Weekend At Willies Walkin Killings Pt 10 Ghost Girl

Old Number 7, by The Devil Makes Three.

The Walkin saw images in his head from the No Eyed Man, and it educated him.  Their connection caused this to happen.  For some strange reason, he now not only learned through this connection, but also felt.

How odd for a Walkin to feel anything at all?

Well, it had something to do with the dead flesh he had swallowed only thirty minutes before meeting up with this addicted man who was now missing both of his eyeballs.   If you recall from here, one of Sven's toes in a teacup had gone missing.

The Walkin removed another one from poor old Sven's body after he'd snapped his neck.

Never eat the flesh of the dead.  It serves no one well.

So,

The images were these, from the view of the One Eyed Man:

A young man’s face with his mouth hung open in surprise whispered, “I ain’t got nothing!  I promise!”

Then the young man’s face swept to the left with the clang of metal against skull, and he disappeared.  The One Eyed Man looked down, and he dropped the tire iron.   He rummaged through the young man’s pockets and pulled out a tiny plastic bag with a white rock inside, holding it up to his nose to sniff it.

A dirty glass tube gleamed in the crevice between bricks where the desert dried out the mortar between them which was long gone.  It was a perfect hiding place, because you couldn’t see the glass pipe unless you knew where to look for it.

The rock busted into fragments with dirty fingers and one got pushed in and held in place by the stinky, sticky black residue of the previously torched rock of crack.

The flame from the lighter went up to the rock, and then the rock glowed.

The One Eyed man inhaled,

held it,

and he




felt.

He felt something he did not know could exist.   He saw stars and planets in his head, hunger in his belly, and desire in his heart.

He felt a hunger for the ghost girl who had been there moments ago.


Odd, indeed.

One toke of crack was all this took.

Crack is a pathway to to Hell, but The Walkin was not ready to go to Hell.

The Walkin became addicted to crack. It is a pathway to a destination of which there is only one:

Death.

From the One Eyed Man, The Walkin found addiction to drugs.

And yet, from The Walkin, the One Eyed Man found addiction to pleasure from pain of torture.

The Two had met.

Never the twain should meet.

Gone To Jericho, by the Peculiar Pretzelmen.

THE GHOST GIRL

While this connection happened, the air became quite cold in the shitty apartment.  Seen shivered.  He shook his head, but the sights in his head from the stomach full of lager and a dying man’s eye would not be denied.

He felt a soft, icy hand upon his shoulder, and he whipped about with the stiletto dagger, and he thrust in forward.

It stung nothing.

But before him, he could now see the Ghost.

What he had in his belly afforded him the ability to see her now.

It was a girl.

She screamed so loud that the bottles of beer in his bag burst.

“WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

Seen shivered from the cold heat of the dead fury.

He dropped the knife and covered his ears.  The Walkin had never felt fear before.

He whispered, “I am Seen.  One who was, One who is, and One who shall be.”

The ghost screeched with such a piercing note that the brown bottles of poison in the bag split into shards.   The bag began to foam with the strange concoction of lager and poison and metal kill toys.

“I WILL SEND YOU BACK.”

The Walkin faltered, and he stumbled back from her anger.  His heel slipped upon the dropped knife, and he fell onto the table.

The table skidded away from the No Eyed Man and into the dead man.  The punch of the table into the stomach of the dead man caused the stomach to release.

The dead man vomited onto the Walkin’s face, frothy with lager and stomach acid.  This mixture got into the Walkin’s eyes, and it burned.

He rolled over and scrambled to the sink, to run water into his eyes, as he had seen the dead man do when once alive.

His eyes burned.

He shouted back to her, “Leave me alone or I will bring you back with me.”

But she was already gone.

For a bit.

Now listen, my friend, just stick with this tale here.  It will all make sense.  








Promise.

THE MEN IN THE BURNED HOUSE

Tellesco said, “Someone is coming!”

I finished tying up my boots and pulling my leather jacket on, and I went to see what the hell he was talking about.

I said, “Where?”

Tellesco said, “The headlights turned off down over there, on the road.  It’s near where my driveway used to be.”

I looked out of this kitchen window, over the swimming pool, past the burned out house, and could not see anything.

The setting sun slid down to the west, dripping blood in its path.  Soon, it would be a black sky that  greeted our search for help.

Again.

Then a flashlight shined on the ground.

Indeed, someone was coming.

We were supposed to be in hiding, but now it appeared that we were caught.

I said, “Tellesco, you need to find us some weapons.  Knives, forks, hell.  Even a spoon can be used as a weapon.”

Tellesco began to cry.

Fuck.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

A smooth song about what we were going to do.

Chase The Devil, by Max Romeo and The Upsetters.

A great video of a very creative young band that gets you up on your feet and hopping about the room.

Houdini, by Foster The People.

.