the highest percentage of their population imprisoned? I only learned that when I heard an aboriginal man say it on television, and of course I scoffed... until I looked at the data, and I struggled to believe it. How can something so terrible be true, yet nobody seems to know or care? On average, 25% (or 1 in 4) of Australian prisoners are Indigenous, and Aboriginal men are fourteen times more likely to be jailed than non-Indigenous Australians.

The Australian Government famously apologized for the Stolen Generations, for stealing Aboriginal children from their mothers and put several laws in place to prevent such things... despite this, Aboriginal children are still being taken away from their families to this very day, in flagrant disregard for these laws.

But, this is all preamble... not only is the theme of my Countdown "sickness", but I use the Outbreak Diary to talk about facts and experiences regarding coronavirus. So, what does injustice for Indigenous Australians have to do with the coronavirus?
Well something I hear a lot, in regards to the coronavirus, is "we're all in this together", or "we're all in the same boat" or even "this virus doesn't discriminate".
That's a beautiful sentiment, but it's unfortunately just not true.

We are in the same Storm, but Not in the same Boat

That comes from a great poem written about the coronavirus, and it's an apt metaphor. However, the purpose of the poem was talking about judgement, how we shouldn't judge people because of their situation. That's a valiant goal, but today I want to look at the people responsible for putting people in worse situations - and coronavirus affects Aboriginal Australians much faster and much worse than non-Indigenous Australians, on average.

Now, why is this the case? After all, race is a social construct - there's no biological basis for segregating people the way we do into 'races' - so, a virus can't be racist. However, culture and society affect the way people live, and its these cultural differences that make Indigenous Australians more vulnerable.

To start with, a whole lot of aboriginal people tend to live in remote communities. This means that many don't have easy or immediate access to healthcare; which means that if someone gets sick, they can't be given necessary medical intervention such as medicine or ventilation.
Also, Aboriginal people tend to live quite closely together so, crowded housing is not uncommon in Aboriginal communities - with twenty or even thirty individuals living in one house. Partially this is economic, but it's also due to their cultural values regarding family, community and spirituality. Aboriginals are expected to be involved with family and take care of and respect their elders, and this often involves taking part in large gatherings, and sharing food, drink or a smoke with family and friends; which all means that if one person gets sick, it can spread much more quickly through a community.
These remote communities also have a much lower population size, and much lower population motility, meaning people who live in these communities often don't go far from home, and the community is rather close, this can be great socially, but it means they don't often interact with foreign infections; which means that their immune systems are less developed, and they can have a lower number of antibodies, so they are more vulnerable when they do encounter an infection.

Even outside of these communities, Aboriginal people have a much higher incidence of using and abusing alcohol and cigarettes; which means that they're considered at high-risk of catching this virus.
As well, unfortunately, Aboriginals represent a large number of homeless people; which means that they can't isolate, and often have poor access to sanitation, as well as general information regarding COVID-19.

In some remote communities, they have had the prices of basic groceries - such as fruits and vegetables - double, triple or even worse in what is a clear and blatant attempt at price gauging; but since they're so far from regulatory bodies, it takes much longer for these practices to be policed.
But the worst part is, whilst these communities are at higher risk of the virus, they're also at higher risk during lockdown, since they're often already poorer communities that rely on internal and external support - so, when you shut them down, they often lose access to essential services.
And when the government does choose to lock them down, it makes them come to a social and economic standstill. There have been cases of Aboriginal communities protesting, since the practice is highly discriminatory, shutting down Aboriginal communities while others prosper. Especially since aboriginal people have both a history, and (let's be honest) a present of being treated like cattle by our government, it's no surprise that these communities get angry when given less rights than others.

Closing the Gap

So, what can be done about it? Well, for one thing, several communities once educated about the dangers of coronavirus, have shut down of their own accord and on their own terms - quarantining those who travel in and out of their community, and following safe practices within.
There have been a number of campaigns to share information with aboriginal communities, regarding coronavirus and how to keep safe - some even in several native, Aboriginal languages.
I watched a whole lot of these, as research for this post, and I have to say that I absolutely love the videos by Professor Tom Calma, since it feels like he's actually talking to you, not at you, like I get from a lot of the government coronavirus PSAs, especially the ones for Aboriginals. A lot of the advice videos I've seen specifically for Aboriginals are either very short or stilted, or they feel like they're talking down to Aboriginal people, by treating them like morons - they feel so heavily processed and infantilizing.

Now, I'm not Aboriginal, so I can't speak for them when it comes to how these ads seem, lack of education is unfortunately a big issue in some Aboriginal communities, so maybe they need this stuff explained in this way, maybe they do appreciate and absorb these ads and like how they try to use specific lingo and music and a friendly, Aboriginal face, but to me it feels very artificial - if you're Aboriginal, and reading this, feel free to comment below and correct me on this, I'm just looking at this from my perspective.

If you want to learn more about these initiatives, you can look up #KeepOurMobSafe on Twitter and other relevant websites; visit the National Indigenous Australians Agency website or check out the relevant pages on health.gov.au.A lot of the injustices and inequities that I've discussed today are being looked into, as part of the Closing the Gap campaign. There are several tangible and measurable inequalities that Aboriginal people face, from education and unemployment to much more severe issues like incarceration rates, infant mortality and life expectancy; but you don't need to take my word for it, feel free to read the latest Closing the Gap Report Card, that talks about what has and hasn't improved so far this year (spoiler alert: it's not great).

But, the most important thing you can do is stay educated. Be aware of not only the historical injustices, but the modern ones as well, by looking up #CloseTheGap.
Keep in mind though, being an Indigenous Australian isn't all about being underprivileged, far from it - Aboriginal people have the oldest surviving, and most long-lived culture in all of human history, and they're proud of it; you can learn a whole lot about Indigenous Australians, their culture and their perspective by visiting ShareOurPride.Reconciliation.org.au.
Or you could, y'know, talk to an Aboriginal person. There are about a million in Australia, you probably even know a few already; and most of them are friendly when you're not racist (just be sure to follow all relevant and up-to-date social-distancing and health advice).

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and I hope that this has been enlightening for you - it certainly was for me. Until Next Time, you feelin' deadly, cuz?

Faking a Sickie - Part 3: The Prejudice Plague

For the sake of this blog, I've discussed horrifying diseases from Film & Television, and intriguing diseases from Culture & Folklore. But today I will conclude this series on Fictional Diseases with some of the most disgusting diseases that I've ever come across. Not because of the disease itself, in fact, none of these diseases are fatal, and some have very mild symptoms. However, these diseases all exist because of the bigotry of the doctors that invented them - yes, you read that right doctors, these are fake diseases created by doctors to explain away their own prejudice.

I've discovered ten of the most biased medical diagnoses I could find (five are just weird, and five that are much more serious). There are many more out there, but these ones stood out for what they said about the society from which they came. So, without further ado, let's start with.

The A.W.N.'s Top 5 Weird, Bigoted Diseases

i. Bicycle Face
What it isn't: This affliction is caused by excessive cycling. Due to either the strain or excessive windshear, it causes the face to become flushed, or pale, causing a gaunt expression and thinning of the lips; most prominently it caused dark shadows under the eyes, and wrinkling to cause an expression of weariness at all times. Whilst this could affect middle-aged men, it was a much higher risk amongst women and young girls.
What it is: It's just an attempt to stop women riding bikes in the late 1800s, by scaring them into thinking it would make them ugly. The truth is that men were terrified at the thought of women riding bikes, not only because it gained them independence but especially because they feared the act of straddling such a small seat that was sometimes in indirect contact with the genitals would promote sexual immorality and masturbation. In truth, riding a bike isn't going to do anything to your face, unless you're riding very fast against the wind, or you fall off of it.

ii. Brain Fag
What it isn't: Firstly, that's not a typo (don't get this confused with brain fog); rather, brain fag, also known as neurasthenia, is a mechanical weakness of the nerves caused by excessive thought and stress, associated with the pressure of academic study or the fast pace of living in an urban environment. Common symptoms are poor sleep, difficulty in concentrating and retaining information, head and neck pains, headache, high blood pressure, depressive moods and eye pain. 
What it is: In reality, this was little more than regressivism towards metropolitan growth, and blaming the city for being too fast and unnatural for human life. I do admit to having a metropolitan bias; I much prefer cities to rural areas since they seem much slower - and I do know that living in the city does offer hazards to one's health (especially due to air pollution and light pollution). But this diagnosis claims that "thinking too much" and "living a more fast-paced life" as a result of living in the city where there are more things to do, at much greater density, was so discombobulating to the human brain that it started to break it. That's just dumb.

iii. Cello Scrotum
What it isn't: This discomforting disorder was an irritation of the scrotum, commonly afflicting male cellists who play excessively, especially those who played for several hours a day for continuous days. Whilst precise details are lacking due to the reticence of those afflicted to talk publicly, it is believed that the unusual posture, as well as the vibration during play, can lead to swelling, redness and pain of the scrotum which can only be relieved with rest.
What it is: This was a joke at the expense of doctors. Dr Elaine Murphy, a doctor and subscriber to the British Medical Journal, and her husband both burst into laughter when she read about a condition called "guitar nipple" in one edition of the BMJ. Thinking that this was a nonsensical, and that the editors of the journal were gullible fools, Murphy sent in a letter signed by her husband, claiming first-hand knowledge of this fake malady. It was only 35 years later, when Dr Murphy learnt that her unsubstantiated claim was still being passed around as fact that she admitted the hoax publicly.

iv. Railway Spine
What it isn't: This was a common ailment of passengers who survived railway accidents - which were very common in the early days of railway transport. Also known as Erichsen's Disease, this affliction often involved symptoms such as a sore neck, psychosomatic pain and stress. It is believed that this was either caused by physical damage to the spine and brain, or perhaps hysteria.
What it is: This is just a case of railway companies refusing to help victims. People who had experienced a train crash were often left with phobias, post-traumatic stress or internal injuries. However, railway companies would often dismiss cases out of hand if the person didn't present with an obvious, physical injury. So, doctors devised Railway Spine to explain the myriad of non-visible symptoms of trauma such stress disorders, persistent nerve pain, physical trauma & distress. If companies just accepted that they should give people proper compensation for nearly killing them, then this diagnoses might never have been suggested.

v. Wandering Womb
What it isn't: All women live with a symbiotic, parasitic entity within their bodies, known as a uterus. This creature can become unsettled within the body, if not properly taken care of, and can reach up towards the thorax, prolapse downwards, or shift left or right to disturb the liver or spleen; this causes all kinds of aches, pains and illness within a woman's body. If left unchecked, it can even begin to suffocate, causing it to thrash about around the body, leading to hysteria. As the womb is a gentle beast, that approves of lovely fragrances, and is disgusted by fetid odors, the only treatment is aromatherapy to scare the creature from its displacement, and coax it back where it belongs with lovely smells.
What it is: This is just ancient misogyny, trying to explain women ailments being due to the dangerous, alien nature of women's bodies. And, in hindsight, I do have to say it is kind of hilarious. I didn't make any of that up, they used to think that the uterus was like a grumpy pet that could be coaxed back home with treats. Of course, since its home is just above the genitals, I feel sorry for all those poor women who literally had to eat garlic and vinegar, or had flowers and things shoved up their vagina in an attempt to cure something that is so obviously stupid.

The A.W.N.'s Top 5 Worst, Bigoted Diseases

5. Syndrome K
What it isn't: This is a very unusual disease, as the symptoms are nonspecific, but are highly virulent and thought to be similar to tuberculosis, meaning anyone afflicted needed to be quarantined away from any and all persons, especially figures of authorities. It was most prevalent in Germany, between 1939 and 1944. Although not much is known of the symptoms, it seemed to exclusively affect partisans, former fascists, deserters, prisoners of war, German traitors and Jews.
What it is: First things first, the reason this is so low on the list is because it may not be true - but if it is, what it is is a sneaky way to save people from the Nazis. Fatebenefratelli Hospital in Rome is a real place that helped to hide any and all people from fascist dictatorships, but it's not known if knowledge of the term 'Syndrome K' was widespread. However, within the hospital, refugees often had their paperworks marked with a 'K', which stood for Koch, which was the tuberculosis sector of the hospital, as no authority figure was allowed within quarantine, so this is where they hid them. So, 'Syndrome K' was essentially a joke within the hospital, to refer to their method of fooling fascists and the military. And this is a very sweet story, so enjoy it while it lasts, because the rest of these are much more depressing.

4. Sluggish Schizophrenia
What it isn't: This is a very rare form of schizophrenia, which has identical symptoms to schizophrenia, but a much slower progression - hence why it was also known as slow progressive schizophrenia. This diagnosis was most common (and in fact, was exclusive to) the USSR and several Eastern Bloc countries. Some people are at a high risk of this affliction, namely political dissidents, and so were often diagnosed prior to exhibiting any symptoms.
What it is: Fascism by the Communist regime to silence dissent. Essentially, when someone was "diagnosed" with sluggish schizophrenia, it was because they either disagreed with the politics of the time, or were associated with those who did. After diagnosis and being discharged from hospital, these people they lost their civic rights, their credibility and even their jobs. This was just a way to punish anyone who wasn't towing the party line, by labelling them as insane Not only is it disgusting for those fighting against a fascist system, but it's also disgusting that mental illness was seen with such stigma that people agreed with this treatment.

3. Autogynephilia
What it isn't: There exist some men that are aroused by the thought of engaging, sexually, with another man, or by wearing women's clothing; and there are even some men who claim to be women in men's bodies. This is a simple mental disorder, caused by a sexual fetish to engage in deviant, gender-crossing activities, homosexual intercourse, or even the desire to have a feminine body, causing those afflicted to seek out sex reassignment surgery.
What it is: Do I even need to explain that this is transphobic? For starters, it ignore trans men completely, but if anything those guys are lucky - the claim here is that non-heteronormative gender identity is nothing more than a fetish. I have no doubt that some transgendered people find the idea of their transitioned bodies to be sexy, but that might have something to do with the fact that they don't feel sexy the way they are? But this whole concept throws out the idea of gender identity, social constructs, neurophysiological dimorphism and twin studies, not to mention the entire spectrum of transgender sexuality for the sake of claiming that gay men, and women assigned male at birth, are just thinking with their penis.

2. Hysteria
What it isn't: Women can be highly emotional, irrational creatures, but in some extreme cases they can be brought down with a devastating affliction which is both common and chronic among womenfolk. At one time thought to be caused by a peregrinating uterus, or a demonic possession, this is now understood to be a disease of the brain. It has a wide variety of symptoms, including (but not limited to): Anxiety, Breathing Difficulty, Fainting, Fluid Retention, a "Heaviness" in the abdomen, Hypersexuality, Increased or Decreased Libido, Insomnia, Irritability, Loss of Appetite, Nervousness & (most prominently) a "tendency to cause trouble for others". There have been some claims regarding a "male hysteria", hysteria masculina, but this is a hotly debated topic.

What it is: The wandering womb was ancient misogyny, this is mid-century misogyny. But instead of shoving flowers and perfumes up their genitals, instead we were just shoving women into insane asylums. Whilst the understanding of human anatomy (and therefore also female anatomy) had advanced to the point where we didn't think women's internal organs were meandering monsters, women were still seen as inherently emotional, feeble-minded, irrational & inexplicable. These days, we understand that hysteria does not exist, and in cases where women aren't simply being dismissed, "hysteria" symptoms are explained by anxiety, borderline personality disorder, conversion disorder, and schizophrenia [and I should point out, exactly none of these are either exclusive to women, or caused by biological sex].

1. Drapetomania
What it isn't: This affliction, somewhat related to dromomania, is the unnatural desire for freedom with the most common symptoms being an absconding from work, or in dire cases running away. It most commonly affects members of the Negro race, especially slaves. It is related to Dysaesthesia Aethiopica, which is an insensitivity of the skin, common amongst dark-skinned people, resulting in a lack of desire to work or follow commands (treated by washing, oiling and then flogging the skin). There are only two known cures for drapetomania, one is a stern and violent whipping; but, in extreme cases, the only cure is the amputation of the patient's toes, so that they are unable to run.
What it is: It's fucking disgusting is what it is, but in academic terms this is known as scientific racism. For what I hope are blatantly obvious reasons, slaves don't like being slaves. However, if at any point they act obedient and subservient, they were treated as "crazy", and would be beaten, tortured or mutilated as a result, to force them into submission. Thankfully, this was only a widespread belief amongst the Southern States of North America, and was openly mocked by those in the North; but, that doesn't stop the fact that many unfortunate men and women were beaten and tortured because of the ridiculous belief that one race can be "better" than another.

So, that's the last collection of fictional diseases that I'm looking at for this Countdown, and I must admit that it was eye-opening just how much the field of medicine and science has been intruded by bigotry, prejudice and hatred over the years. Just a few years ago, during my 2018 Halloween Countdown, I discussed prejudice and how science has been used to torture people over the years. I'm not going to start dismissing science, or judging it as evil, but it's always a sobering fact to see that something I hold in such high esteem can be used in such dreadful ways.

But this isn't just the end of this list, it's also the end of my Faking a Sickie series, exploring Fictional Diseases, and how they're used to scare, intrigue & disgust. I hope you've learned something, as I certainly have in the course of this research. And keep in mind, for several of these they were simply the diseases that I managed to do research on, but these are by no means the only fictional diseases out there. I highly recommend that you do some research for yourself to see what else is out there in the world of unfactual afflictions. All of this started because I was curious where 'cooties' came from, and the more research I did, the more I learned and wanted to share with you.
I wanted to see whether people could dream up fictional diseases worse than the real ones, but as today's list has shown, even a fake sickness can be harmful.

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and while this series is done, we're not yet done with the Halloween Countdown, as there are two more days before Halloween! So, until next time, I'm going to finish off those posts and prepare for the big day; and please, try to stay healthy out there...

I Am Fine

I am fine.
Why must I keep repeating all the time?
  I’m fine, look, I’m running, running wild!
  Running, just like every other child - watch me smile.
Look, there’s nothing wrong, so stop this incessant nagging and asking me why.
There’s nothing wrong, and I don’t have to cry.
  It’s not like I don’t care.
  I loved him every second he was there.
It was great when I could run around and play with him when I was 6 years old,
It was great when I could cuddle up to his fur in winter when I was feeling cold,
  It’s not like I don’t know,
  That we played all day, and he would follow me wherever I would go.
But I don’t need to cry just like you,
I know that he was my dog too.

I am fine. I’m a big girl now.
I’ve lost pets before. My bird flew away and my fish drowned, but I don’t know how...
  Look, it’s not like it was some kind of surprise,
  I saw him die before my very eyes,
You don’t have to tell me, I was there,
I saw his body limply flying through the air,
  I watch the car that wasn’t looking, and hit him at full speed,
  I heard the tyres screech as they stopped. I saw him bleed.
I watched my father, angry; scream and curse,
I heard the driver, who was only making it worse,
  I held him as he took his final breath.
  I felt it as he passed from life to death.

I am fine. Look I’m smiling, Look at me.
I smile on the outside where you can see.
  There’s nothing wrong, and I don’t have to cry.
  There’s nothing wrong, except my puppy died.
I may have lost my one and only friend;
I may feel a hole inside that will not mend.
  But stop it, just stop it now! Look we’ve bought a new dog, look see?
  A new dog that looks like him, to keep reminding me
  There’s nothing wrong, I just don’t want to play with dogs all the time
    I know that I’m not eating,
    and I’m having trouble sleeping,
      and the new dog feels rejected,
      I don’t act how the doc expected,
  ...but if you keep asking me how I feel I’ll just keep saying: I am fine

One Word at a Time.

Dyslexia
Knot a purse on our tier under stands me,
  Bee cores I have all weighs bean the sway,
Beak awes it’s not allot descent stew me,
  Gnome adder what though spear pull say,

Icon tall weighs say, what need stew beat old,
  Eye contour way seer wot is said,
So with our ten knee body to hear me,
  Their are sum time sigh wish shy was dead,

But in a whirl dove such con few sing ways,
  It twist sand it old dements,
And all though eye ham dis leg sick,
  I’m aching theme most cents.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Huh, does that feel like enough? It doesn't really feel like enough to me. Okay, I should explain. This is a poem that I wrote over ten years ago (I was still in highschool that's how long ago it was, jeez), and that's why it's much more dramatic (I'm much less likely to dip into the "character is suicidal, therefore deep" angle, these days). But, I am fond of it. It has a simple conceit - being illegible when read literally, but makes sense when read phonetically - and doesn't outstay its welcome (in case you're wondering, yes, this was inspired by Ode to My Spell Checker). 

The main problem with it is it's not the story I wanted to share. See, I've been doing this Halloween Countdown for a few years, and every single time, I enjoy the hell out of it. I love writing contextual posts for a scary concept, I love doing the research and learning new things, I love sharing fiction. But, sometimes, the deadline is too much.

On several occasions, I've had plans for this which I've had to abandon, because I ran out of time, and today is one of those occasions. I was writing a two-part story in the same universe as "Operation: White Christmas" and "The Ambrosial Glass" - I call that series the Lockburn Files, and I love writing it because I like the horror in it, and it's fun exploring more of The Kitchen. I started working on a story idea that I've had for literally years, a story exploring more of The Dishwasher, the department that cleans up the mess that the Kitchen sometimes leaves behind. However, I have so many new characters in that, and it introduces a whole new department, and would require a tonne of research. So, I put that on the backburner, and decided to focus on another story - this one simply about a long-distance transfer of some freight which is so dangerous that nobody's security level is high enough to know what they're traveling with. Lots of fun, a basic story, and something that could easily be a two-parter (because of the long distance).
However... I haven't finished it yet. I have to post it today, and it's not finished. It turns out that this one took more research than I had anticipated, and much more planning than I had, well, planned for. So, instead, you get this poem, and tomorrow, instead of part two to the story you're not getting, I'll put up another poem I wrote a while ago, but which I still think is worth reading.
At least I wrote a few more posts in advance this year, but I should really work on these much sooner... I've been saying that for years, and this year I managed to do that with almost half of them, but now it's catching up with me again.

So, in a way, it's ironic that this is a poem about someone who struggles to communicate, to put their words together, because that's literally where I am at the moment - I have so much I want to do, but I ultimately can't, because I'm struggling to write everything I want to write before time is up. Now, don't worry, I won't just throw my story in the trash - I will see if I can salvage it for either a later post. I don't think I'll wait until next Halloween Countdown. I've been dreaming up what the theme should be for next year, and I don't think the story suits it very well...

Anyway, I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and I'm sorry that I couldn't post as many stories as I had planned, but I'll do my best to post more in the future. Until Next Time, I'm going to finish off the last few posts and get ready for Halloween Itself!

Faking a Sickie - Part 2: The Legendary Lurgy

Today, I continue my exploration of Fictional Diseases. I've already discussed diseases which horrify us from Film & Television, but today I want to talk about another kind of fictional disease. Rather than diseases we made up to scare ourselves, I want to look at diseases we made up to inspire us, to cause awe or intrigue.

This is odd to explain, so in simplest terms, rather than specific "horror" diseases from film & TV, I'm looking at more generic "fantasy" diseases from folklore and culture.
Most specifically, I was intrigued by diseases which seem to come from several sources, as opposed to just one - as well as some realworld psychology, history and biology which might explain what inspired these ideas in the first place (also, I couldn't think of a way to organize this, so I've gone for alphabetical). Again, I fear I'm not explaining this well, so rather than continue to try to tell you what I'm talking about, let's just get right into it.

LEGENDARY SICKNESS, AND WHERE IT (PROBABLY) COMES FROM

Brain Fever
Symptoms/Treatment: Brain fever is a physiological/psychological condition which affects the brain, causing severe overheating of the brain matter, resulting in death if a person cannot allow their brain time to cool. This is caused when someone experiences extreme, emotional upset, When a person becomes too upset - often caused by fear, grief, pain, panic or nightmares.
Common symptoms include exacerbated feelings, manic and frantic behaviour, loss of coherent speech, fever and/or sweating. As well, some patients claim that the heat of brain fever causes the brain matter to lose cohesion, and as a result causes a sensation of their brain "melting" and dripping from the ears or nose (although this is most likely a delusion brought on by the fever itself, and their own sweating).
If left untreated, this disease can result in long-term brain damage, or even the death of the afflicted patient. Known treatments are bedrest, cool showers or baths and other means of lowering body temperature, and creating distance (physical or mental) between the afflicted patient and any stimuli which triggered their initial fever.
Distribution/Source: Victorian literature contains several references to the affliction, often as a psychological condition brought on by stress or grief. However, the term is rather vague, and it appears to have been used in non-fiction works to refer to other neurological conditions such as cerebritis, meningitis, viral encephalitis or scarlet fever.
(Potential) Origins: The disease which has the most similar symptoms appears to be Encephalitis, a swelling and inflammation of the brain often caused by viral infection or brain trauma. Common symptoms include headache, fever, seizure & vomiting; or in prolonged cases, delirium, hallucination, loss of coherent speech, loss of hearing, memory loss & seizure. I believe that this is most likely the cause for belief that brain fever can be fatal, However, the affliction which most likely inspired this cultural disease would be the broad psychological concept of the Nervous Breakdown. - as this is a broad term, I would specify, it appears to specifically relate to persons with a predisposition for neuroticism suffering from a panic attack or manic episode, due to environmental triggers. In Victorian times, mental health was not well understood, and the concept of someone losing mental stability because of emotion, environmental triggers or trauma likely didn't make a great deal of sense - so explaining it in simpler terms "when brain thinks too much, brain gets hot" sounds a lot like common sense (which is one of the reasons why it's wrong), and whilst it sounds silly now, I don't blame people at the time for trying to understand why people might become overwhelmed due to emotion, and trying to help them, even though their efforts were misguided.

Cooties
Symptoms/Treatment: Cooties refers to a species of bacterium which infects the patient's skin and internal organs, and in some extreme cases can be prevalent on the person's clothing or belongings. There are at least two naturally occuring forms forms of the disease, the most common is known as pigelus, tjejbaciller, tyttöbakteeri, or "girl germs" is epidemic among females, especially children. There is a rarer strain, known as drengelus, killbaciller, poikabakteeri or "boy germs" which exclusively grows on the skin of male children, especially prior to puberty. There is a third form which appears to randomly affect children of any gender or sexual orientation, which appears to be comorbid with a child's own natural strain of this bacterium.
Whilst afflicted with ones own native strain of this bacteria, children can live normal lives, although girls infected with girl germs have been reported as having poor muscle weakness, hand-eye co-ordination and a fragile emotional state, causing them to "throw like a girl" and "cry like a sissy"; whereas boys infected with boy germs have been known to show heightened levels of aggression and mild learning disabilities, causing them to "act mean" and "be stupid". Although information is limited on the third strain, it has been known to cause unusual behaviour, shyness and may be comorbid with certain physical or learning disabilities, causing them to "act like a weirdo" or "be the freaky kid".
If a child touches another infected child, and their form of cooties interacts with their own, this condition is believed to cause unusual reactions resulting in possible disability, homosexuality or other forms of gender-nonconformity.
The only known treatment is through vaccination, often in the form of a cooties shot - this is either provided by re-administration of the child's own native bacteria species from someone of their own gender or social group (often administered with a specific rhyme) or in some countries it is administered with a retractible ball-point pen. This completely eradicates the foreign bacteria from the child's system.
Distribution/Source: Yeah, I had a bit of fun writing this one - this is simply a feature of child playground mythology. It was first encountered in the 1950s, after the polio epidemic, and although I haven't been to school in a while, I believe that it is still prevalent to this day, although modern and progressive lessons regarding prejudice and its ills has, helpfully, reduced this disease's spread.
(Potential) Origins: Although it became popular during the Polio epidemic, the disease has no symptoms that in any way resemble polio (except for the potential vaccination). I feel the disease most resembles Parasitosis, any infection spread via parasite, although some research claims that soldiers used to refer to "lice" as cooties, but I think that's a case of lice being named for cooties rather than vice versa. Whilst "it's like parasites" is even more vague than "nervous breakdown", it's more apt in this case because in reality, Cooties doesn't seem to have any symptoms. For that reason, the actual cause of Cooties is simple - Prejudice, even the "symptoms" I've listed are just juvenile sexism, ableism and homophobia. Cooties a simple game of "us vs. them" exclusivity, because in a mixed-gender school, the most obvious form of difference between students is sexual dimorphism, especially since most schools have gender-specific uniforms. In my experience, the homophobia isn't as prevalent now as it was when I was in primary school, but it nonetheless takes times for kids to better develop their empathy to a point where they don't think "difference" is the same thing as "sickness" or "wrongness".

Hanahaki Disease
Symptoms/Treatment: Hanahaki disease is a parasitic infection of the lungs and throat by flowering plants. These plants grow within the lungs, or in some rare and dangerous cases the heart, occasionally spreading through the stomach and mouth, which causes difficulty breathing, chest pains and the coughing up or regurgitation of (often bloodied) petals, or even whole flowers, from the mouth. This is caused by the patient feeling unrequited same-gender love for another person who is unaware of their affection.
Symptoms often worsen over time, but can be exacerbated due to proximity with the patient's subject of desire, or extenuating circumstances such as the subject of desire's relationship status, and the patient's own shame for their feelings. The condition can last for months or even years, and if left untreated often results in death by blood loss or asphyxiation.
There are only two known treatments. The first is the reciprocation of the patient's affection from their beloved subject. The other is surgery to remove the plant, which will also remove the patient's love for their subject of desire. A third potential treatment would be a natural loss or lessening of affection, but as this disease tends to be produced from very strong feelings, I have yet to see any proof that this treatment is effective.
Distribution/Source: The original source of this disease was fanfiction, particularly Japanese Yaoi fandom, slash fiction as well as Yuri fandom - often of anime & manga. This is the reason for the name, as hana (花) means "flower" and hakimasu (吐きます) means "vomiting". Over time, this has spread to the West, with several examples in both translated Japanese media, as well as original, English-language fanfiction.
(Potential) Origins: I can see only two potential origins for this concept. The first is Aspergillosis, which is a fungal lung infection, where a species of Aspergillus fungus causes chest pain and difficulty breathing, as well as the coughing up of blood. Although fungus is not a flowering plant, as it's technically not a plant at all, this is a bit of a stretch, but there is a clear correlation in symptoms. The second cause is simply Lovesickness. In the real world, love (especially manic or unrequited love) can develop strong and even painful feelings, with symptoms including chest and heart pain, difficulty breathing, dizziness and vomiting, so it makes perfect sense that someone would want to represent that in the form of a disease. I'd have to therefore assume that the reason why this seems to affect homosexual lovers exclusively is either because of the social stigma, forcing someone to keep their feelings hidden. Or, it may simply be a way to kill off gay characters in a painful, but romantic way.

Morgellons Disease
Symptoms/Treatment: Morgellons is a skin condition that results in fibrous or "hairy" growths under the skin which causes redness, severe itching and discomfort, and in some cases lesions as these fibres grow out and protrude from the skin.
There is no known treatment, as there is little research regarding this disease, and what research has been done has thus far been counterproductive in finding proof of this disease, its cause or its cures. Thankfully, this disease is not fatal, and although quality of life suffers due to the constant itching, with palliative care patients can live a long and fulfilling life.
Distribution/Source: The original source of this disease was one woman, Mary Leitao, who in 2002 insisted that her (at the time) two-year -old son was suffering from an undiagnosed and unheard-of disease. After aving eher findings repeatedly disputed by doctors and disproven by researchers, Ms Leitao created the Morgellons Research Foundation to raise money for research, as well as to raise awareness of this disease.
(Potential) Origins: As this is a very recent "disease", and has been queried by several doctors and researchers, this is the most well-documented disease on this list. So, this isn't mere speculation, actual doctors have provided two potential explanations for this disease, the most prevalent one being Factitious Disorder Imposed on Another; more commonly known as Munchausen's Syndrome by Proxy, this is a psychological disorder whereby sufferer's willingly prescribe an illness to someone in their care, to fulfill some psychological need for attention, acclaim or control. However, Leitao's son isn't the only sufferer, apparently several people claim to have this disease, and doctors suggest this may be caused by Delusional Parasitosis, or the chronic delusion that bugs are crawling over, or under, a patient's skin causing itching and can bleed from excessive scratching. But wait, if all these people are delusional, how do we explain the hairs or fibres under their skin? well, according to tests done on these fibres, the fibres are cellulose, and are consistent with clothing lint, which gets into the wounds after the skin is broken.
 
Spontaneous Human Combustion
Symptoms/Treatment: Spontaneous Human Combustion is when a person, without external heat sources, flames or sparks, suddenly ignites and burns with such an intense flame and heat that their body is incinerated, leaving little more than soot, ashes and charred fragments of bone - although in several cases, remote parts of their body such as hands and feet are left with smoking stumps but are otherwise unaffected. The flame burns hot and fast, such that the victim doesn't have the opportunity to react, and the area around them is often only minimally damaged, as the flame burns out before their surrounds can catch fire. This is a relatively rare condition, as there have only been 200 cases on record. Although the exact cause is not known,some have suggested that static electricity or the heat of gut bacteria may be involved in the initial spark; as well, the consumption of alcohol has been linked to several cases, which alongside body fat and methane may be involved in providing the fuel of these blazes.
Distribution/Source: This is the subject of urban legends, and due to hearsay has also been portrayed in fiction (e.g. Redburn by Herman Melville, Dead Souls by Nikolay Gogol & Bleak House by Charles Dickens). But, there have been several cases of people dying from intense fires without any known source of ignition. So, who's to say that Spontaneous Human Combustion doesn't exist?
(Potential) Origins: Yeah, I'm gonna say that this is total nonsense. Yes, humans are surprisingly flammable, Not only are there only do some flammable gasses like methane and hydrogen exist in our digestive tract, but animal fat burns well, which is why it was once used in making of candles in the form of tallow. People used to theorize that alcohol caused a chemical reaction, because alcohol was involved in so many cases - but do you know what else alcohol causes? That's right, drunkenness. It's my belief that Alcoholism is the main cause of this affliction. Not only because alcohol itself is flammable (spill a little on your shirt, and it will ignite easier), but in excess it makes you sluggish, unresponsive and lower one's inhibitions to do dangerous things, like, sleep close to a fireplace -and yes, burning fireplaces, lit cigarettes and even stove-tops have all been involved in purported cases of "spontaneous" human combustion. But, even when they don't, it's just not believable that the human body could just burst into flame apropos of nothing, because,humans don't ignite. We're almost 70% water, and fire requires energy - in the form of heat or a spark - to alight, and the human body cannot accidentally create that much excess energy in a single point. Which leads me, sadly, to my second potential cause of this - instead of accidental, there may be some cases where this was on purpose. I'm talking about suicide, in the form of Self-Immolation. Some people when they take their lives want to act out and "send a message" or be remembered. One way they choose to do that is to die in a way that's "enigmatic", without an obvious cause, in the hopes that it might be remembered, but it's a whole lot of pain and suffering for nothing - even the Wikipedia page talks about religious rights and martyrdom, but that's giving this more respect and reverence than it deserves. To me, it's just sad that anyone would think that the most memorable part of their life would be the end of it.

[No one, least of all me, was expecting me to talk about suicide, so if you (or a loved one) is feeling suicidal, or depressed, know that there's nothing shameful about asking for help, and help is available, you can speak to someone who can help you, today.]

Anyway, that's my list for now; but, y'know... there's a another kind of unreal sickness out there. I've talked about fake illness that disturbs, I've talked about false ailments that intrigue... but next up, I want to talk about some fictional afflictions that cause actual, physical harm.
I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and until next time, I'm going to be doing more research on human prejudice, and the bad science that can come from it...

Australian Poetry Slam 2020 - Albury Heat, "WAM Zoom Slam" (2nd Place Finalist)

Nightmares

Daddy Daddy, there's a monster that lives under my bed!
He wants to chew on my my toe-nails, and rip off my head!
  Hush kiddo, let's see... no, no monsters down here.
  When I lift up your mattress, there's nothing to fear.
See, monsters don't live in these dark, scary places.
They live in our suburb, and wear regular faces.
  Real monsters will kill you, or rape you, molest you,
  Use you, abuse you, exclude you, detest you,
They call some men "faggots", and some women "whores",
And they only like privilege, when it's not yours.
  But all of them deep down enjoy all this violence.
  So their victims must choose between death and silence.
See kiddo, no monsters, hiding under your sheets,
They're behind the closed doors, now go back to sleep...

Mommy, mommy, come quick! There's a beast in my closet!
It wants to tear out my insides - it's real! Yes, I saw it!
  Well, let's look... baby, look, no, it's just your reflection.
  So let's just turn the mirror in a different direction.
Because that's the real beast here, depression and stress,
and the more that you fight it, the more you repress,
  Till you cut yourself, kill yourself, drink, drugs or worse
  you might start to hurt others, just to manage this curse,
Your my child, I love you, and I'll give you my best,
But I don't understand how you feel when depressed,
  Or anxious or manic or with P.T.S.D.,
  Some try to, god bless them, but most just cannot see.
So let's switch off the light, baby, go back to bed.
There's no beast in the closet, it's all in your head.

Mommy! Daddy! Come quick! There's a ghost in the yard!
It wants to haunt me, and take me away in the dark!
  Let me see, let me see, let me turn on the light...
  No honey, just a shadow that gave you a fright.
Ghosts don't exist, they don't hide in the black.
When you die there's no ghost. Nothing dead can come back.
  So don't be scared of the ghosties and ghouls, it's a lie
  So some folks can think they're not dead when they die.
Even thoughts in our heads are just sparks in our brains.
But when that spark goes out, just our body remains
  Then we're put in the ground, where our bodies will rot,
  Until all of the things that you love are forgot.
There's no ghost here to haunt you, my dear, close your eyes;
Just the haunting reminder that everything dies.

So don't be scared of the monster, the ghost or the beast,
These are fiction, they can't hurt you, not in the least.
  Because nightmares are easy, make no mistake...
  It's the world that we live in that keeps me awake.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

[Author's Note: This is only a written form of the poem, but I actually performed it as part of the Albury Heat of the 2020 Poetry Slam. The recording is not publicly available at this time (and may not be available at all) so I'm afraid you can't see it for yourself.
However, as I scored high enough to earn second place, I actually go to the next round, which means that you can still see me perform at least one more of my poems, for the Australian Poetry Slam 2020 NSW Finals. If you would like to attend, you can get tickets online at the Australian Poetry Slam website, right here! This is an online event, so you can take part from the comfort of your own home. I do know that it will be a part of the Word Travels' festival Story Week, November 6th-14th and the poetry slam itself is on at 8pm, November 11th - the recommended price is $25 for a full-access ticket, but the cost for a single event should be just $5 (or less, depending on your situation).
I am not asking for you to come just to cheer me on, or even just to watch the poets perform - in my experience, book, fiction, story & writer's festivals are an absolute blast to attend. When I lived in Queensland, I attended the Brisbane Writer's Festival every year; and this year as a newly-housed New-South-Welshman, I happily took part in the Write Around the Murray Festival, and very much enjoyed the many and varied performances, seminars & stories available. Even though it had to be mostly online due to the current pandemic, I still had a blast, and I will definitely be attending next year as well, it was a lot of fun. So, please, come along if you can and see what there is available online - it's well worth the price of admission - and if you want you can see me and the other poetry slam finalists perform, you can at 8pm, November 11th. I hope you find yourself there.]

Howl

The huge shelf of masking tape, tarps, paint thinner and tools loomed in front of her like an insurmountable wall. It was so overwhelming, that Theresa found herself staring through it into the middle distance, half-heartedly shaking her head.
     “What the hell am I doing...” she muttered to herself.
     “Can I help you, Miss?” asks one of the shop assistants, snapping her out of her daze. He was just a teenager wearing a green apron emblazoned with the store logo.
     “Oh, sorry, I’m uh... I was looking for something.”
     “Well, can I help you find it? It’s just, we’ll be closing soon. It’s nearly nine o’clock.”
     “Oh, uh, I was just looking for something... flammable,” she says, glancing at the paint thinner.
     “Well, there’s fire-starters and kerosene in the barbecue section.”
     “Kerosene... Yes, that sounds good. Where’s that?”
     “Follow me,” says the kid, and he heads down the aisle. Theresa grabs her shopping trolley, with a tent, a shovel and sleeping bag, and follows quickly behind. She felt guilty making this kid do most of the work for her, but she didn’t see another choice.
The boy leads her almost a dozen aisles down, to where several barbecues are displayed, but he stands by the aisle alongside them.
     “We have kerosenes, here,” he says, pointing at blue and clear liquid in various sizes of bottle. “But, we only have one kind of firelighter left, the white brick. This Friday, we’ll get more stock of the natural bricks-”
     “-What’s the difference between the white and the blue kerosene? Does one burn hotter?” asks Theresa.
     “Oh, no, the clear kerosene is odourless,” says the assistant, picking up a one-litre bottle to show her the label.
     “That’s what I need,” says Theresa, grabbing two clear, four-litre bottles, and adding them to her trolley. “And where are the fire starters?”
     “Just here,” says the kid, leaning down to grab a packet from the shelf. “Is that everything?”
     “Yes, thank you,” says Theresa, taking the packet from his hand. “You’ve been a great help, thank you. Just don’t... I mean... thank you so much, have a good night.”
Theresa turns her trolley around and quickly heads for the checkout, exhaling heavily as she leaves the kid behind her. She had everything, but she still felt a knot in her chest. She rolled her trolley up to one of the only three checkouts still open. A cheerful, old lady was waiting, and began scanning as Theresa unloaded the smaller items, making a painfully high-pitched beep for each purchase. Theresa rolled the trolley forward, for her to scan the tent, sleeping bag and shovel.
     “Going camping are we?” asks the lady, stepping out to scan the items. She took short steps as she moved, and Theresa guessed she had bad knees.
     “Yeah, I’m just going up to the Woods.”
     “You mean, Blackblood Woods?” asks the lady, reaching down to scan the tent. Theresa frowns.
     “No. Where’s that?” asks Theresa.
     “Just by the river,” says the lady, as she gestures vaguely over her head with her free hand.
     “Yeah, that’s where I’m going. But, I didn’t know it was called that. Everyone just calls it ‘the Woods’.”
     “Of course they do,” says the lady, shaking her head as she stood back up. “Everyone just wants to forget what we did to those poor blackfellas.”
     “Right...” Theresa murmured, watching the lady read her screen.
     “That’s one-hundred and ten dollars, and forty-nine cents. Cash or card, love?”
     “Card,” says Theresa, grabbing her wallet. 
Theresa pays, thanks the woman and pushes her trolley towards the door.
     “You be careful, now,” the lady calls to her. “It can be dangerous in those woods.”
     
     
     Theresa heads to her little, white Honda Civic hatchback and opens up the passenger seat. There wasn’t much room in the little two-seater car, but she managed to place the tent, shovel, sleeping bag inside, and even slipped the firelighters alongside the little grocery bag in the foot pan of the passenger side. But, the heavy bottles of kerosene were too big.
Theresa nervously stood up and looked around the sparse carpark. There were still a few dozen cars around, but she couldn’t see anybody near her. She picked up the two bottles of kerosene and walked around to the back of the car. Taking another quick glance around, she unlocked the back hatch and opened the boot. She jumped as she saw her husband staring back at her with wild, dead eyes.
     “Jesus...” muttered Theresa, as she quickly pulled the edge of a blanket to cover his face. The whole wrapped up mess looked distinctly, and disturbingly, like a body - it was a good thing no one could see - and the whole mess smelled like smoke, alcohol and body odour. Theresa quickly picks up the kerosene bottles, and places them by her husband’s feet, then slams the hatch shut again.
     “Fuck you, Pete...” she mutters. Even dead, he was still managing to make her jump out of her skin.
She heads over to close the passenger door, then walks around the car and gets in the front seat. Theresa closes the door and sits there for a minute, staring out at the dark sky around the car park.
She’d made it this far, already. After panicking over his bleeding corpse for almost an hour, she’d managed to mop up the blood, bleach the tiles, roll up his body and throw him in the trunk. If she could just dispose of the body, then she would be free of this whole mess. If she could get away with this, then she could get away from this town, and finally escape.
Theresa closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and starts the car.
     
     
     The Woods are just a twenty-minute drive from the hardware store, so Theresa leaves the carpark, and heads along Maine Street, turning left by the school. It was so quiet and dead, no distractions. It meant there was nothing to occupy Theresa’s mind from the fact that she was driving around with a dead body in the boot of her car.
It wasn’t an accident. He had drunk an entire wine bottle, and had begun talking to her. He was just talking, that’s all... saying those disgusting things he would always say. She knew what was coming, she knew what always came next, and that’s when she grabbed the empty wine bottle...
The sound of sirens makes Theresa jump, and she glances at her wing-mirror to see red and blue flashing lights. It was a police car.
     “Oh, damn...” she says, with a sigh. Had someone seen the body in the boot? She’d covered his face so quickly... but what if someone had seen? She glances at the road ahead. The side of the road looks a little bumpy, but after hesitating a moment, she pulls the car over, and switches off the engine.
     “You’ve done nothing wrong, Terri... it’s routine, you’ve done nothing wrong...” she mutters to herself. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, deep into her lungs, and exhales it all, like her therapist had taught her. After a few calming breaths, she opens her eyes and glances over her shoulder to see a female police officer walking up to the side of the car. Theresa quickly grabs the handle and starts winding the window down.
     “Good afternoon,” says the police officer, as she walks up to the window, “I’m Officer Carrafas. Can I see your license, please?”
     “Of course, of course...” Theresa mutters, getting her wallet out of her pocket. She holds her wallet up to the police officer.
     “Can you take the license out of your wallet for me, please?” says the Officer, impatiently. “Unless it is, you want me to rifle all through it.”
     “Oh, yeah, sorry,” says Theresa, sliding her card out.
     “It’s fine, I just don’t want to be going through your wallet, y’know,” the officer says, as she takes the license. She reads it over.
     “Is this your vehicle?”
     “Yes... I mean, no, it’s mine, but it’s in my husband’s name.”
     “Right, Missus Tibbley,” says Officer Carrafas, handing back the card. “So, do you know why I’ve pulled you up, today?”
     “No, was I speeding?” says Theresa.
     “Well, you should know if you’ve been speeding,” says the officer. “But, no, you actually went through the stop sign, back there on Mockstation Road.”
     “Oh, right, sorry... I didn’t see it.”
     “You didn’t see the big sign on the corner?” 
     “Yeah, I’m sorry, I must’ve just been distracted or something.”
     “Have you been drinking today?” asks the policewoman, leaning down to look her in the eye.
     “No, not at all,” says Theresa, shaking her head. The officer stands up again, and takes a notepad from her belt.
     “Can I ask you where you’re going?”
     “Oh, just... camping. See?” says Theresa, pointing to the tent and shopping bags on the seat beside her.
     “In the Woods?” says the officer, raising an eyebrow. 
     “Well, yeah, I usually work the weekend shift, so I’ve got a few days off, and thought, what the hell, right?”
     “Mhmm,” grunts the officer, writing down in the notepad. “Can you wait here, please? Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”
     “Yes, of course, ma’m,” says Theresa.
The policewoman walks back to her car, grabbing her radio as she does. Theresa sighs heavily. Her heart felt like it was caught in her throat, and her hands were shaking.
She so badly just wanted to go. Just turn the key, and go. Maybe she could get onto the main road and escape. Drive for a few kilometres without her lights on, and go through the paddocks along Eureka Highway. She’d already murdered a man in cold blood, so what would it matter if she tried to drive away from a traffic stop?
Theresa heard a car door slam behind her and turned around to see the policewoman walking back towards her car, holding something in her hand.
     “Alright,” says Officer Carrafas, handing a thin piece of paper through the window. “I’m giving you this infringement notice for failing to stop at a stop sign. That’s a one-hundred and twenty dollar fine, and you have twenty-eight days to pay.”
     “Okay...” says Theresa, taking the fine.
     “Oh, by the way... are you planning on staying in these Woods overnight?” asks the officer, leaning into the window.
     “Yeah... why?” asks Theresa, nervously folding the piece of paper in her hands.
     “Just be aware, there have been reports that some schoolkids were screwing around up there. Drinking, breaking things, making a racket... so, just try to be careful, and if you see anyone up there misbehaving, especially underage boys, please let us know.”
     “Of course. Yes, of course, thank you.”
     “Alright. Have a good night, ma’m,” says Officer Carrafas, she nods, stands up and heads back to her police car.
Theresa looks at her hands to see that she’s folded the ticket in half five times, so now it was smaller than a playing card. She puts the ticket on top of the pile of camping gear, and leans forward to place her head against the top of the steering wheel, and groans softly.
     “Ohhh, god-freakin’ damn it... you’ve ruined my life, Pete.”
Theresa exhales heavily, then takes another deep breath to compose herself and starts the car once more.
     
     
     There was a carpark just outside the dirt trail, leading into the woods. It was empty, but Theresa drove off the paved roads onto the dirt path through the trees. She didn’t want to risk anyone seeing what she was about to do.
The road rumbled and rattled her little car, the tent and shovel bouncing around in the seat beside her as she made her way. Her stomach dropped at the thought of the body rolling around in the boot. Finally, the trail narrowed for foot traffic, and she could drive no further, so she pulled the car over to the side of the trail and cut the engine. It was so dark, she left her headlights on as she got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. The trees were just black lines, with grey and dark blue in-between. She couldn’t see. It was perfectly quiet and empty for what she had planned to do, but it made her feel uncomfortable every time the wind picked up and she heard the trees swaying and brushing against one another.
Theresa grabbed the tent, slinging the bag over her shoulder, as well as the sleeping bag and the shovel, and stuffed the fire-lighters into the end of the sleeping bag, then she looked out into the darkness. She would need to head a good distance away from the trail - if she was going to get rid of the body, she couldn’t just leave upturned dirt in the middle of the path. She wanted somewhere secluded, and hidden away. Theresa tucked the shovel under her armpit, and reached into her pocket to get her phone. She switched on the light, and shone it in front of her. It was very bright up close, but the light was too dim to see more than a metre in front of her. She moved carefully, but as quickly as she could, heading into the trees. She’d never been into the Woods before, she’d only heard the stories people had told in town about it. She’d heard that there used to be an old uranium mine that had collapsed many, many years ago, as well as your usual campfire stories of monsters, ghosts and wild-men. But, she’d never stepped foot in it, so she’d never imagined that the trees would be so dense - she could barely walk two steps without there being another two trees in her way. She glanced back to see the headlights of the car disappearing behind the trees. It made her feel uncomfortable, but she had to go as far away from the path as she could, so that no one would ever find him again.
     That’s when she heard the howl.
     “Ah-wooooo!” called out a voice, in the trees behind her. Theresa turned around so quickly, she dropped the shovel.  She desperately turned her phone left and right, looking for the sound. Then she heard it again.
     “Yah-wooo!” it called, and the howl seemed to echo through the trees. Theresa couldn’t help but laugh. It didn’t sound like an animal, it sounded like someone doing a bad impression of a wolf.
     “Must be those kids...” Theresa muttered, reassuring herself. She laughed at how silly she felt, freaking out over some kids screwing around. It was too far away to worry her, so she picked her shovel back up and kept walking.
After another ten minutes of walking, she found the perfect spot. She’d have to put the tent between two trees that were quite close together, but there was a huge space in the middle, perfect for what she had planned. Theresa put the tent and sleeping bag by a tree, then she propped her phone up against the tent bag so that it shone onto the ground. It wasn’t great, but it meant she could see what she was digging without too much trouble.
She drove the shovel into the ground, and the moist soil gave way like wet cake. She lifted the wet ground up and dumped it to the side, and kept digging. She started by making a rectangular ditch, about the same size as a door, and worked to dig it deeper. After only twenty minutes of digging, she was only half a foot deep, but she was already sweating up her t-shirt and jeans, and mud had completely caked her sneakers. She wished that she’d thought about wearing something more appropriate, but it hadn’t been her main concern, when she’d come up with this plan. As she wiped the cold sweat from her forehead, she heard the howl again.
     “Ya-whooo!” it cried, way off in the trees.
     “Yeah, yeah, you said that already...” she groans, digging deeper. As she got down a foot deep, the soil was getting tougher, more like clay, but the hole wasn’t deep enough. It took another twenty minutes before the hole was up to her knees, so Theresa figured it was deep enough. She dropped the shovel out of the hole and she climbed out of the makeshift grave. She dusted herself off, although the mud on her legs was so wet, she basically ended up smearing it around. So, she scraped her hands cleaner with the bark of a nearby tree, then picked up her phone. She checked the battery, and it was still over 40%, so she meandered around the trees a little, grabbing large branches and sticks she could see, and throwing them towards her little campsite. She didn’t find very many, and some were very wet. but she figured the branches were basically an afterthought, since the kerosene would do most of the burning.
Theresa dropped the sticks and branches into the grave, then made her way back to the car. 
It was a fifteen minute trek, and she wandered aimlessly for half of the journey before she could finally see her headlights through the trees. Theresa headed over, opened the door and quickly switched off the headlights, to make sure the car battery wouldn’t go flat. Then, she headed around to the back of the car to open the boot. She found the right key on the car keyring, and shone her phone’s light on the back of the car. As she did, her stomach dropped.
     It looked like a bear had attacked her car.
There were about seven long scratches across the back of her car, each one with four lines from claws tearing through the paint, and although none of them had torn through the metal, the back panel of the hatchback had crumpled from the force of the blows.
Theresa turned around carefully, aiming the light all around the trail, but she couldn’t see a living thing.
     “Hello?” Theresa called nervously. Nothing answered and she turned back to the car. She didn’t know what had attacked her car. It looked like some huge beast. Maybe some animal could smell the body inside and tried to get at it, but bears, tigers and wolves weren’t native to Australia, so what could have done this?
Maybe it was those kids the police officer had warned her about... but Theresa had no idea how they’d managed to dent the car so badly. Theresa just sighed, and opened the boot. Once again, her husband was staring up at her, but she ignored him and just took the two bottles of kerosene out of the boot, placing them on the ground, then grabbed him by the legs and dragged him out of the car. She heaved him out, and the rest of his body hit the ground with a thump. First, she turned her phone off and put it in her pocket, then she unwrapped the sheets slightly, and put both the kerosene bottles in by his legs, before wrapping it up tight and starting to drag him towards the hole.
It wasn’t easy, as he was heavy and a dead weight, and she often had to stop to heave him over a root or large rock that he would snag on.
     “You’re such a pain in the arse, Pete,” Theresa groaned, as she dragged him along. “And it’s all your-” heave “-damned fault.”
After two more minutes of straining her arms, and dragging him through the forest, she couldn’t help but hate him even more.
     “I loved you, did you even know that? I actually...” heave “gave a crap about you... and you treated me... like a goddamned-” heave “-punching bag... so, go to hell, Pete. I hope you rot...”
     
     
     After dragging him for what felt like an hour, Theresa looked behind her. It was still hard to see in the dark, but her eyes had begun to adjust to the low light, and she could just manage to see the hole she’d dug, so she stopped to catch her breath. She leant against the tree, heaving, then smirked. She was still tired, but she was almost done.
Theresa unwrapped the blanket to grab the bottles of kerosene, then she dragged the body alongside the hole and kicked it.
Unfortunately, Pete was too fat to roll over, so she knelt down and shoved with both hands, and he dropped into the ditch, the branches and sticks cracking as the body dropped onto them.
The hardest part was over now. Theresa opened up the bottle of kerosene, and started pouring it into the hole.
     “I’m free of you now, Pete...” she says, as she covers him from head to foot. “I never have to dress up for you, or get screamed at, or play your disgusting games, anymore.”
Theresa emptied the bottle, then dropped it in the hole and grabbed the second bottle. she made sure to soak the blanket, so it would be easier to light. Then she dropped the second bottle into the hole, and went over to her sleeping bag. She got out the packet of fire-lighters and ripped it open, and reached in, and pulled out a small, waxy, white cube.
     “Okay...” Theresa mutters, she grabs the phone out of her pocket, and shines it on the packet. It was very bright after getting used to the darkness, but after a moment her eyes adjusted.
     “Instructions, use matches or a lighter to ignite a fire-lighter cube... I don’t have matches, I thought...”
Terri desperately takes all of the fire-lighter bricks out of the packet, placing them on the ground, and searches the packet, but it was empty. No matches, no lighter, nothing...
     “No... no no no no no!” Theresa searches her pockets, but she had no matches. And as disgusting as Pete was, he wasn’t a smoker. Theresa sits down against a tree and covers her mouth with her hand. She felt like a fool. How could she have forgotten matches?
She felt like she was going to cry. She was trapped. Stuck. Pete was going to win, again. She was never going to be free of him.
     “Maybe I...” Theresa grabs her phone and turns off the light, and tries looking all over the case. But, she couldn’t see a way to get a spark from it. All she needed was a spark, or a flame. Just a match, or a cigarette lighter, or....
Theresa jumped to her feet. Her old car still had a cigarette lighter. But would it stay hot?
Theresa picks up two of the white cubes and puts them in her pocket, then runs back towards her car.
     
     
     Her shirt was soaked with sweat, and her legs were burning, but she was running as fast as she could, bouncing off trees as she bolted towards the car. She was getting used to the path, so it was easier to find her way even in the dark, but it was still a long way from the hole she’d dug, to the car. It still took a good ten minutes before she was back at the car. But when she got there, she threw the door opened, and put the key in, and turned the car on. When she did, the interior light turned on, and she quickly saw the grey little, plastic button with the white cigarette symbol. She pushes in the cigarette lighter and exhales heavily.
     “Thank God for smokers...” she mutters.
     “Yah-ooooo!” calls out a voice, and Theresa snaps to attention, and steps out of the car, looking back at the path she’d just come. She heard the howl come from that direction.
     “Don’t tell me those kids are heading towards the body...”
Theresa glances around nervously, listening to the sound of her idling car, when she remembers the fire-lighters in her pocket. She couldn’t worry about the howling kids now. Surely they wouldn’t find her spot... but, she had to light the fire.
Theresa used the light from her phone to search for a small, but sturdy stick on the ground, not too dry, and she found one by the side of the trail. Then she took a fire-lighter out of her pocket, and skewered it like a marshmallow. It was a little heavy on the stick, but it meant she wouldn’t burn her fingers. She then went and sat in the car. She was nervous, breathing shallow, so it felt like ages, but after just two minutes the cigarette lighter popped out. Theresa turned off the car, then grabbed the little lighter nub. it was small, but when she turned to see the heating element, it was a coil of wires, glowing orange. She stepped out of the car, and placed the lighter against the white cube. It slowly lit, and the fire carefully crept around the surface of the cube, burning steady and slow like a candle. Theresa leant back into the car to put the lighter back, shut the door, and headed back to camp. She moved as quickly as she could, hoping the flame wouldn’t go out, but the fire-lighter did its job, keeping a steady flame, but she still couldn’t run while holding a light, burning stick, so she speed-walked through the trees. Every now and then, she glanced around, looking for any kids, or listening out for snapping twigs or people talking, but there was no one along the path. Maybe they hadn’t been here. Theresa had been told that sometimes sound can echo in unusual ways, that can change the direction. Maybe that’s what happened... maybe.
     Finally, Theresa came upon her makeshift campsite, once more. She leant down with her little flame, to look into the hole where she’d dropped his body, and she felt like she was going to be sick...
Blood, and flesh. She could smell the sweat, blood, bile and gore. Something had torn through the blanket, and clawed into the body. She could see a gaping hole where some of the organs were missing, and burst intestines had been tossed aside. She dry-heaved... she hadn’t eaten anything all day, but her stomach tried to leap through her throat. She turned away, and as she did, she heard something scratch against a tree, and she turned around. The flame wasn’t very bright at all, just a small light on the end of a stick, so she couldn’t see the creature. But, she could see two flickering pinpricks in the darkness... where the light reflected off its black eyes.
She stared at it, as it stared back at her. She held the flame out, so she could see a little clearer, and she heard the thing shift again. It was reacting to the fire.
The flame was so small, so Theresa decided that now was as good at time as any to finish the job. She turned, leant down, and placed the little torch onto the cleanest piece of white cloth that she could find. It worked better than she expected. The whole blanket was soon crawling with flame. Theresa turned back to the creature.
As the flame grew brighter, she saw the creature’s face - it looked like a man with leathery skin and pitch-black eyes, but he was covered in dark, brown hair, and he was almost twice her height. It squinted as the flame grew brighter, and bared its teeth, growling.
He sniffed and  snarled, then suddenly he stepped out from behind the tree and tossed its head back.
     “YAH-HOOOOOooo!” it howled. That familiar sound, that sounded almost human. It was a yowie. Or a yahoo. A yeti, a big-foot, a sasquatch - whatever you call it, the monster was staring at her, mouth dripping with spittle tinted red from blood. She could tell from its long nails, it was the same creature that had attacked her car. It started to hunch down, ready to strike.
Theresa wanted to crawl away, but she was right next to the burning pit. Her breathing became ragged, as she realized she was stuck.
Even dead, Pete had managed to trap her again. She couldn’t escape. Taking a deep breath, Theresa got to her feet, tears streaming down her face. If she was going to die, at least this once she was going to fight back. With a snort, the creature leapt out of the darkness...

†

     
     Officer Peyton walked unevenly alongside the long string of yellow police-tape strung between the trees. He took a sip of coffee  and exhaled mouthfuls of mist in the cold, morning air.

     “Jesus, you can smell it from miles away...” he says, as he comes into sight of Officer Wells, who was standing at the edge of a shallow grave. Wells was a stout man with a heavy moustache and severe eyes. Peyton asks him “What the hell are we looking at?”

     “Got a call about a fire in the Woods, thought it was the footy boys again,” says Wells, looking back at Peyton. “but now it looks like some kind of murder-suicide deal.”

     “In Hollow Falls?”

     “Yeah... I called for forensics, but it’s an hour out of town. So now, I’m corpse-sitting.”

     “Do we know who it is, yet?”

     “It’s too early to call it for sure,” says Wells. “Forensics will confirm, but we have reason to believe that it’s Peter Tibbley.”

     “Who the hell’s that?”

     “Local mechanic.”

Officer Peyton leans closer towards the rectangular ditch, to see a black and charred, human-shaped lump laying facedown on top of several logs, ash, burnt plastic and still-smoking embers.

     “So, who the hell was the guy?” asks Peyton.

     “Just a local. What are you prodding at?” asks Wells.

     “All I see charcoal, Mark. Did you turn the guy over? Did you find his wallet? How can you tell who it is?”

     “Last night, Carrafas was called in for a welfare check at the Tibbley house - the front door was left open.” says Wells. “When she got there, the car was gone and there was no sign of the Tibbleys anywhere. I’m thinking something bad happened, and Missus Tibbley decided to skip town and Mister Tibbley here didn’t like that very much, so things turned sour. No idea who the other guy is though...”

     “What other guy?” says Peyton.

     “The one under the big guy. There’s two bodies,” says Wells.

Peyton steps forward, and peers into the hole. It was hard to make out under the huge, charred body, but if he stood just right, he could see a pair of shoes sticking out.

     “Jeez...” he mutters, shaking his head. Both men are distracted by the sound of doors being slammed back down near the trail.

     “Must be forensics,” says Wells. “That was quicker than I thought... I’ll talk to them, you corpse-sit.”

     “Hey, wait,” says Peyton, calling to Wells. “You said the lady skipped town. How do you know that? Maybe she's at a friends or something.”

     “Well, her car’s missing and the kids didn’t show up to school today,” says Wells. “She must’ve grabbed them and run.”

     “Unless they’re in this pit too,” says Peyton, frowning.

     “Depends how deep it is...” says Wells quietly.

     “Yeah,” says Peyton, having another sip of his coffee. “Ain’t that always the way...”