Hash #565 --- What Evil Lurks In Those Woods?
Ambling down the road in my Explorer the other Sunday, I noticed a funny looking sign had been placed by the highway. It invited the unwary to a “hash” in a nearby secluded location. This was obviously code for some kind of paganist group indicating a meeting place off the main highway. What dastardly and nefarious character would leave a coded sign along the highway – and what did he or she plan to do with the victims who were ensnared in his or her spiders web of deceit and evil on a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon?
Giving over to the intrepid soul that inhabits my age-infeebled body, I decided to have a closer look, and my experiences are recorded below. But I warn you fair reader, nay I implore you of weak heart and mind not to read any further, for surely the devil was at work that day in Adamstown. The sights which I beheld shook my faith in God, and chilled the marrow that lies deep within my bones.
After gathering my talismans and trinkets which ward off evil, I approached the paganists and inquired of their quest. Their leader seemed to be some sort of one-breasted ageless satyr with a full beard. He claimed a legal occupation of delivering anthrax-laden messages to the local citizenry. The other leader of this God-less group was no less evil, but ever so much more the sprightly. It was obvious that he was responsible for the vile sign along the highway….and the others reverently referred to him as the “Bad Man.” In a matter of minutes, I had been accosted by all sorts of mean and nasty nymphs who claimed part in this twisted activity. A tall gangly fellow identified himself as “Guke” – whilst another carried the name “Darth”. As foreboding as these names were, these two were of the less devious of the coven. Soon, I was introduced to Overexposed, Roadkill, PHT, Girlyboy, Bushwhacker, Desperate Dave, Ruff-Butt, Bluster, Deathwish, Dick da Dick, Princess, and host of other demons and witches. Each of them eyed me like I was some sort of blood present, and I had to calm my thoughts lest I betray the terror which verily shook me from within.
After some sort of ritualistic binding session of the hasherette “Ruff Butt” that I believe had something to do with a fertility rite of the sort you see the wiccans practicing ere the feast of Samhain, the pack of neer-do-wells was off. Off I was certain to perform some sort of ritualistic murder deep within the devil’s own woods and far from prying eyes.
What dastardly and devilish white powder marks these evildoers followed, I do not know, for I was running along in fear for my very life, desperate to see my quest to its end. Up, up, up we went into the very bowels of Satan’s sylvan hell! The trail went this way and that, and the very trees, rocks, and bramble bushes jumped up at me, grabbing at my legs and arms, and leaving foul bloodied marks upon my body. I screamed in pain, but my entreaties to stop the evil torture were in vain – the satyrs verily laughed at my pain, and ascribed my cuts and injuries to my initiation in their bloodsport.
For a while I lost this group of evildoers, uncertain whether they were watching me from behind the bushes and trees waiting for me to falter, or whether they were off conducting some sort of slaying ritual and drinking the blood of maidens from a ram’s horn. I cowered in fear and prayed for deliverance from our creator. Finally, they burst forth from the wood, yelling as if Satan himself were on their tails, a pack of banshees bounding down the hill toward certain doom.
And at once we halted! The pack of spirits had found the nefarious “Bad Man” perched upon the back of his convertible hearse, offering an ale of hops, barley and malt. Parched as I was, I pressed this concoction to my lips, hoping that my show of brotherhood would ward off their advances and save me from becoming one of the undead zombies that surrounded me.
Off again went the pack in search of havoc, skirting merrily through a graveyard and then down to the burg of Adamstown where the citizens locked themselves in their homes to ward off the wind of evil that blew down from the mountain. At once, the road split, and I – endeavouring to put distance between myself and these blood-thirsty ogres, took a high road away from the pack of marauders. I knew I had chosen wisely as I heard the clarion call of the hounds of hell arise from the valley below! Oh what foul and awful sounds arose, yet I knew not what unspeakable deeds had provoked such a response. Stealthily tracking the pack, I watched as this pack of loathesome beasts turned upon one of their own -- the gent they had forbodingly called “Deathwish.”
Sensing the doom that was to befall him, Deathwish alighted to the road, attempting to flee with the help of a passing motorist. Whether the motorist sensed the danger that Deathwish brought with him, or whether he was simply listening to the radio and unaware of the deathchill in the air, we do not know. Either way, the attempted escape was thwarted.
Taking the lifeless body of “Deathwish” from the side of the road, the marauding pack attempted to dispose of his body in a dumpster – alas to no avail, as he awoke and again sprang from their grasp.
The brave yet doomed soul soon found another means of escape, and hopped in a private sedan. Sadly, this proved the end of “Deathwish” as they combined their magical strength and forced him from the road --- slaying him in a manner most macabre.
Seemingly frightened by the baying of the hounds of hell, the pack alighted from the scene of the murder and back to the site of our departure, but not before they besotted and befouled the local fowl population – performing deeds so vile that they cannot be printed lest this paper fall into the hands of the authorities. Truly what they did was illegal in most states (excluding West Virginia and probably a few counties in Nevada), and I but plucked the eyes from my face so I would not have to gaze upon the awful visage scene of depravity.
Upon returning to our automobiles, directions to the scene of the coven were found, and I was compelled by fear to follow this awful group to the place of sacrifice, the very home of evil --- “the Bad Man’s house.”
Down lonely highways and past fallow fields we drove in a tight convoy. I could truly feel myself pass from the world of the living through a deep dark abyss that only those who have crossed the path of this awful group can describe.
In due time, we alit at the home of the evil “Bad Man”. More of the wonderous yet intoxicating beverage was passed about, and ground meat was proffered – likely the processed remains of the victims from their last such feast day. I cowered in fear as the 23 or so evil doers formed some sort of ritualistic circle and drank to the health of Satan, the overthrow of the government, and all sorts of mean and nasty things.
Truly I believed that I had seen the worst of this awful afternoon, but then as if the bowels of hell had once again opened, the evil “Bad Man” uncovered a sort of large cauldron -- obviously designed to soften the flesh of victims prior to dismemberment. Soon a bevy of these evil fornicators had been thrown into the steaming water pit, their screams echoing off the mountainside. Alas, I could not countenance the awful sights and desperately tried to leave.
At this point, I was waylayed by two lovely sirens – the fair Princess her compatriot, Bushwhacker. Time seemed to stand still, and my legs felt as if they were rooted to the wooden decking. How I escaped from their evil grasps I do not know, but the scratchmarks that I found on my back, and the puncture wounds in my neck indicate that I soon will become one of them.
I beg you fair reader – should you see these awful creatures with their “ON-ON” stickers pasted upon their cars, give them a wide berth – for should you join them on such a “Shitty Trail” you’re sure to have a “Shitty Hash”, and a “Shitty Apres”.
ON-ON
Decoy
