Halloween House

November.

I hate November.

“Hey Larry, you can take the decorations down! Halloween’s over!”

I REALLY hate November.

I guess I should explain. Every year, my house is known as the best for Halloween. Whenever the neighborhood had a Halloween decoration contest, my house always won. Eventually they refused to consider my house for the running, saying that I had won too many times in the past, it was time for someone else to win. It was all fine to me, I never wanted to compete anyway. You see, I never put up any decorations, this is just the way my house is.

Sure, during October, everyone loves my house and wants tips from me. I have to buy tons of candy for all the trick-or-treaters that come my way, even. Once November 1 rolls around, though, my house goes from being the hot spot in town back to being that weird place that bleeds from the walls.

Yeah, that’s right, bleeds from the walls. Only on the inside, thankfully. Still, company doesn’t stay over very long.

Between that, the constant cobwebs, the indescribable moaning coming from inside the walls, and the spectral images in any reflective surface, I’ve become something of an outcast to anyone that has ever come over.

Outside doesn’t fare much better. Bats circle the chimney, an eerie glow is seen in the windows of rooms no one is inside, and pumpkins grow wild all over the yard. Er…

Pumpkins is the wrong word.

Jack-o-lanterns.

Jack-o-lanterns grow wild. Already with faces carved into them. Sometimes the faces seem to change from day to day, as if they’re moving while no one is watching.

I’ve been told many times to stop carving up my pumpkins in the middle of the year. “It’s March,” they say, “There’s no reason to have your pumpkins carved like that. How are you even growing them out of season?”

They just don’t seem to get it. I have no control over my house anymore. I haven’t bothered in years.

I used to, you have to understand. I used to try to cut away the jack-o-lanterns. They would just grow back twice as numerous. I used to try to clean up the cobwebs, blood, and other substances I can only assume to be some sort of ectoplasm. It all comes back twice as strong as soon as I look away. I even tried to get the house exorcised, figuring I must be on top of some ancient burial ground or similar typical curse scenario. Nothing worked, and no cause for all this has ever really been found.

So, every year, come November, I start hearing about how I “should really take down all my Halloween decorations, they’re scaring the children,” and every year I try to explain that I have lost all control over my property.

They never listen.

They always forget.

So every November: “Halloween’s over, Larry!”

God, I hate November.

Oh, and before you tell me to just move out, you try moving to a new place when no one will buy your old haunted monstrosity.

So, I’ll be here. Year after year. Quietly hating my situation.

Do come over for tea sometime. I could really use the distraction. Just, try not to mind the blood dripping down the walls.

Deep Games

Little bit of a cop-out this time, as I just want to share some videos I made recently for a website I stream on, Deepgamers.com. A place where people stream videogames, while others watch and chat. Most of us are terrible people, so be warned if you decide to go there.

Anyway, a long time ago, one of the other streamers, going by the name CANADA, recorded a fake Wendy's narration. Another member of the site, PneumaticHat, put sexy music onto it. I then added video. So enjoy the best commercial ever:





Oh, and if you need proof as to how terrible we are, just look at this:

Dman (the owner of the site) doesn't even answer when his grandma calls. Tsk.

Next time, I'll try to actually write something.

Musings of a Street-Thug

These are the excerpts from a journal that washed up along the East River. The author is still unknown.

May 13: Had a pretty good run today. Managed to snatch a purse while crossing 32nd. She screamed a lot, but it was pretty easy to lose the cops in the crowd. Heard a rumor from some of my buddies that some kid calling himself bug-man or something is swinging around like Tarzan and getting people thrown in jail. I think they’ve been smoking too much.

May 20: A bunch of the guys have all ended up in prison for petty robbery and the like. It’s like someone’s cleaning up the neighborhood. Allen keeps yelling about some giant spider he saw one night. I keep telling him I cleaned the bathroom, we don’t get spiders in there anymore. Besides, I’ve never seen a red and blue spider before. I think I might need to take him to the hospital, he might have gone crazy.

June 1: Ok, I believe it now. I saw a guy break into a jewelry store nearby and that red and blue masked guy came swinging in on some fishing line and beat the crap out of everyone. Kept making jokes as he was doing it, too. Weird stuff. The newspapers are getting some blurry pictures of him, calling him Spider-Man. I wonder why they use the dash in the name. I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to type Spiderman? This is why I dropped out of my journalism major in college.

June 20: Been too afraid to go out and work. I’ve been a thief for years, it’s all I know how to do anymore, and in about a month, this Spider-Guy has completely wrecked my income. Some of the others are getting fed up, too. Rumor has it that there’s some guys willing to take down the Spider and give guys like me the grunt work while he’s distracted. Some guy calling himself a Goblin, and another guy with a fishbowl on his head. I guess you have to dress weird to get another weird guy’s attention. Anyway, this could be the break I need to get some work without having to worry about getting thrown in jail.

June 24: Met with one of the flashy costume guys. Big deal coming up. Don’t want to risk the details in here, all very hush-hush. I’m excited to get back to work, though these villain/hero dramatics are kind of annoying.

July 5: It’s been days since my last entry. Writing here in the hopes that if I die here, someone knows what happened. The heist was over a week ago, I’m sure all the details about that have been put out by now. No real secrets when it comes to superhero adventures. Turns out I had things backwards, though. I thought the bank heist was the main goal, and that the boss was just the organizer and distraction for Spider-Man, giving us the opening to get away with the money. How it really went was that we were bait. He wanted to lure out Spider-Man so he could fight and kill him with those bombs made out of Halloween decorations. We were pawns. Worthless. He even let Spider-Man rough us all up a bit before even showing up, the green bastard. I only just got away into the getaway car, nearly died going for it, too. Everyone else was already covered in the webbing goop. Covering their faces, it looked like they couldn’t even breathe.
I hope Tim’s ok. Kid’s got asthma.
God, here I am writing about the others, I don’t know what happened after that for them. My story continued in the car. I drove away from the fight as fast I could, but it wasn’t long before he was back on my tail.
I panicked. Went straight for the Brooklyn Bridge. I was a sitting duck there. He webbed up the car, I got out, and somehow found myself stuck to the side of the bridge. I don’t remember if I tried to jump, or if he put me here on purpose, but I’m still stuck on the North side of the bridge. Just underneath, in a little spot no one can really see from the boats.
I was able to wriggle my hands free this morning, which gave me some hope, but nothing I can do will get me out of this mess. It’s hardened into something strong as steel, even the knife I carry on me won’t cut it. I can’t even try anymore, since the knife fell and is at the bottom of the river at this point. I’ll try to sleep again, and resume my yells for help tomorrow.
July 6: Voice is broken and hoarse. Can’t yell any more. Tried tossing some items down at the boats to get someone’s attention. Nothing worked. I’m going to kill every spider I see if I get out of this alive.

July 7: Could barely sleep. Dreams haunted by that spider. In the dream he grows gigantic, towering over me. Laughing. Always laughing. Quipping at me like my life is part of some meaningless game. Like I’m an extra in a movie or something. Why couldn’t he have just called the police? I’d much rather be in jail than this. Drinking what rainwater falls near me, and slowly starving. Feeling weak again. Will write later

July ?: Not sure how long I slept. Everything’s blurry. Hope is low. He did this on purpose. Left me here to die. He doesn’t leave criminals for the police, he just wraps them up and leaves, letting them waste away. It’s just luck that the cops find them. Either that or he left me here as revenge for getting away from him at the beginni-

Day unknown. Might be August. Dropped pen. Writing with rust and blood. Have been eating shirt and bird waste. Thank still rainwater to drink. All alone. Might be losing mind. Hear him speak to me even now. Saw balloon with his face on it and billboard for a musical. He is on Broadway. Why do they celebrate a murderer? He has killed me. I never killed anyone, only stole. He is ruthless. Cheerful in it. Mocking me as I die.

Say goodnight Gracie Say Goodnight Gracie Say GoodNight gracie SaY GoodnIght Gracie SAY goodnight GRACIE say goodnight gracie Saygoodni ght grac ie saygoodnightgraciesaygoodnight gracie say goodnight Gracie say goodnight gracie Say Goodnight

The rest of the writing becomes scribbled and unintelligible, soon trailing off to just a weak, thin line. Rescue crews have searched the entirety of the Brooklyn Bridge, no sign of the author has been found. -JJJ