[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]
Hallow’s Eve, the official moment of the OCTOBERFEAST orgasm, is exactly three weeks from today.
Presented for your consumption is a tasty treat cooked up by Warren Ellis, my personal Internet Overlord. What follows is Your Actual True Hallowe’en Story, which I first read in Shivering Sands and tracked down on Ellis’ Livejournal.
A friend of mine was working, some fifteen years back, for a roadside recovery firm. You know, the people who come and tow away wrecked cars and the like. And poor old Trev, bless ‘im, was having to work on Hallowe’en, which meant he wasn’t getting to entertain the locals with his usual Hallowe’en trick of drinking three bottles of Jack Daniels, picking a fight with an inanimate object and passing out in a ditch with his wallet up his arse. But anyway. He’s on call that night. So the boss rings him up and says, take out the tow vehicle, the police have advised them of a serious accident, there’s a car needs pulling. But the police are having a busy night, there’s no officer on the scene, so for fuck’s sake don’t touch anything.
Middle of the night. Deserted road out in the arse end of nowhere. Wrecked car on the verge with one headlight beaming weakly out into the dark. And there’s Trev, pulling up in front of it, no other bugger for miles around. He walks up to the car with his torch. And the driver’s still inside the car. Clearly in shock, not moving, leaning against the door a bit, just staring.
“Hello,” says Trev. Nothing, no reaction at all.
Trev flashes his torch in, taps on the driver’s side window. No reaction. The poor sod, thinks Trev. Must be scared shitless, eh? Let’s calm him down and get him out of the car so I can hook it up for towing, he thinks. So he opens the driver’s door.
The top half of the driver slides out.
When the car crashed, a big piece of metal was thrown back into the interior at hip level and sheared the driver in two, killing him instantly.
Trevor’s standing there holding half a bloke in his hands.
And he’s suddenly remembered that he wasn’t supposed to touch anything.
Well, what would you do?
He very carefully shoves the top half of the guy back into the car. Kind of, you know, lines him up again. Which takes a little while, sliding the upper half this way and that until it looks like one piece again. And, gingerly holding the driver in place, goes to shut the car door again.
Which won’t close.
It’s not often you find yourself on a deserted road past midnight frantically kicking a car door shut in order to keep a corpse inside.
Gods bless Warren Ellis.