How to tell a Halloween Story

It’s Halloween, I should acknowledge the passing of the holiday and will do so with an in-practice guide on how to tell a scary story. As with all my endeavors into the pool of knowledge, I start at Google and work forward. A search for “How to tell a scary story” on the spooky holiday Google image finds a number of links in a matter of seconds, for Google tells me so; which is far scarier in other implications. Christine Mattice gives her tips on terror in a post on Associated Content. She likes to create an ambiance, so turn out the lights and light some candles. Looks like my find at the tea candles clearance sale will go to a good and tax deductible use.

The candles cast an strange glow and the house is about to burn down. I am officially scared. After a number of links themed on how to tell the story and as I am writing the story; we have a problem. The gist is to write a story about the scariest thing you could think of and to start in the middle where the terror is.

I will preform this post as a Incorrect Grammar and will spit out my words Kerouac style. Off the fingers to the page and you. Edit, we don’t need no stinking edits. Mistro strike up Mr. Tom Waits on the player and away with the scary story….

72 Virgins

“You want a Manifesto?”

Ned claimed a leather chair and took a seat with his feet up on the board room table. He cracked a can of soda and the group of pock faced, pale skinned virgins thought they were dead. They were a jumpy bunch of teenagers. Ned wondered if they were past their teens. Americans were always immature till a late age, especially the intelligent ones. Their lives spent in the upper crust, liberal society gave them benefits beyond their needs. Then Ned remembered the bomb strapped to his chest.

“Well, I don’t have a Manifesto.” Ned said.

Ned took a long pull from the can. He was 12 years old by the time he had first drank carbonated sugar water and had gone long bouts without the need, but he did enjoy the treat. These boys always had an over abundant supply. Nothing less for Virtual Squad 187, The Sherman troop. They didn’t look it but these geeks were the elite of the elite. They never set foot in a battle field but their virtual reality gear took control of combat robots in hot zones. They hid behind a mask of ones and zeroes broadcast halfway around the world.

“What would you do with a Manifesto? Your news networks will blame who they want to blame. Your people will go to war with the last country without a McDonalds or your country will save themselves a financial crisis and overthrow the leader. A new jackass will take his place and outsource his bloody rule to organizations like you.”

Ned took a breath and noticed all their eyes on the button depressed in his hand. “Any way you slice the cake, no one cares what I have to say. I am the guy with the bomb strapped to his chest.”

Ned had expected the Sherman troop would be older, battle worn men but this group were nothing more than children; sheep for the flock. They may have looked harmless but the Sherman troop were merchants for hire; no job too immoral, no kill too disgusting. Members are known to rape the woman and tear apart the bodies with their robotic claws. They will work for any corporation but the Zig Zag corporation keeps them busy. Zig Zag is the graven image above all graven images and the first evil Ned knew.

Ned was from a small town named Hamstone. Zig Zag had chose Hamstone for a factory and the greedy members of the town capitalized on the situation. They promised the citizens of Hamstone new jobs and all the modern life of America. Everybody got caught up in the new, American way of life. The result was a factory that stank up the air and polluted the stream. A few locals got jobs at the factory and worked for a better life. Ned’s Father was among them and the work became grueling. As more of the towns people quit, woman and children were trucked in. A shanty town was built besides the factory and Zig Zag kept the people like dogs.

Ned’s father was among the resistance and the struggle came to a head in protest. His father helped organize a “Sit In” and took Ned along to witness the people take the power. All the men in Hamstone took to the factory and stopped production. There was celebration.

What they couldn’t have known was a Judas in their ranks had alerted Zig Zag. As the workers took back production, The Sherman Troop ransacked Hamstone and left no one alive. A month later, Zig Zag took down their graven image and moved further into the reaches of NAFTA. Hamstone was given back the factory, while the town was demolished. They never killed Ned’s father but they should have. the menwere never the same. Ned left on a journey of a million steps to the home of the Sherman Troop. He looked at them one last time and let his finger slip. The hand of all mighty himself could not save the pock faced virgins.

Outside, the building was silent and the scenes changes in an instant when the explotion rains a shower of glass. Passive cars screech to a halt as a fire ball ignites the afternoon sky. Text across the bottom proclaims breaking news. Lewis sits at his computer and looks over at the television. The explosion is eye catching but the location is familiar. He punches his thick fingers against his cell phone screen.

“Hey, quick question?” Lewis said into the revicer. “What’s the address on the Sherman Troop?… That is what I thought. You watching channel?… Yeah, it is! See the pizza place across the street… Man, Zig Zag is going to have so much work for us. Who do we know over there?”

P.S For more scary stories on corporate dominance check out War, Inc. on DVD.