No one really knows what happened on Halloween. The headlines in the Athen's Daily News tell of a tragedy at the roadhouse, the Partner's Choice Roadhouse that is nothing but a charred ruin now. All but one survived the fire. The body of Gary Dekin was recovered 3 days later in the cellar of the building. It seems the floor gave way beneath his feet and he was trapped by the falling timbers. Survivors tell of mysterious happenings that occured before the fire started but the tales are so far fetched that no one yet can tell the truth from fantasy. No one except me, I did it, I frightened all but one out of the building and I caused the fire. Gary didn't stand a chance because I held him to the spot where the floor gave way and I caused the timbers to fall on him.

It started around 10:30 that Saturday. Many of the patrons were dressed in their Halloween costumes. There were ghosts and ghouls, witches and monsters. Princesses and prostitutes. All having a good time and in various stages of inebriation. To set the mood of the night the tables all had candle lanterns on them and the lights were dimmed to enhance the glow. I had just about given up hope when he came in. He wasn't wearing a costume, unless you could call his Cowboy look a costume. He oozed up to the bar, grabbed a beer and settled on his next victim.

I don't know her name, she is a regular here and in keeping with the spirit of the night she had a costume on. Dressed like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. The Hooker clothes, not the other. She was pretty drunk and inside of 5 minutes he had her eating out of his hand. Literally, he was feeding her peanuts, until the bowl of peanuts on the table flew up and hit him in the head. I followed that up by sending some empty beer bottles spinning through the air and crashing onto the floor around him. At first everyone thought it was a Halloween prank. There was laughing and hooting going on. I had to show them I meant business and they'd better get out before they went to meet their maker along with Gary.

So I touched them. I stood behind the women with my cold hands on their shoulders. I held them in place, one by one until they could smell the grave that was yawning open in front of them. When I released them they ran for the door. Then I began tossing the candle lanterns around until they found the fuel necessary to start a fire. The first two had little effect, but when the rest of those candles found what they needed, everyone started to run out the door. I didn't want anyone else hurt, I wanted them all out of the building. All but Gary, I saw to that.

In his haste to reach the door, he was very clumsy. It seemed he tripped over a chair and a table fell on top of his head. Poor Gary, he never knew what hit him. Once everyone was safely out, I locked the doors and patiently waited for him to wake up. It took every ounce of my strength to materialize in front of him. I wanted him to know who it was that ended his career as a ladykiller. It didn't really matter, in the state my corporal body is he didn't recognize me. Somehow that was the last straw for me.

Fire from the overturned candle lanterns had spread all through the building. He had managed to remove the table from atop his body, but he couldn't remove me. I laid down upon him and waited for the floor to give away and for the burning timbers to fall on him. Call it sort of a lovers embrace. The last thing he saw was a skull to which some flesh was still attached. I'd like to believe that at the very last he knew that he was looking at Kate Miller, one of the women he buried in the river, but that isn't what matters to me.

No, that doesn't matter to me at all. What does matter is that now no other women will meet an untimely and painful end. No other women will be consigned to a watery grave by the hands of Gary Dekin. What matters to me is that possessions of all 30 women were found in his storage cubicle. What matters to me is that all of us have been found and returned to our families to be buried anew in consecrated ground. What matters to me is that Gary Dekin is now known as the Partner's Choice Killer, and that justice has been served.

My final resting place is under a tree in the old part of Athen's Cemetery. My friends have a place where they can come and lay flowers, and remember me as I was. They don't know what I became. They still go bowling and stop at the new Partner's Choice on a Saturday night. The fire destroyed the old building and a new bigger building now stands in it's place. Since Gary, the women of our town are a lot more careful about where they go, who they go with and they make sure that someone knows where to find them at all times. Some of the guys aren't too happy as it has interfered with their ability to cut as many notches on their belts. For others, it gave them an excuse to settle down and start a family.

I still stop in the new place now and again. Not every Saturday but maybe once a month, sometimes more often. I don't stay very long, just enough to remind them of that night. If you are new to our town, you will be able to tell when I'm there. Once the folks who were there know that I've arrived, they get real quiet and you can see the brief look of fear on their face. Guys that were spoiling for a fight seem to change their minds There's something about the scent of death that quells the fighting spirit. I stay until I'm sure that there are no other Gary's stalking their next victim. So far there hasn't been, but you never know when something like that will happen again. If it does, I'll be ready. I wait and I watch, not much else for the dead to do.

My name was Kate Miller, I was a nurse at Athens General Hospital in the Pediatric Unit. At 27 years old I believed the best years of my life were ahead of me. I hadn't met Mr. Right yet, and like many of my generation spent a lot of time with all the Mr. Wrongs. Still, I felt I had time left before my biological clock would wind down and I wasn't in any real hurry. I made enough to support myself and take a cruise or a vacation to Paradise once a year. I had a few close friends and we would go bowling, go out to the Choice on a Saturday night and have fun. Sometimes we gals would stick together, and sometimes a pair of buns encased in tight jeans would come along and separate us.

That's what happened the night I met Gary. Tall, dark and handsome, the man of my dreams...or so I thought. Intelligent, fun to be around and his sense of humor just blew me away. I was attracted to him and would have taken him home with me the first night I met him, but he had another victim in mind that night. She was a pert little blonde. I think her name was Sally, and he'd been stalking her for a couple of weeks. We didn't know it was stalking. He would offer to buy her a few drinks, ask her out and when she refused would good naturedly spend some time complaining about his heart being broken. If that didn't work, he'd pay his tab and leave. Always the gentleman, no sign of his evil intent. We never saw more than he chose to show. Looked just like a young man interested in a young lady and hoping to get to know her better.

He'd spend weeks, sometimes months chasing his victim. Never showing any anger at being rejected. Always treated those that weren't interested with respect. Tinged with a touch of sadness to make it look real. After awhile, we wouldn't see the woman any more and we all just thought she'd gone on to bigger and better things or places. Little did we know that the objects of his affection were resting on the bottom of the river wearing concrete and chains. Fish food. Just like I am.

When he turned his attention to me, he didn't find an unwilling female. I was all too willing, too willing entirely and that was why he took so much time with me. It was if I was addicted to him. No matter what he wanted, no matter what he asked me to try, I was willing. We were inseparable for months. Feeding off each others passions. I was his slave and he was my master. Everyone knew we were a couple, they were waiting for the wedding invitations. I was waiting for the proposal that never happened. The sex was incredible, I'll give him that, but it wasn't worth dying for. He must have had a few sleepless nights figuring out how he was going to get away with killing me, but he managed it, slick and clean as a whistle.

I knew there was something wrong that last week. When I asked him he just said he would have to go away for a couple of weeks. Family problems with his mother, he said. So, we told everyone that he was going to be gone awhile. He asked my girlfriends to keep me on the straight and narrow until he got back and he left. Three nights after he was gone, he showed up at my home. I was happy to see him, but that didn't last, it didn't last long at all. He claimed that he couldn't get through his trouble without me and he came back to ask me to go with him. I had to hurry and pack a few things, I could call my friends tomorrow he said. I had a couple days off so work wasn't a problem, but we had to go, he needed to get back to his mother. Like a fool I believed him. Packed enough clothes for a two week stay and left.

We drove to an isolated spot near the river. He said he needed to relieve himself. When he came back to the car, he had handcuffs, a leather gag and a gun. I'll spare you the details, suffice it to say that I was dead within the hour and he spent 3 days with my corpse. At the end of the three days, he wrapped me in chains attached to concrete blocks and lowered me into the middle of the river. I don't know what he did for the rest of the time he was supposed to be gone, but I do know what happened when he got back.

When he got back, I was waiting for him at the Choice. Not completely yet, not enough of me to do any damage, but enough to see how he handled himself. Oh, he was a marvelous actor, a piece of work worthy of an Oscar. He cried, he pleaded with my friends to tell him where I'd gone. He told them he'd tried to report me missing to the local police only they wouldn't listen because it looked as if I had packed up and left. Not one single person ever questioned why I would leave such a good job, and the man I loved. Out of sight out of mind. Gone, and in a few months forgotten. My true friends grieved, and suspected, but there was nothing they could put their finger on and there was the missing suitcases, clothing and my keys.

For 5 long years I have followed him unable to do anything to him because I wasn't strong enough yet. I could not help the rest of his victims, although I tried. I've spent 5 years trying to frighten people away from him. Sometimes a sensitive person knew there was something happening, but for the others, I could do nothing. I console myself with the knowledge of those sensitive ones or otherwise there would be more than 30 victims in that watery graveyard. Finally, I can feel my own strength. I know I can hurt him, I know I can put an end to his reign of terror, tonight I will not be denied.

I miss the blue haze and the smell of stale cigarette smoke we used to find at the local watering hole. Oh sure, you can breathe better now, but there's something about beer, cigarettes and Willie's "Whiskey River" that seem to go together. Kind of a total experience if you know what I mean. Spend a few hours on a Saturday night, dancing, drinking or shooting pool and the stench of your clothes would nauseate you come Sunday morning. If the hangover didn't get you, your own clothes sure would. Paybacks are a bitch...you know?

Partner's Choice advertises itself as a Roadhouse. Yeah, and I live in the Taj Mahal. The "Choice" as we all called it was nothing more than a little hole in the wall with a pool table and a postage stamp dance floor. When any of the local bands were hired to play on a Saturday night, they used to have to take out half the tables just to give them a bandstand. They took out the pool table once. Not a wise choice, I suppose, as the regular pool sharks tore that place up when they found it gone. As long as they didn't take out my little table I didn't have a problem with whatever else they thought to do. I don't spend my time there drinking, or dancing, or shooting pool. I'm there to watch the world go by and the little table in the dark corner is the perfect place for me. No one can see me, and I can see...everything.

Not that there's much to see, just the usual nonsense. Too many young women drinking too much and growing handles by which the Cowboys in their jeans and "Western" shirts bought at Tractor Supply can pick them up. Looking for love in too many one night stands. They'll learn, same way I had to. I learned my lesson a very long time ago.

Players come in all shapes, sizes and colors. Guys who are out for a good time and don't care one way or other who they hurt in the process. Gals who are just as guilty. Revolving doors, moving faster and faster in an attempt to escape. Only they don't know what or where they're escaping too...or from. The trail of broken dreams and frustration leading to an overwhelming bitterness and a breathtaking desire for revenge. Been there, done that. Now I sit here at my little table and no one bothers me, no one speaks to me, few even see me. I'm nothing but a cold chill they feel as I pass through the bar to my little table in the corner. My little table that no one comes near because without the haze of cigarette smoke they smell all too clearly the stench of death.

Every Saturday night for the past 5 years. I arrive at 9 just before the festivities begin and leave at closing time when everyone is too drunk to smell the stench and feel the cold of my passing. Too intent on the victim of the evening to notice me. That's what they are, you know? Victims of their own behavior. As I was in my time, before Gary, before I died.

Oh yes, I've been dead for 5 years. I never knew death was like this. I always thought, if I thought about death at all, that it would be peaceful, quiet and emotionless. Dark slumber for eternity, unfeeling and serene. I grant that I have no sensation of heat or cold against the ectoplasm of my being, however, the hate and rage that boils out of me is anything but serene. There is no sleep, no peace, no quiet for me. There is the endless trudging through the streets in rain or snow. Heat or cold, except on Saturday night when I inhabit my little table in the dark corner of Partner's Choice Roadhouse.

Why am I doomed to this lack of peace existence? This bare and horrible lack of rest? It is because Gary is still out there somewhere, alive and living and I will see him dead and his soul in HELL before I rest. I do not seek revenge, I pursue justice. Justice denied myself and all of his other dead victims. Thirty of us by my count, all of our bodies violated, mutilated and consigned to a watery grave. A grave which periodically yields up a body for the local authorities to find. He did his evil work well. So few of us have been discovered that they don't know there is a serial killer loose in their fair town. It is up to me and me alone to exact a measure of justice and I will not rest until I have succeeded.

I've always envied folks that could dream and then remember them. I know I dream, we all do, I just can't remember them once daylight shines through the bedroom windows. Time after time I've laid in the dark and tried to burn the memory of a dream far enough into my brain so that it will be there when I want it. Time after time, the light shines in and there is nothing left of the fire except a few wisps of smoke. It's almost as if the sunshine burns into my brain like a laser and cuts out the memory of what I dreamed during the night.
I don't suppose it makes much difference. I always believed I wouldn't understand it anyways, the dream I mean. Not that I understand the process by which I forget them, I've never paid that much mind. Seems to me after what's been happening, maybe I should have.

Saturday, or maybe it was Friday morning, I woke up with an image burned into my mind. One that makes no sense, nor does anything that I've done since, at least not to me. The image was of a strangely dressed older lady riding on the back of a motorcycle. The driver of the cycle looked to be about her age, with long hair and a flowing handlebar mustache planted above the gap where his teeth should have been. It seems to have been summer out although she had this black coat on that at first I took to be a duster. You know those long coats like those kids wore in Colorado when they shot up that school? It wasn't until I saw the fur around her neck that I realized it was a winter coat. I don't remember seeing any snow, nor do I believe it could have been all that cold. The man was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a leather vest. Now that's an image to start your day off on for sure.

I know I was standing somewhere on a corner, have no recollection of there being any buildings or anything around to help me identify where I was. The couple passed quite close to me and I could see the fur on her collar was a ratty old fox with it's tail in it's mouth. Funny thing, as they passed me I could have sworn I heard her say that it was fair weather or something like that. Since there wasn't much in the memory to hold my interest, I tried to forget about it and get on with the day. A day filled with snow and cold. It's winter here now and what a winter it's been. I went out to shovel the car out, clean off the deck and check the birdfeeder to see if it needed refilling. With that done I went into the house for some warmth and a hot cup of tea.

I pulled Grandma's rocker up to the window and sat there watching the birds at the feeder. Mostly chickadees and a nuthatch or two. I could see the woodpecker out in the trees a ways and that was the last thing I remember until I woke up. It seemed to be late afternoon, the sun was going down and the wood fire had gone plumb out. The cold made the item in my hand feel warm. I looked at it and was stunned to find a can of Budweiser beer in my hand. Half empty from the feel of it. Now, people who know me would find that beyond strange and into the realm of the unreal. People who know me, know I haven't touched a drop of alcohol in 19 years. Another thing is that people who know me would expect to see a highball made from either Jack Daniels and Coke in my hand or if I wasn't wanting something sweet, a Black Velvet and water. I don't drink beer, never liked the damn stuff and here I sat with a can of piss warm beer in my hand.

I didn't bother to look around as I was more concerned with the fire that had gone out. I set to work with the kindling and some old newspaper and had one going in no time. Not enough to warm the whole place but good enough if I pulled the rocker up close to the hearth. I waited until I was a little warmer, decided I was hungry so I stood up and turned around only to see a wall of Budweiser beer cases where the dining room should have been. A hundred beer cases stacked neatly in rows, all of them full of the stuff. Almost as if a beer truck had pulled up and unloaded them while I slept. I rushed to the kitchen window and sure enough, there were the tire tracks of a beer delivery truck. I put my coat on and went outside because I had seen that they lead into the woods a ways. I followed the tracks through the trees and in the middle of the clearing there was the man with that funny looking woman and a Budweiser beer truck. The couple from my dream standing in front of me in the clearing of the woods next to my home.

I was speechless, rooted to the spot by an emotion that I can't describe. Partly fear. These were total strangers and I was alone out here, and obviously they'd been in my home. There was a level of anger involved just because they'd obviously been in my home. I don't know how long I stood there trying to figure out what to do when I suddenly got very angry. How dare they frighten me with their strange behavior and tresspassing on my property? How dare they? I stepped forward, emboldened by my anger into telling them to get out! Go away! Leave now and take their damn beer with them! Just as I opened my mouth, I very clearly heard the old woman say "fair weather" again and then they just disappeared. Everything gone as if it hadn't been there. I went into the house and sure enough, the Budweiser beer cases were all gone. I was seriously trying to convince myself that I must have dreamed it when my eyes caught the glint of the firelight off the one lone can of Busweiser beer that I'd set down in front of the stove.

Well, all I can say is I haven't a clue.Was there a tear in the fabric of my world through which I slipped unknowingly into another dimension? Have I slipped into the darkness of insanity? I don't know what it was I experienced, I don't think I want to know what it was I experienced. I do know I'll never again wish I could remember my dreams, some things are best forgotten it seems. I'd love to forget that this happened, but apparently it's not in the cards.

Ever since the day this all occured, my life has not been the same. All the rest of the winter, every time the woodstove fire went out we would find a half empty can of Budweiser beer sitting on the hearth. Sometimes it was all by itself, others it was accompanied by amusing pictures like this.



Yesterday hubby found a slip of paper with an address on it and a name. Neither are readable due to the beer that soaked it. The can was tipped onto it's side as if someone had left in a hurry and not bothered to see to it that it was set safely on the ground. The only parts of the note that are readable are the first three letters of the name...Mad..... and the name of the state, which is Tennessee. Among the smeared and running letters Hubby swears he can read "fair weather." What that has to do with all of this I don't know. And, of course there is one last thing. I have become obsessed with country music. I haven't been able to listen to any other kind of music since. I have to be going crazy...right?



See what I mean?

She could hear the song playing from the other side of the closed door in apartment 2A. She hoped this was not going to be another tenant who disturbed everyone else here. The name on the mail box said Angela Smith, but she hadn't had a chance to meet the new neighbor. Mrs McLaren said she was a little slip of a thing, blond with the prettiest blue eyes. Oh well, Mrs McLaren was the motherly type and deaf as a post. Nothing ever disturbed her, not even the police breaking down the door when the last tenant in 2A disappeared.

Now that was an odd situation. She saw him come home from work one day and she never heard or saw him again. Not that she was the nosy sort, but these walls were so thin that everything could be heard in her apartment. All those nights when Frankie brought home those girls she could hear everything. She tried not to, the most disgusting noises kept coming from there. Springs squeaking, moans and the like. Made her blush to think about it. What was the world coming to with all these young folks doing that without benefit of marriage? Wasn't like that in her day. No sir it wasn't. People respected each other and had better self control. They kept themselves pure for marriage, after all, as her Momma always told her "A man won't buy the cow if he can get the milk for free".

In her day Lidia Samuels was a fine looking woman. Time and life had worn away some of the beauty and bitterness had done the rest. Now she was alone. No children, a worthless husband who drank and left her long ago. She'd worked as a chambermaid at the local sleaze bag hotel, cleaning rooms inhabited by drunks, hookers and too many down on their luck door to door salesmen. The pay wasn't much, enough to keep her fed and to keep a roof over her head. It wasn't too bad as far as roofs went, as long as the landlord kept the exterminator bill paid and the cockroaches and rats out. She was lucky to have found a second floor walk up only a block away from work. Not too many stairs and a good reasonably priced butcher shop within walking distance.

Like a thousand women of a certain age, Lidia was lonely. She had a few friends that she would take in a movie with or maybe do lunch on a Saturday, but no man on the horizon. After Mr Samuels left, she had hopes, but she was in her 50's then and the single men that she had the opportunity to meet were losers. They were interested in younger women, not Lidia Samuels, former beauty and current chambermaid. She'd had a short flirtation with Mr Mazzaferro the butcher at the local grocers. She was thinking about...well...things when she saw him leaving the room of one of the hotel hookers. He didn't see her, she was cleaning the room next door, but she saw him all right. She smiled her bitter smile and thought he sure got his in the end he did. Collapsed and died while waiting for the elevator. That was when she found out he had a Mrs Mazzaferro, poor woman to have to live down the shame of having your husband die in a sleazy hotel after coming from a two bit hookers room. That was then and this was now. Now it was time for a hot cup of tea, her comfortable slippers and the evening newpaper.

"You live your life in the songs you hear on your rock and roll radio"



In apartment 2A Miss Angela Smith was getting ready to start her new life. She'd been lucky to find this apartment so close to her new job. Come Monday she would be working as a cashier at the grocers where the deceased Mr. Mazzaferro was formerly employed. She didn't know about that nor of the connection between him and her new neighbor in apartment 2B. She hadn't paid any attention at all to her new neighbor in apartment 2B. She'd been too busy unpacking and rejoicing at her good fortune, time enough down the road to make some new friends. She needed friends. She'd never really had friends, just the young men....well...never mind that, Doctor said these things would take time and she shouldn't worry her little head about it.

As she was drawing her bath she started to wonder if she should go back to that bar again. The one where she met Frankie, the former resident in this apartment. She'd been lucky that night. Her first night out all by herself and she met Frankie. Since getting out on her own she'd found a job at the first place she applied, and she was fortunate enough to meet Frankie. It wasn't that she thought he was all that special, but meeting him placed her in an excellent position when his apartment opened up. Too bad that nobody knows what happened to him, but she checked with the landlord and he rented the apartment as soon as he could. As soon as the police said he could. At least the landlord didn't ask how she knew the apartment was vacant.

Nobody really knew anything at all. Just that he wasn't here. They couldn't hold his apartment. The rent wasn't paid. There was no sign that he did anything except run out on the landlord. Some of his things were here, but the landlord just put them in storage, fixed the door and rented it to her. Maybe some night she'd see him again, but in the meantime, she had a new job to go to in the morning so she better stay at home. You never know where going out might lead. She'd take a bath and play her radio and afterward she'd have a good nights sleep.

Her parents were gone, she didn't have Doctor to answer to. Her time was her own, she could do anything she wanted. She could play the radio and dance the way she liked to. When she did that, all her troubles just seemed to disappear. Nobody to bother her when she played her radio. When she was alone everything was all right. She was in control. Doctor said so and he was never wrong. He called her Angie Baby. She liked that name.

"Angie baby, you're a special lady, living in a world of make believe...well maybe"



Lidia finished reading her paper and decided she too needed to get to bed. As she was getting ready she stopped to wonder about one of the articles she had read. Something about a doctor and his patient disappearing from a local sanitorium. Typical male she thought to herself, can't seem to keep his pants zipped when a young woman was available. Why a Doctor of all people would involve himself with a woman reported to be criminally insane was beyond her. The paper said that Andrea Selden had been admitted there following the suspicious disappearance of her parents and a young neighborhood man. Apparently the parents knew something was wrong with her because she was kept locked in her bedroom all the time.

Well morning comes early and she needed a good nights sleep. She could hear the new neighbor's radio. It wasn't really loud, just annoying. Lidia wondered how long she'd keep that up. These young folks have no respect for others. Lidia settled down and in the darkness the radio seemed to be playing louder than it was a minute ago. Sighing she looked at the clock on her nightstand. It was only 9 PM. According to the terms of their lease, she had another hour to wait before she could complain. Ten o'clock was the time when all radios and televisions had to be turned down. Lidia wondered what Mrs. McLaren did for entertainment. Since she was deaf as a post, she couldn't hear a radio or the television. Lidia wondered if she read braille and entertained heself that way. She'd like to be deaf right about now, that music was keeping her awake.
Finally the clock said ten, and the new neighbor didn't turn the radio down. Lidia was just going to have to go knock on the door and ask her to turn it down. She'd be nice about it this time.

Looking through the peephole before she opened the door, Andrea saw that woman from apartment 2B. She looked a little angry, maybe she shouldn't let her in? She might as well find out what she wanted, after all, if she didn't like it, she could always turn the radio down.....now couldn't she?

"It's so nice to be insane no one asks you to explain the radio by your side...Angie baby"