Later on that same day, I dropped in on my assistant who was supposedly drafting a new town charter for some obscure village closer to the ocean... fully absent of consent from said town. He was pumping the initial paragraphs full of strange anarchist drivel and belligerence about the entrenchment clause. I was shouting over the Sonic Youth ripoff band that was practicing next door, trying to get the Danger out of my system. A strange and terrible blonde cadaver hovered, following him everywhere and asking me idiotic questions.
Off the top of my head, I think the moon has ¼ of Earth's gravity. Leave me alone.
My assistant whispered with urgency for me not to leave him alone. “I think she's going to drug me and harvest my organs to replace her failing ones! I think she's a salt vampire! I think she's a fucking werebadger!”
I escaped. I could see the terror, the consuming fear of destruction. There was nothing I could do. Mulder might believe the story, but not Scully, and I can't imagine talking them down to Greenville. I'm sure they can smell the alcohol fumes all the way up in DC.
People are getting bitten by the undead that are coming to power through the underground, and it evils up the air. The Deranged are rising to power, and their evil scheme is to put the entire city on a turntable and play it backwards. They're convinced that there's a Satanic verse if you play the whole town in reverse. Welcome signs on back roads have been ripped out by an unholy force, replaced with tin sheets. “Ellivneerg” is scrawled in some kind of farm animal blood, most likely goat's blood. Wild eyed idiots sit outside of Sheetz, analyzing cloud patterns for Satan's face and working out anagrams for Greenville that make full use of the word “evil.” Once bitten, you are lost to the cause. You stagger down the middle of tenth street without regard for the speeding Jeeps. You gorge yourself on dead pigeons and McDonalds' bags. You are possessed with a strange immunity, one that prevents bars from ejecting you. Once bitten you can make an absolute beer menace of yourself without fear of reprisal. Swarms of these ghoulish jackasses can be seen throwing shoes at their terrified waitresses, howling for more beer as they work on their anagrams. No solution yet, nothing that satisfactorily incorporates “evil,” but research goes on tirelessly.
So far, the most common anagrams for Greenville are “Eleven Girl” and “I'll Revenge.”
Underground shows are becoming cathedrals of danger, as the wildest and most unhinged of the Deranged go there to purge. It starts innocently enough, with one lunatic braying along to the guitar and knocking over mic stands, but generally by the end of the night there are people who would otherwise be normal tearing PBR cans in half with their teeth. The Deranged are biting and infecting the populace at a terrible and epidemic rate. The danger is real and we have no Batman to save us.
I fled the peroxide demon that would be consuming my poor assistant, only to find myself in greater danger. Demon death horrible hounds wandered the streets, wrecking mailboxes and throwing pitchforks through screened doors, howling in the shadow of Steel Reserve. This is what I come to expect, since the door of the mental institution came off its hinges a few weeks ago. I tried to do like in the movie... I tried to walk like a zombie... but they could tell.
They can always tell.
It was ugly, some of my hair was torn out, and it ended in my flight back to my assistant's door. “You have to let me in!” I pleaded, “These deranged fuckpistols have tasted blood!”
The strange and terrible blonde emerged, following a thrown brick, gibbering and spinning her head all the way around. I lived only by virtue of quick thinking... I took off my jacket and threw it as far as I could. She charged after it, the human scent distracting her long enough for me to escape. My assistant's huge desk made a prime barricade. I collapsed, my back against it, laughing maniacally. “It isn't the apocalypse,” I said to myself, “but it sure feels like it.”
There was a small sound in the closet, and I knew Fear for a second. The door swung slowly open and my assistant emerged. “Is she gone? Is she really gone?” he asked in a tiny voice. I nodded, sighing in relief. On this particular day in Greenville he was the only non-beast I could find. Everyone else I could trust had fled town for the weekend, or, “until this whole thing blows over.”
“She's a fucking salt vampire!” he wailed. “I don't know how I convinced her, but I played dead and she eventually got the Big Hunger and had to go feed.” A scream sounded somewhere outside and I shuddered. “You know they can unhinge every joint in their body? While I was playing dead she climbed the wall in this bizarre arachnid fashion and started gnawing on the blades of the ceiling fan. Creepiest shit I ever saw.” He had scratches on the back of his neck and his feet were crammed painfully into the wrong shoes.
“All she left was this piece of paper,” he showed me a horribly crumpled and dirty sheet of paper. “They're getting closer and closer to their goal. Regardless, half of these aren't even words... Le Evil Green, Evil Gel Nere, Evil Gree Len, Ren Glee Evil, Evil Glen Ere... it just goes on and on!”
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