Dream a Little Dream With Me VII

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I was reading a book last night, and I heard the sound of mumbling from the walk in closet.  Naturally, I figured it was Crazy Jeff or one of my other pals, here for his Great Big Payback.  Perhaps Greg, who has never forgiven me for making him drink out of the hot tub in 2009.  In any case, it was really ever only a matter of time before one (or more) of my enemies came to settle the score.

I got up and walked over to the closet, stopping at the dresser to fish out my pistol.  But when I got to the closet, I realized that the noise was actually coming from the attic, which is accessed through a hatch in the roof of the closet.  I could definitely hear it, now...It sounded like a dozen people or so having a very quiet but intense argument.  Time to call the exterminator, I suppose.  Powerful big rats out here in the desert.  Powerful big.

Thing is, when I walked to the bedroom door, I found that it had been sealed shut with putty.  Same thing for the door out to the upstairs balcony.  I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911.

"911 Operator, what is the nature of your emergency?"

"I have intruders in my house."

"Where in the house?"

"In my attic."

"Sorry, we are currently unable to assist you.  We suggest you contact an exorcist."

"A what?  Look, there are people in my attic."

"No, there aren't."

"I can hear them."

"What makes you think they're people?  In any case I have to keep this line open for emergencies which we are capable of dealing with.  Injuries, fires, that sort of thing.  No paranormal activity or weird physics.  Goodbye."  She hung up.

I dialed again, hoping to get an operator that wasn't insane.  In the closet, the voices were getting a bit louder.  The phone rang for perhaps 30 seconds, and then connected.  All that came out was a screaming noise, like a whole stadium full of people screaming in terror.  I slammed the phone shut.

I figured I'd better wake my wife up, in case things became dangerous...But when I shook her, I discovered that what looked like her in the bed was just a bunch of pillows under the covers.

Then I froze, as I heard the attic hatch screech open.

With my wife missing, there was no reason to find out what was coming out of the attic, so I grabbed a sheet, held it in front of me, and jumped through the bay windows.  Or tried to, at any rate.  What actually happened is that I bounced off them like I'd hit a brick wall, landing in a heap on the floor.  Looking up, I noticed that the windows were just paintings on the wall. 

I heard something - someone - drop out of the attic into the closet.  Then another.  I jacked a round into my pistol, and tried to get to my feet...But I was hopelessly tangled in the sheets.

Footsteps came out of the closet.  I twisted around and aimed the pistol towards the noise.

From the closet came two men dressed in revolution-era clothing.  One was Nathan Hale, his head flopping around on his broken neck, and the other a Black man with a wound in his head.

"Stop where you are, or I'll shoot", I screamed, feeling very foolish.  These two men are already dead.

The Black man smiled.  "Go ahead, I've been shot before."  Hale just laughed, a horrible gurgling noise.  They walked over and grabbed the sheet, and started hauling me across the floor to the closet.  As they did so, the Black man said, "My name is Crispus Attucks.  We're going to get to know each other really well."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because we all died for a principle that has been shat upon ever since.  We don't hate the yahoos that do the shitting.  They can't help themselves; they are a product of their time.  You, on the other hand, you know better.  But all you do is talk...And while you talk, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.  So now you get to go to hell, too."

They hauled me up into the attic.  For a brief moment, I could see that the attic floor was packed with people laying side by side.  Some were dressed in revolutionary outfits, some in world war two uniforms.  Sacco and Venzetti were there.  So was Joe Hill.  They all looked at me, and began to grin.

Then the hatch slammed shut, and the attic was plunged into darkness.

[LMNO]

GAH!

[The Good Reverend Roger]

GAH!

That was one of those "fly right out of the bed like Jackie Chan at 4 AM" things.

[Salty]

I like it, but will have to google those names.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I like it, but will have to google those names.

  You make me sad.

[Salty]

I like it, but will have to google those names.

  You make me sad.

I try to keep up. 

[EK WAFFLR]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

My head is full of tiny weasels.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

My head is full of tiny weasels.

Tiny, angry weasels. Sweet and salty shit biscuits, Roger, I don't know if I'd sleep again after that shit.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

My head is full of tiny weasels.

Tiny, angry weasels. Sweet and salty shit biscuits, Roger, I don't know if I'd sleep again after that shit.

PILLS HERE

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

My head is full of tiny weasels.

Tiny, angry weasels. Sweet and salty shit biscuits, Roger, I don't know if I'd sleep again after that shit.

PILLS HERE

Sounds delightful.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

My head is full of tiny weasels.

Tiny, angry weasels. Sweet and salty shit biscuits, Roger, I don't know if I'd sleep again after that shit.

PILLS HERE

Sounds delightful.

I'm a festival.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

My head is full of tiny weasels.

Tiny, angry weasels. Sweet and salty shit biscuits, Roger, I don't know if I'd sleep again after that shit.

PILLS HERE

Sounds delightful.

I'm a festival.

A festival for the angry weasels dancing a gavotte in your cerebral cortex.

[EK WAFFLR]

Jesus H. Christ, DOUR. 

My head is full of tiny weasels.

Tiny, angry weasels. Sweet and salty shit biscuits, Roger, I don't know if I'd sleep again after that shit.

PILLS HERE

Sounds delightful.

I'm a festival.

I'm afraid to walk into the Haunted House..

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.