October 25, 2011

Round II of This Contest is Haunted

 3) The Long March to the Bathroom (A True Story)

When I was around 9 years old, my newly formed family (mother, new step-father and step-brothers) moved about 20 minutes outside of Corvallis, OR into a wonderfully large multi-level home that was on a few acres.  Now coming from a town, I was not immediately ready for the shock of not having your neighbors right outside your bedroom window or the absolute silence and darkness that came at night.  Dealing with the dark and silence at night was easy living with my new brothers in the adjacent rooms, that all change within about 7 months of living there.  My mother and step-father were getting a divorce and we would be getting the massive house to ourselves.

As soon as my step-brothers and father moved out of the house, it took on a whole other vibe.  It became terrifyingly empty with all these crazy shadows cast by the moonlight coming in from the long row of windows that seemed to be present in each and every room of the house.  The very worst part of the house now seemed to be the separation of the family living spaces from where my room was, what used to be a blessing for three young boys was now a gauntlet of terror each night I had to make my way to the bathroom.

This long march came to a terrifying head one clear evening in October with a bright moon.  I needed to use the bathroom as any boy who is scared of leaving the safety of his warm blankets for the cold hard truth of not wetting the bed.  I made my way out of my room and down the hallway trying not to look out the window in case some monstrous beast was just outside waiting to catch a glimpse of me and snatch me right away.  I lost this battle of wills and peered out into the late night.  Our backyard was an acre long grass field populated with a few garden beds and a sprinkling of small trees lining the property.  At the very end of our property line was a tall stand of trees at the peak of the hill illuminated from behind by the moonlight.  At first I could not believe what I was seeing standing in between two of the trees at the very top of the hill and thought my mind was just playing tricks on me.  That was when it moved.  This humanoid looking thing was walking the ridge of the hill and must have been at least 9 feet tall when compared to the trees.  It lumbered along stopping occasionally and just stand still.  I was rooted to the spot in absolute terror and couldn't even let out a peep.  I had been terrified of something like this ever since I had seen an episode of Unsolved Mysteries covering sasquatch (aka bigfoot) and now years later I was seeing one in my own yard.  To this day I swear it stopped and looked down the hill directly at me and its eyes flashed red for a brief second, then lumbered over the hill out of sight.

If I thought I was terrified before of the walk to the bathroom, I can't start to explain the horror that walk was for the rest of the six months we lived there.  Anytime I needed to go to the bathroom at night I would jam my pillow on the side of my head that the windows faced and walk as quickly as my legs would carry me all the while picturing a huge bigfoot right outside of the window waiting for me to take a peek.


Not so very long ago and not so far away, an unsuspecting new family moved into the spooky, decrepit fixer-upper on the corner of Bones Blvd. and Skeleton Street. The old-fashioned piss-yellow Victorian was obviously haunted yet inexplicably appealing to the merry-go-round of buyers who, like clockwork, moved in and then out, always screaming and frazzled when they turned over the keys back into the hands of Dolores Doodie, the neighborhood real estate agent.  Year after year, Dolores would do a little Annette Bening-in-“American Beauty” routine in the newly cleaned, empty house, giving herself a pep talk along the lines of “I will sell this house today!” despite the moaning and groaning soundtrack continuously provided by the floorboards and walls of the home. And year after year, an attractive new family would swoop the place up, high on the dreamy hopes of fixing the place up and reviving its full potential as a neighborhood cornerstone.


 And so, not so very long ago and not so far away, the Numm-Bertew clan pulled into the driveway of the old haunted house on the corner of Bones & Skeleton, their blood-red Previa minivan sparkling in the moonlight (they had driven all day from their former hometown and arrived at their new home only once the sun had long set). 

The family battled cobwebs and the lack of a porch light before reaching the front door, toward which little brother Deuce was extending his open hand when the thing clicked, croaked, and screeched open without any damn body turning the knob. Deuce’s two older sisters gasped in terror at the haunted house cliché, clinging to each other for protection in an inexplicably sexy way, with both sisters’ visibly pert nipples standing at serious attention in matching tight tank tops as the moonlight cast down upon nothing else but their boobs. Little Deuce paid no heed to his super sexpot teen sisters, of course, owing to his lack of pubes and the fact that, until kids get pubes, haunted houses are still cooler than boobs.

As usual, mom and dad were suddenly nowhere to be seen. Deuce Numm-Bertew and his wet hot American teen twin sisters were technically orphans, you see, but the ghosts of their dearly departed parents were so concerned for preserving the virginal purity of their should-be porn star daughters that they manifest themselves physically in a blood-red Previa whenever the twins were about to lose it to a football team and whisked them away, along with little Deuce, to a whole new hometown and a whole new life. 

Just then, a BLACK CAT/JOLT OF SPOOKY MUSIC jumped down from nowhere and scared the shit out of the twins, literally. Deuce rolled his eyes, mumbled “typical” under his breath, and pushed the front door all the way open, revealing a dark gaping expanse into which he bravely stepped.  Faced with the classic dilemma of whether to remain on the scary front porch where you and your hot twin just sharted in unison or follow your little bro into an even scarier haunted house, the girls opted to chillax with their poop on the porch and pray for a football team to come along and deflower them in the moonlight.

Inside, Deuce groped pathetically in the cobwebby darkness with the hope of finding a light switch. Little fool was too young to know what everybody does by the time they get pubes: that haunted houses don’t have light switches, and that the place is only illuminated when the demonic powers that be are damn good and ready to light a bitch up. Just then, JOLT OF SPOOKY MUSIC/LET THERE BE LIGHT!!! All at once, the haunted house was ablaze with jack-o-lanterns, hundreds of carved pumpkins lit from within by candlelight, each and every last one of them bearing a strained, constipated expression that was neither sinister nor intimidating yet also not sad or even ironically dopey. 

JOLT UPON JOLT OF SPOOKY MUSIC as the house itself begins to shake, quake, even, with the bizarrely straining pumpkin faces becoming even more bizarrely strained with every passing moment. Little Deuce wasn’t scared, though, because having spent all eight of his living years with twin teen hottie sisters with severe sharting anxiety, Little Deuce recognized the nature of these expressions almost immediately.

Without hesitating, Deuce became a man: he grabbed an axe from the nearest place where axes are kept and ran for the nearest mainline pipe. With one fell swoop, as the house was groaning and moaning and heaving and hoeing all around him, hundreds, no, thousands, of groaning, moaning, heaving and hoeing jack-o-lantern faces aglow with the look that only backlogged feces can be blamed for, Little Deuce slammed the axe into the sewer pipe as hard as he could, freeing his new home of her lifelong suffering with one valiant gesture, the act that made Little Deuce just plain Deuce.

And so at that very moment, when the most infamous haunted house on Bones/Skeleton burst from within to flood the entire neighborhood with decades worth of pent up poop and pee, Deuce got his very first pube, becoming a man. As for the house, well, it was no longer haunted at all, freed of the ghosts of feces past and allowed to breathe and be free at long last. With the first rain came a little less poop on the streets, then the second rain and so on, and by the time several years worth of torrentially rainy winters had passed, the formerly haunted house (and the three or so square miles immediately surrounding it) looked good as new.

And so Deuce Numm-Bertew lived happily ever after, with lots of pubes and a poopy twins fetish as his main companions, plus the annual Christmas card he sent to the realtor Dolores Doodie, thanking her for another year in the house she sold his ghost parents.


1 comment:

Gabe Rodriguez said...

This Contest is Haunted is the hottest competish this side of Bravo! Great idea, Rachel.