The Mad Organist - A Halloween Tail

People on Willett Street whispered about the organist's house. There was something a little creepy about it, and every October the house became more sinister.

Some of the residents of the tree-lined street suspected that something twisted and evil lived in the darkness. They saw the old Ukrainian man through the windows, playing dark and disturbing melodies and inviting something perverse to their quiet conservative neighborhood.

As the leaves fell from the trees in the front yard, the house became more and more shadowed. The bare branches seemed to menacingly beckon to the quiet neighborhood.

Ten days before All Hallow's Eve, darkness came early to Willett Street. Candles in the windows in the house flickered to life, and the ghostly guests began to arrive. Like shadows, the shrowded visitors moved silently through the leaves, and entered the house. What demented ritual was summoning these souls?

A single virginal figure dressed in white arrived. A minotaur stomped through the yard with his manly devil hooves. The wild-eyed Devil himself appeared with one of his Satanic minions. The living dead and necrophiliacs mingled around the porch, swilling poison from red Solo cups and sucking down sweet blood-red Jello shots. Evil laughter and the agonizing cry of "Will someone please put on dance music?" drowned out the eerie music and echoed down the street.

And the organist, dressed in a cassock, chains, harness and a leather jockstrap, reigned in a kingdom of phantom fags and gay ghouls. As his ghastly guests reveled throughout the night, unfortunately the poor organist had no control over the poisonous evil he consumed that evening.

As midnight approached, while bloodsuckers floated rubber rats in the queso dip and a witch hunt formed to reveal the identity of the Black Phantom, two undead marched the organist to the second floor to prepare him for sleep.

Throughout the night, the neighbors heard gutteral moans, groans, garbled exclamations of "You guys are the greatest!" and the rattling of chains coming from the second floor window. By sunrise, the party had vanished into the cool October morning.

The organist came to just before church on Sunday morning with shackles on his wrist, mysterious ectoplasm on his crotch and shoe polish on his tongue. Hell's bells rang in his head, blocking out any recollection of the evening. And he's forever tortured because he can't remember if the evil he summoned truly arrived or if it was only a nightmare.