Horrid Tales of Wister Town

By Matthew Sawyer

The strange tales told within Horrid Tales of Wister Town...

Truthful Consequence

Darren's social life and career are limited because his is obsessed with honesty, telling the truth and revealing the secrets of others

Bloody Tannenbaum

Devon Kolbenstecker's father instantly accuses the boy of playing a prank, but they have to hurry to pick up Devon's sister from high school basketball practice.

Bestial Cult of Hathor

Terry Bringer returns to Wister Town to fulfill a vow; to spit on the graves of the committee members of the restaurant that fired him.

Pointless Deprogramming

Terry remembers he left his mother behind. He now returns, in the snow and cold of a brewing winter storm, to rescue his mother from cultists.

Puppies

Teenage friends, Jamie and Tiffany, look for a turkey Jamie spotted yesterday. They hunt in the woods, next to a suburban subdivision. Instead of turkeys, the girls find puppies.

Abandoned

Devon and Lee have a fleeting opportunity to see the inside of the abandoned house the boys have nicknamed the Witch's house.

Carnivorous Blight

The middle-aged Richard Reichberger takes his crew of teenagers to cut down trees in the woods adjacent to a subdivision west of Wister Town, Wisconsin.

Pumpkin

Frustrated, because she is teased at school, Karen posts a “hit list” on a social media web site.

Damnable Diaspora

The topic of April's ecumenical meeting is the supposed manifestation of the Egyptian goddess Hathor.

Tumorous Plague

A deformed stranger, Mr. Moth, stops at Ted Stephansky's farm to ask for directions.

Food Poisoning

Kenny, a busboy, argues with the waitress, Tracey, about a hundred dollar tip.

Wister Springs

Jean, a junior in high school, fends off her oversexed boyfriend, Aaron, and convinces him to visit Wister Springs.

Monster Smuggling

Patty has got a great job, making deliveries for a wealthy cryptozoologist.

Best Halloween, Ever

A not-wholly-true story illustrating the experience of trick-or-treat in the “wild.”

Best Halloween, Ever, Again

After a disappointing evening of trick-or-treat, Stan and Max continue their festivities with a monster hunt!

The One Christmas

Yet no one knows the whim of a voiceless god...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Sawyer
• Release date: Sep 5, 2010
• ISBN: 9781301284931

Matthew Sawyer

I hate talking about myself. Like everyone, I suppose, I am a bit narcissistic, but not egotistical. My own failure for success is that I just do not think much about myself. That is not to say I spend too much time thinking about others. In truth, I should think more of everyone; and there is a dull guilt attached to that confession. There is something of who I am, I am old enough for regrets.At my age, I am prone to think about immortality And being an atheist, there seems no alternative but science. Even so, I know that science is beyond my lifetime. I have no faith nor hope, nor do I believe in ghosts, elves, unicorns...In that hopeless disbelief, I write so there remains a record of accomplishments in my life. Unrecognized and even scorned, I continue to tell stories so I will be remembered after I am dead. My struggle with grammar and punctuation are evidence of my effort to make my writing decipherable. Because, what success means to me are hieroglyphics upon a Pharaoh's tomb.

Book preview

Horrid Tales of Wister Town

Third Revision

Matthew Sawyer

Published by Matthew Sawyer at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Matthew Sawyer

The stories in the collection titled Horrid Tales of Wister Town are fictional. All characters, names and locations are the creations of Matthew Sawyer. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

ISBN: 9781301284931

Horrid Tales of Wister Town by Matthew Sawyer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/

Discover other titles by Matthew Sawyer at Smashwords.com

The Strange Apocrypha of Mr. Binger

A Codex of Malevolence

Horrid Tales of Wister Town

Matthew Sawyer

Truthful Consequence

Darren's social life and career are limited because his is obsessed with honesty, telling the truth and revealing the secrets of others

Bloody Tannenbaum

Devon Kolbenstecker's father instantly accuses the boy of playing a prank, but they have to hurry to pick up Devon's sister from high school basketball practice.

Bestial Cult of Hathor

Terry Bringer returns to Wister Town to fulfill a vow; to spit on the graves of the committee members of the restaurant that fired him.

Pointless Deprogramming

Terry remembers he left his mother behind. He now returns, in the snow and cold of a brewing winter storm, to rescue his mother from cultists.

Puppies

Teenage friends, Jamie and Tiffany, look for a turkey Jamie spotted yesterday. They hunt in the woods, next to a suburban subdivision. Instead of turkeys, the girls find puppies.

Abandoned

Devon and Lee have a fleeting opportunity to see the inside of the abandoned house the boys have nicknamed the Witch's house.

Carnivorous Blight

The middle-aged Richard Reichberger takes his crew of teenagers to cut down trees in the woods adjacent to a subdivision west of Wister Town, Wisconsin.

Pumpkin

Frustrated, because she is teased at school, Karen posts a hit list on a social media web site.

Damnable Diaspora

The topic of April's ecumenical meeting is the supposed manifestation of the Egyptian goddess Hathor.

Tumorous Plague

A deformed stranger, Mr. Moth, stops at Ted Stephansky's farm to ask for directions.

Food Poisoning

Kenny, a busboy, argues with the waitress, Tracey, about a hundred dollar tip.

Wister Springs

Jean, a junior in high school, fends off her oversexed boyfriend, Aaron, and convinces him to visit Wister Springs.

Monster Smuggling

Patty has got a great job, making deliveries for a wealthy cryptozoologist.

Best Halloween, Ever

A not-wholly-true story illustrating the experience of trick-or-treat in the wild.

Best Halloween, Ever, Again

After a disappointing evening of trick-or-treat, Stan and Max continue their festivities with a monster hunt!

The One Christmas

Yet no one knows the whim of a voiceless god...

Truthful Consequence

All right, Darren. It was good to see you again, says Rich, Darren's brother-in-law. Darren knows the man lies.

If not for his sister, Jessica, Darren would never have seen his niece and nephews today.

Bye-bye, Darren, Jessica says hugging her older brother. Hey, I just want to say, telling your other niece she was adopted is not cool.

I didn't know it was still a family secret. She's twenty-five years old and just had a girl of her own, Darren justifies. She needs to know her heredity because color blindness doesn't run on our side of the family.

Her mother promises to tell her when she needs to know, Jessica states. Darren's sister, both sisters actually, don't understand secrets and white lies always reveal themselves at the worst times. The best policy is honesty, now matter how brutal and immediate. Hoping secrets stay buried only taunts fate and her consequences, and they will deliver untimely and tardy revelation.

Yeah, I know, Darren says in defense then softens his tone. I told her by mistake, a slip of the tongue. The girl is going to pay out-of-pocket for more vision tests... her mother only has to tell her.

You know those two fight, Jessica reminds her brother as she steps out the door Her kids follow their mother out of the dingy, first-floor studio apartment.

The kids, Tammy, Nicholas and Jimmy, join their parents in the parking lot right outside Darren's front door. The kids say goodbye to their only, and consequently, favorite uncle. Jessica also expresses Honestly, Darren, I do feel leery about bringing the kids to see their uncle.

At least you just come-out and tell me, instead of skirting around the issue, he tells her. Darren truly appreciates the criticism. The alternative silent evasiveness automatically turns him into a crusader for truth. She spares him that manic episode.

Twenty years ago, teenaged Darren received his clinical diagnosis. The psychologist said the boy suffers an obsessive-compulsive disorder – Darren always tells the truth. Although, way back then, he had insisted he was not obsessed or compelled. He was simply growing-up honest. A few years later, Darren feels everyone should be truthful. And that is when he loses all his lying and unrepentant friends.

To this day, Darren still lacks discretion every time he reveals secrets and lies. Honesty is a real problem and people get mad. His nagging impulse to reveal truth makes finding friends and holding a job impossible. Darren's integrity is a burden, and one he cannot willingly drop. Medication doesn't work, unless the goal is unconsciousness.

There was so much deceit in the world that Darren seriously considers carrying a sign and hanging revelations outside his apartment. He controls himself, despite pangs from his common sense and ethics. Causing trouble would only get him evicted from his apartment, not that he particularly cares about losing his hovel.

Listening with his heart makes Darren keenly aware of the violations and misjudgments of other people. A perfect example is Rich, Darren's brother-in-law. Darren ignores the stench of the man's rotting soul; buried in fibs, exaggerations and half-truths, every time they speak.

And thanks for not teaching our kids anymore dirty words, Jessica calls from the mini-van carrying her family today.

The vehicle passes slowly, with all the windows down. Rich grunts a chuckle, but no one has to be psychic to see the man pretends his wife's comment is funny. Darren waves farewell to his sister and her family. The mini-van disappears once it turns down a driveway leading to the street in front of more apartment buildings.

The profanity had nothing to do with Darren's erroneous OCD diagnosis. He's just gotten used not watching his language. If his sister wants Darren to stop swearing, she just needs to bring the kids around more often. A little practice and live drills will improve his vocabulary. He'd appreciate the company too. Darren's nephews and niece are honest kids.

Standing outside his apartment, he watches storm clouds roll in fast. The weather on the news and the web report another killer-tornado was on its way, thanks to global warming. Darren will ride it out again. The apartment complex contains no underground shelter. Everyone worried for their own neck must go to the community center a couple blocks away. As far as Darren was concerned, the apartment complex had never been hit and stands a good mile from the street recently nicknamed tornado highway.

If he does make the wrong assumption about the sanctuary of his apartment building, then he only will pay the price. He's never been married, nor ever had a girlfriend. His compulsive honesty usually subverts any chance of starting a relationship right at the moment Darren invites a poor woman on a date.

The same perception, a foul stench of desolation in ethics and morals of others, also prevents Darren from ever finding a roommate. He has, so far, lived his entire adult life alone. His job as a janitor at a nearby nursing home pays for rent, food and utilities. Everything else is scrounged together month-to-month. Darren had always believed something better waited for him when he got older. So far, he's gained only disappointment.

The hope and delusional promise of deliverance into an abundant life seems shared by a lot of people. Darren occasionally joins fellows crying into beers at bars. The drunks repeat the same dreams he himself mourns. Their dreary self-loathing eventually drive him to drink alone at home, which is actually better for everyone. A little alcohol turns patrons into raving liars and loosens Darren's self-control.

Even though storm clouds spare the late afternoon sun, Darren closes the vertical blinds on the picture window facing the parking lot. He touches a burning match to the wick of a candle only because he enjoys the ambiance. The feeble and flickering illumination makes him feel as if he sits in an eighteenth century courtroom. Darren has no idea how his mind manufactures the connection between courtrooms and candlelight, but his brain honestly does and that's why he lights the candle.

As a single man, he never keeps much of anything edible to eat. Corn chips and booze are his supper tonight. Darren knows the moment he gets drunk – when he believes his brother-in-law right for not bringing the kids around more often. Sabotaging his illness, he thought a clear conscious was simply not enough to justify a moral life... scraped out alone. Darren knows he's a horrible role model.

Outside, the wind blows fierce. Sunlight engulfs the light cast by the candle as the vertical slats of the blinds swing as un-synchronized pendulums – a draft forces itself between the window's glass and wooden frame. The blinds open and close as the sky outside darkens, leaving only the candlelight inside Darren's apartment.

He tries the light switch, but the bulb refuses to glow. The computer, television and microwave are also uncooperative. The winds appear to have already claimed power lines. Darren hopes Jessica and her family get home safe. They had probably drove tornado highway after leaving his apartment.

The city won't restore electricity until after the storm, so Darren sits down with his bottle for a game of solitaire with a genuine deck of card. In this game, only the four two-dimensional suits and all the red and black images have been touched by a computer. Darren anticipates the night will be monotonous, filled with the dull company of himself. He anxiously listens for the sound of rain to overtake the howling wind.

As soon as the storm passes, and the power is fixed, he'll gain relief from himself and turn on the TV and enjoy the scripted lies of other virtual guests. Plays, movies, sitcoms and dramas are okay. The media seldom makes Darren anxious because he knows the characters and events are pretend. Still, sports, documentaries and the News drive him mad.

The door rattles as if caught by the wind. The storm must have passed, because Darren hears nothing else blowing around. The rattling continues as if the door holds a hurricane at bay. Someone knocks with mad urgency, like emergency medical technicians responding to a medical crisis at the wrong apartment number. That's happened before. The exterior of all the apartments in his building look alike. The apartment numbers can also be hard to see, unless a visitor knows where to find them.

Anyone standing outside the door is visible from the picture window. Darren pulls a single vertical slat aside and spies his visitor. A huge man stands in front of Darren's apartment. Either water wets his shining black hair or the man uses grease and slicks his coif flat against his skull. Only the man's big head is unconcealed. An enormous black raincoat engulfs the rest of him. Its cut, as discerned on the visitor's rounded shoulders, make the garment appear from a military surplus store.

Darren can never imagine the military would enlist someone so obese, let alone provide the unconventional wardrobe. The raincoat covers the man's feet, hovering an inch above the ground. The coat cast darkness, as impenetrable as the concrete upon which its shadow painted. The man notices Darren lurk behind the window. He thrusts his big head toward the gap in the blinds.

Darren Peters, the man said. The glass muffles his low voice. In turn, the window vibrates with the growl. Darren!

Whoever this stranger is, he knows Darren. The odd man obviously knows where he lives. Darren briefly worries a repo man comes for something else, though there is nothing the man can take. Everything in the apartment, and the car outside, belong wholly to Darren. Anything else he once owned is already repossessed.

Now that the man sees Darren at home, he obviously won't go away. Darren drops the slat and lets the blind rock itself back into place. Refusing to answer the door does not discourage the man. Darren sees the stranger's unmoving shadow, cast by the setting sun against the back of blinds inside the apartment.

After several minutes, Darren pulls open the slat and looks out the window again. The man still stands there, grinning. Feeling a little frightened, Darren opens his door.

Yes? Darren asks the humongous man.

The visitor dwarfs him, not a small feat. Besides fear, Darren is instantly suspicious of the stranger. He automatically knows every word the man will say is a lie, but that is a harsh criticism. The man merely utters Darren's name, which feels like a white lie when the stranger says it.

I knew you were inside, the smiling stranger says as he steps into the apartment. The man has perfect, if not overly large teeth.

He never asks Darren for permission to enter, he just walks in. Darren steps backwards to avoid the man's huge belly pressing against him. The man's raincoat momentarily snags on a screw in the door jamb. The stranger leans against the frame, wrapping either side of the doorway in his raincoat-shrouded fat, before he suddenly becomes free. The monstrous man forces entry with his sheer bulk.

Now, who in Hell are you? Darren shouts.

Certainly not in Hell, the man answers.

Now what's that suppose to mean? Darren asks, wondering if the answer is an evasion or a lie. He perceives nothing other than a general distrust and dislike for the man.

With the stranger in the room, filling a quarter of it, Darren spots the sunset through the open door. The big red orb sinks between two waves of storm clouds. The wind pushes the clouds along in gale force. More wind and rain are coming this way.

Darren wants to watch this storm come, now that he poured himself a nice buzz this evening. But the stranger, whom barges into Darren's home, spoils the show and the mellow feeling he had conjured in the midst of storms. Regrettably, the mellowness devolves into depression.

Well? Darren prompts his unwelcome visitor for an answer. What's your name?

I am an elemental, but that means nothing to you, the man said. I am Baphomet.

What is that, a superhero?

I can't lie to you, Darren, or hide any malevolence. I know that, the man answers Darren. That skill makes you valuable to me.

What are you talking about? Darren asks confused. He could not distinguish if Baphomet tells a lie. Darren thinks the man might be lying, but he feels honesty in the stranger's answers.

Darren suddenly knows the man's name to be Baphomet – now – but the name seemed false in the past. The sharp clarity and definition of the impression are unusual. Yet certainty energizes Darren.

I see you've set the mood. It feels like old days, like the eighteenth century, inside during a tornado, Baphomet describes.

The electricity is out, Darren tells him.

That is alright, Baphomet said. I think the atmosphere is fine.

What's this about?

I've told you, your skill to know and divine honesty.

Are you some kind of door-to-door recruiter or something? asks Darren. I'm a janitor, because I don't get along with people and you want me to be like a salesman?

The job isn't so personable and really only entails telling me who you know are liars, Baphomet explains. I am confronted by endless lies.

Well, I can do that, Darren asserts in confidence. How much is the pay?

Boundless, although you will travel with me, states Baphomet.

No, I mean money. The travel is fine. I'm OK with that because a tent is better than this garbage heap – there will be beds, right?

You'll have no need of money when you're with me, Baphomet promises.

That sounds like a blast, but obviously a temporary scenario. I'm better off keeping the job I have now. They put up with me, Darren replies.

After tonight, that won't be a concern of yours, Baphomet said. You won't survive this storm.

What are you talking about? Darren asks, disturbed by the truth in the man's voice.

I'm telling you that I am your salvation, Baphomet says believing every word. There is no Heaven for you Darren. You are left with Hell or oblivion. I offer you preservation from the tornado sent here for you.

Me? Darren asks surprised, although he perceives the truth in the statement. I'm going to die here in a tornado.

In seven minutes, Baphomet says not looking at a watch. His hands stay buried in his pockets the entire discussion. In fact, Darren never glimpses Baphomet's hands and feet.

I'm going to die in seven minutes, Darren states. He knows the revelation