Improvised Bludgeons, Expired Condoms and the British Broadcasting Corporation - Notes from a Traveler

International alcoholics, take note - polite society would frown upon passing out with a bottle of whiskey within reach, and yet I can more than vouch for its efficacy as an improvised bludgeon…

If you find yourself coming-to in a foreign land hungover off a nasty drugging (whether unsolicited or self-administered) you likely will have lost items including but not limited to money, shoes, passports and visas.

As your local embassy will be of little use, I would personally recommend the lost art of pick-pocketing on public transit – namely, the tried and true “newspaper method” in which a carefully positioned paper (preferably The Sun or its local equivalent) obscures hands roving through your neighbors’ pockets and purses. 

I recently liberated (and later utilized) a book of matches, Kč 700, a piece of butterscotch hard candy and an expired condom from the coat of a vulgar Belgian on the tramvaj in Prague using this technique...

The personal ad columns have long since been a perverse frontier inhabited by those sad and lonely hearts who dare to dream. And yet, as I recently found after some measure of embarrassment, “BBC” as found in the personals does not stand for “British Broadcasting Corporation”...

Missed Connections

This is a Missed Connections ad by Anonymous, presumably a 35 year-old woman from Oklahoma City, haunted by her former lover, Carlos. I present "Carlos, I'm giving up the ghost" in the interest of saving this bit of found prose poetry from the Craigslist dung heap of oblivion.

Carlos, I'm giving up the ghost. - w4m - 35 (oklahoma city)

The banana project was not enough to lure you in, and I want to be sad. I want to conclude something more than you giving up on the dream. My best guesses are as follows:

Perhaps you met an untimely doom via a boa constrictor, after he had smothered you in ketchup.

Perhaps you were found out by an exorcist, or a ghost hunter. I'm wondering if they have your voice on tape somewhere, I'd like to hear the gurgle and scratch against the back drop of white noise.

Perhaps you were eaten by a plump man on an elevator, after he had mistaken you for a cookie.

I feel as though it always goes back to the state of cookies, the shape of cookies. Shapes of all things.

It's highly likely you were bored by my previous letters, and allowed Horatio to devour you. His mouth was always a prison, I am not sure how well of an escape plan that would be. The halls are too quiet without you, my teeth hurt from too much sugar. I will start cursing the sky in your name, only to have forgotten the curse songs minutes later. After all, it is a fast food, give me candy, now now now type of world.

My universe is shaped like a broken wine bottle, and defending it seems useless. I find myself getting letters from women who hope I will call them Carlos, or men who desire me to treat them like a dirty muse. I am not sure what that even means, I am not much of a sadist, and dirty? Dirty things like mules, and goats tend to make me seek solace in warm water. I will not throw tomatoes at anyone while they are tied to an oven.

I keep washing my eyes, and hands hoping to rid myself of your memory. I must be a proper masochist, a longing marionette. I have done all of this dangling by myself, written songs about tad poles in remembrance of you. My nostrils caught the smell of bourbon, and it made me wonder how you had met your end. Poe would be proud, I thought. Or he would be disappointed, let us hope your story was not like one of his terrible poems. We all have terrible poems. Sometimes we are the terrible poems.

I have never stolen kisses, or danced to acid jazz. I have died a thousand times to the echo in her voice, every day is a little death.

I dreamed of a wolf on my front porch, though I do not really have a front porch. He sat splinters in his paws, jaw agape. He reminded me of nights I have spent wondering, determined to sleep thirty minutes less. I have run out of clever ideas, I do not know where you have gone or why. I presume you have found another woman to haunt, to send your suave prose to.

I hope wherever you have gone, the ether is lovely this time of year.

I will continue to write letters, until I have run out of ridiculous things to wonder about. This will surely be once I am dead-and-gone. What is death anyway? Just a little weight loss.

The Tickler

Our last anecdote is completely comprised from notes acquired by an acquaintance – a former private investigator that shall go unnamed. 

A private investigator makes for a valuable friend and an even more valuable storyteller - he is retired and most of the concerned parties are long since dead, the names and specific locations removed. 

Figure 6.1 - ____ ______ Mental Hospital staff examine the x-ray of a diseased brain

This was his strangest case, and he even provided a rather charming picture I think we all will enjoy.


***

The Tickler


February 13, ____

Client, N. _____, is 65 year old female, believes her mother is being abused in _____ _____ Rest Home in ___________, _______. The mother, C. _____, is 92 years old.

Wounds, lesions are consistent with active abuse, not neglect. Bruises and broken skin indicate physical attack. Making telephone inquiry at _____ _____ Rest Home.


February 14, ____

_____ _____ rest home denies neglect, cleared by ___________ Police Department; three calls already by concerned relatives; further action and inquiry determined no wrongdoing on part of employees or staff


February 17, ____

Visit _____ _____ rest home. Staff not willing to interview, interview patients C. ______, J. ______, & client’s mother C. _____.

C. ______, male, 85, reports no wrongdoing on part of staff and no abuse.

J. ______, female, 90, reports a man entering her room at night, white male with 13 fingers. dementia possible, also non-employee intruder

C. _____, female, 92, reports white male intruder, roughly tickling and touching her body at night. Non-employee intruder likely, will inform _____ _____ nursing home and client N. _____.

Matter for ___________ Police Department.  Bill client $___.29.


March 8th, ____

Contacted by former client N. _____. Abuse continues at _____ _____ nursing home, no sign of non-employee intruder. Further inquiry necessary


March 20th, ____

Active surveillance of location, no sign of non-employee perp. Abuse continues. Mass hysteria likely. A fifth of rye receipt from Rodeo Clown Liquor, bill client $__.99 for expenditure.


March 21st, ____
Interview M. ______, 78, male

          H. _______, 93, female

          D. ________, 27, female, employee

M. ______, 78, reports abuse from white male visitor at night, non-staff, tickles roughly. Perp now known as “the tickler” amongst staff and patients

H. _______, 93, reports abuse nightly from white male, non-staff, that tickles roughly. Hysteria spreading

D. ________, 27, employee nurse, has seen physical abrasions and bruises, cannot account for it other than self inflicted.

“tickler” is mass hysteria, self inflicted condition, patients abusing selves. No patients have or were been quarantined at any time, all “infected” by “tickler hysteria”

Informing client, N. _____, of tickler hysteria. Client billed for $___.98.

Figure 6.2 - An illustration from The Defective Delinquent and Insane

April 12, ____

Call from previous client, N. _____ about “tickler hysteria”. Further inquiry at _____ _____ rest home.


April 14, ____

Interview D. ________, 27, female employee

          J. _________, 92, female, client mother

          F. _________, 84 female

D. ________, 27, says patient self abuse worsening, psychological therapy not helping
 
J. _________, 92 client mother, still visited nightly by “tickler”, visibly shaken and bruised

F. _________, 84 abrasions and scuff marks, visible bruises

Will inform client N. _______ of findings, further evidence of tickler hysteria, client billed $___.37.
 

April 15, ____

Hallucination/nightmare of a pale man with tentacle-like fingers in my room last night. Research indicates “Sleep paralysis”


April 16, ____

Visit _____ _____ nursing home. Patients becoming unwilling to talk about “Tickler”

Interviewed V. ______, 87. Says “Tickler” is not hysteria but evil spirit

Surveillance still failing to show employee/non-employee perp
 

April 17, ____

Awoke repeatedly throughout night with rough “tickling” sensation. Scheduling an appt. with a Dr. ___ ______


April 19, ____

Seem to be infected by “tickler hysteria”, visited again by white male hallucination at night that attacked, tickled roughly. Appt.  Dr. ___ ______ at 12:30 pm tomorrow. 


April 20, ____

Confirmed “sleep paralysis”. “tickler” visited again last night, leaving visible bruises. Infected. Billed $_,___.39.


April 24th, ____
White male hallucination, visiting nightly, I am now sleeping with loaded 12ga. do not seem to be self inflicting own bruises/wounds. Leaving flour around bed at night w/o footprints


April 25th, ____

Visited _____ _____ nursing home. Interview

     D. ________, 27 female employee

     J. _______, 92, former client mother

     And drove to different nursing home, ______ _____

     K. _______, 87 female

D. ________, 27 now experiencing “Tickler” hysteria, visited nightly by rough tickling man

J. _______, 92, still tickled nightly by “Tickler”

K. ________, 87, patient of ______ _____ nursing home, “Tickler is spreading, common link indicated by D. ________ who told fellow nurse of “tickler”)


April 26th, ____

no signs of forced entry in spite of nightly harassment. Have been prescribed the antipsychotic medication _________. Billed $___.72.


April 28th, _____

Interviewed V. ________, 88. Says “Tickler” is not hysteria but a “lulu” that first visited her as a child after her mother died and her alcoholic father quit leaving a hallway light on at night


May 4th, ____

Seeking help, receiving art therapy at ____ ______ Mental Hospital for “paranoid psychosis”. Tickler visits every night. “Tickler” is infectious, spreads by word of mouth. Documents and images of “tickler” should be destroyed

Figure 6.3 - Unfortunately, at the present time he has only supplied this grainy cell phone picture of his artwork for "The Tickler". A full scan should be forthcoming.

June 16, ____

Prescribed heavier doses of _________



October 22, ____

_______________________________________________
 

December 25, ____

Christmas time and he says if bed bugs like to bite then he likes to tickle and likes to fright  

Figure 6.4 - An enlarged version of the original cell phone picture

***

And there you have it. A rather interesting tale of mass hysteria and insanity, and our friend the private investigator has been to some extent mad for some number of years ever since his Tickler encounter and subsequent release from a group home for paranoid schizophrenics. 

He was and is an eccentric and tormented figure, a middle-aged diabetic now managing a certain all night fast food chain location - he refuses to work anything other than the night shift and refuses to sleep anytime other than between sunrise and sunset. A sad sort of character, but I myself have been plagued by some rather unusual nightmares lately...

The Meat Addict

      

     The subject of this particular case has been receiving a new form of treatment - culinary therapy. He is watchfully observed in a carefully monitored kitchen, set up as to not be too intrusive or frightening, and he is aided by our charming orderlies who do most of the cooking, and certainly all of the chopping and cutting…

Figure 5.1 - ____ _____ Hospital's culinary therapy kitchen

However, he has made progress, and with help has been preparing all manner of pies and cakes and cookies. Italian cuisine? Not yet, but he hopes with the right dosage of psychiatric medication and therapeutic exposure that he’ll once again be able eat or cook the occasional lasagna or plate of spaghetti. Pizza? May be too soon to tell…

Figure 5.2 - The logo for Giuseppe's Pizza Pies

The Meat Addict

    

     Enter two ghouls, a host of missing stoolpigeons and a pizza parlor. A pizza parlor whose specialty was a meaty, gristly and greasy monstrosity called the Meat Addict. A thick crusted pizza topped with pepperoni, salami, meatballs, Polish sausage, hamburger, chorizo, prosciutto, bacon as well as Canadian bacon (so as to not neglect our friends to the north), anchovies and a special house mortadella sausage.

     Human corpses can be such a nuisance for those in that profession – that particular sort of life, which is to say, the unglamorous lower rung of errand boys, psychopaths, disposable gofers and lowlifes who do the lion’s share of dirty work for the mob. Not made members certainly – just the wannabes, the non-Sicilians, the petty thieves and glorified serial killers who inhabit a shadowy netherworld rampant with chaos and murder.

     Disposing of a corpse, or corpses, is a rather gruesome task - methods range from decapitation to cremation to submersion in a body of water (just remember to puncture the lungs and stomach lest your victim float). Our ghouls preferred a gastronomic approach – cheerfully grinding up their victims and adding them to the house mortadella sausage.

Figure 5.3 - Another example of highly sought after "murderabilia", a pizza box allegedly from Giuseppe's Pizza Pies

     This was the narrative given to me by the stepson of a union organizer in a Brooklyn working class neighborhood well known for both its pizza and its organized crime. I can say our story as it was told does not end well for our would-be chefs – as soon as their horrified employers found out about their special ingredient the duo were promptly ordered to be killed and swiftly disappeared.

     As to where they are or are not today is anyone’s guess. Likely rubbed out, murdered just as the people they themselves murdered. Another possibility is that they simply fled – working at a sleepy, unsuspecting pizza parlor in some sleepy, unsuspecting town or city such as your own. Please, do enjoy your next pizza pie.

Figure 5.4 - A pizza pie not unlike the notorious "Meat Addict"

***

     A rather traumatic experience for the poor stepson of the story – oh, I did neglect to mention that he pumped many a greasy quarter into Space Violators II and Polybius at Giuseppe’s game room, and was an avid enthusiast of the Meat Addict, especially its mortadella sausage, until its special ingredient was revealed. A minor tragedy, and yet a menu, which allegedly came from the alleged establishment, does make me hungry… 

Figure 5.5 - A menu for Giuseppe's Pizza Pies

The Bell County Incident

Our psychiatric hospital is not entirely suited to cases of dementia, and I have little doubt that one patient here pushing nearly 100 years old is suffering from some mental ailment associated with his advanced years. Surely his anecdotes are the product of a sickness, but I will admit that his story is corroborated by another tale I was able to piece together from several folklorists in rural Appalachia.

Figure 4.1 - Former ____ ______ Mental Hospital staff prepare for a patient autopsy, 1951.

The Bell County Incident

     Far back in a holler, in the shadows of a mountain shunned even by the Indians before the arrival of the white man, lived a pair of brothers, bachelors and crotchety old bastards named Eber and Shem. One long and lean, the other short and fat, the brothers both had stringy hair and long beards and piercing eyes but something other than their unkempt appearance frightened the locals.

     There were the rumors, for sure. Of slaughtered livestock in those hills, and of blood-curdling howls under the harvest moon. And then there were the whispers – two Godless old bachelors are sure to attract attention anywhere – but most folks respected Eber and Shem on some strange level. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that the occasional calf or mare found butchered was preferable to a murdered child.

Figure 4.2 - Revenuers dump illegal hooch circa 1925

     
     Apart from their trips to town they likely would have been forgotten altogether if the brothers hadn’t made the finest mountain dew this side of the Cumberland Gap. This was shortly after the repeal of the Volstead Act but a quality jug of moonshine was still worth its weight in gold. Plenty of folks made the trip back to Eber and Shem’s holler for a bottle of hooch – but none visited after dark and sure as hell never made the trip on a full moon. 

     That’s not to say there wasn’t drinking on full moons in Bell County – there was more than most, but it wasn’t the joyous, sociable kind of drinking. It was more a lock the livestock in the barn, bar the doors and clutch your shotgun sort of drinking.

Figure 4.3 - Another unsolicited visit from a "revenuer"

     And then there were the revenuers. Drink wasn’t illegal, but it was if you sold it without cutting in Uncle Sam with taxes. The federal boys started sniffing around the county – Eber and Shem had a minor local notoriety as local eccentrics and probable lycanthropes but had amassed a considerable degree of genuine fame as bootleggers not only in the state but surrounding states.

     Now everyone around feared Eber and Shem, but everyone also resented the creeping federal influence into the mountains. I don’t think it was a coincidence that the college boys were finally tipped off about the whereabouts of Eber and Shem during a full moon that October of 1934. What exactly happened that night whenever the Ford full of G-men, accompanied with one of the most prominent revenuers in the state, pulled up to Eber and Shem’s place is still anyone’s guess.

Figure 4.4 - The revenuers strike again

     Some say two survived out of eight men – and that of the two survivors, one died not long afterward from his wounds. The other ended his career as a revenue man and was scarred for life. No one knows who tipped off the feds, but no doubt many in the county wouldn’t have minded for the werewolves and the revenuers to both be gone for good.

     At least partially, that did hold to be true - Eber and Shem disappeared and were never seen again.

***

     Having been told the various versions of the story (and my own version is a composite), one of the only consistencies was of a sole survivor, badly injured, who never again worked as a revenuer. And in our patient I couldn’t help but notice the tell-tale old scars on his left cheek – perhaps claws, perhaps something else. His own tale is rather disjointed, a loose collection of waking nightmares involving those “damned whiskey boys”.

Figure 4.5 - The surviving revenuer, who was said to take on unusual physical characteristics after the infamous Bell County Raid, in 1937

     We are currently not best suited to fit his needs - every full moon he experiences a temporary psychosis and wanders away from our facility, necessitating a Silver Alert nearly every month. There is a quaint little rest home, not far from here, which I think will be far more appropriate. It has admittedly not been without its own incidents in the past but I think it’ll be suitable place for our retired revenuer.

Figure 4.6 - A former orderly of ____ ______ prepares a light afternoon snack for one of the many guests