Spirits in the Material World
Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: September 23rd, 2017
Wizards. I assume they exist. I know plenty of people who say they are. But when you need some wizard shit done, they’re an endangered species who screen their calls. Talking to fortune telling cats is suddenly more interesting than a 73% chance of the Apocalypse. Fine. You think old Gary can’t whip some hedge shit up when he needs to? Think he’s a stranger to applying a little hoodoo elbow grease? Yes folks, old Gary is peeved enough to refer to himself in third person and argue with a straw man.
So what do we have for you today? We’re making extra cash on the side as house exorcists, so some kind of fucking ghost most likely. If people knew how easy haunt breaking was they wouldn’t pay us to do it. Hauntings aren’t really something people think they need to prepare for, but that’s where they’re wrong. Haunting can happen anywhere, anytime. You think because you’re the first occupant of your plywood, wrapped in Tyvek, American eclectic dream home, you’re safe? Let me tell you something, ghosts are dumb as shit and half the time they have no clue where they are. Ever wonder why pagodas have the curly corner roofs? Because ghosts are too fucking stupid to change direction, they hit the roof and go shooting off the little ramps back into ghost space. In ghost space they can hear you scream, because ghost space actually amplifies screams.
Just one of these little shits can just walk into your house and build a nest in your kid’s closet. A kid’s closet is a prime crash pad for a ghoul. Nobody ever vacuums in there because it’s full of junk. Next thing you know it’s ‘run to the light Carol Anne.’ And when that happens, we’re the old broad who says ‘this house is clean.’ Who is the same one who says ‘run to the light’ but you get the picture. Point is, you’re Craig T. Nelson and the Pathmark guy only moved the headstones. I put the ad up on Craigslist months ago but we finally got a bite. That bite took us to Frederick County, Maryland. Our quarry: the snallygaster. Before any of you nerds send me an e-mail, I know it’s not a ghost, but $100/hr is $100/hr. And I did specify in the ad there was corporeal surcharge. $.15/lb. Snallygasters can get up to about 10lbs. So that’s an extra, what, buck fifty. That’s a few Slim Jims. You can go a long time on Slim Jims.
The snallygaster is a slimy little skeksis-looking thing and haunts areas of Maryland and D.C. It got its shitty Lewis Carrol name from the German settlers who called it Schneller Geist or fast ghost. So it’s like the Barry Allen of monsters. Or at the very least Max Mercury. The things scream like a train whistle, the little fuckers bite and they love blood. In the end, however, bagged and tagged was right where we had it.
Bouncing Round the Room
Byline: Stephanie Morgan
Dateline: September 23rd, 2017
Heya, SEG-er’s. About a week ago I put up an ad on Angie’s List offering our services as house unhaunters. Well, a lady in Maryland got back to us and boy did she have pest problem. A hideous creature with the funniest name. The Snallygaster. At first I thought Gary was having me on, but then he explained it was German and that’s all I needed hear. That language scares me. The creature manifested and entered the backyard of our client’s home at about 11am, during a birthday party for children. It ate the clown, forcing the children to watch as it slurped intestines like linguini and acted like it was have an orgasm. Really laying it on thick. Then the family dog ran out. They thought it was going for the monster, but it started eating the clown too. I never trusted dogs. First chance they get, they’ll eat your face. I read about it.
So it chased the ginger kid with the wall eye into the bouncy castle and got stuck. When we got there it was laying on its back, struggling and snapping. Eventually, animal control came and got it with one of those nooses on the end of a pole. It turned out to be a possum with mange. And we didn’t get paid. But I got a lead on a poltergeist that keeps urinating on a lady’s five year old son’s bed when he’s sleeping. I say we go check it out.