Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Think My Neighbor Is Running A Cult | Scary Stories

Episode Date: June 15, 2024

In every little slice of suburbia, there is always THAT house. Story from Verastahl Make sure to check out more of their work at u/hgtv_neighbor | r/hgtv_neighbor  Cover Art from Eliz Roxs Original Post: The neighborhood hoarder finally cleaned up his yard. I think he was making room for a cult. : r/nosleep      Original YouTube link: I Think My Neighbor Is Running A Cult     Merch: lighthousehorror.shop  For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

In every little slice of suburbia, quietly tucked away in those cute neighborhoods referenced in the real estate pamphlets, there's always that house. You know the one. The shit show. Welcome to Saddle Downs. At one point, the best neighborhood in town. But now, amongst the perfectly manicured lawns and driveways with merriest spot of oil leakage, an unholy abomination that looks like an episode of hoarders made sweetly.

love to Fred Sanford's bread and butter elicit sighs and dramatic eye rolling from all who reside here. They wonder out loud, how can someone who can afford to buy here live in that kind of mess? Of all the damned nerve. Standing in the driveway, garden hose in hand, and meticulously rinsing my yard tools, I surveyed my crabgrass outbreak with disdain and boiled under the surface about what he's done to this once beautiful collection of domiciles. I know the property values here have completely gone to shit. How could they not? And it's me who has to live directly across the street from him. The trash, the junk, the 1989 Geo Metro with no hood, the kitty pool full of slime and frogs. For God's sake, he has three VCRs stacked beside the

mailbox. Yes. I said VCRs. And is it so damn hard to cut your grass on Tuesdays like the rest of us? I want to try the new edger I picked up during a July 4th sale, 40-volt top of the line, but as of right now, I haven't even seen the point. My yard will look like shit no matter what, because of him. The Neighborhood Association won't help. If it's anything other than potholes or barbecues, they have a hands-off approach to governance. I planned to run for president in the spring. Anyway, I could feel my blood pressure going through the roof that night, and the plant-based diet I switched to wasn't doing shit to help bring it down. Something had to be done about him. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Alan.

Mid-50s, twice married and twice divorced, he works as an IT contractor for the state. Being stuck at home because of COVID, I hadn't seen him outside in months. No needs to go outside when you have Grubhub and your lawnmowers lying next to your house in a hundred pieces. He had made a perfect hermit's life, intrinsically safe from those of us who only asked for a little bit of respect for the neighborhood. So imagine my surprise when at 6 p.m. last Friday evening, he suddenly stumbles out the front door, down the steps, and begins cleaning up his yard. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

I was so stunned that I forgot the hose was still on until I soaked my favorite pair of Duluth trading khakis. I blinked a few times to confirm what I was seeing. Allen was actually cleaning. I quickly gathered my tools and hung them in their outlined spots on the pegboard my wife Karen got me for Father's Day. Her essential oils business has really taken off lately and she's starting to spoil me. It's amazing what people will do for some of her concoctions.

She's got proven anecdotal evidence of the efficacy of her blends. She's healed everything from spider bites to yeast infections with those little bottles of miracle juice. I practically sprinted into the house to let her know what Alan was up to. I made sure to sit by the window the rest of the evening. I continued to peek out at my new favorite neighbor during commercial breaks in the Sean Hannity show. I wanted so very badly to go talk to him about it, but I was terrified that interrupting his task would jinx my good fortune. When I went to bed around 9.30, Alan was still hard at it

and showed no signs of slowing. The next morning at 615, I heard the familiar beeps that signal a large vehicle moving in reverse. I nearly fell over, trying to slip into my crocs to get to the porch and have a look. A massive flatbed truck was dropped. dropping a 30-foot-long dumpster in the yard. Allen was really getting serious. I couldn't take it any longer. I had planned to spend the day applying epoxy to my garage floor, but it was Alan's project I was truly excited about now.

I had to go over there. Quickly putting on some quality work clothes, I calmly made my way down the driveway and across the street. The yard was already looking better, but it really did have a long way to go. So, Alan was working like a madman. He's about 5'6 and half as wide as he is tall. What remained of his light brown hair was shaggy and unkempt, and he always wore the same outfit, dark gray suit pants, worn out loafers, and one of those silky short-sleeved dress shirts

with vertical stripes that were popular in the early 1980s. Despite the less than ideal attire for the task at hand, Alan was working his ass off. And so would I. It was clear that absolutely nothing in the yard would escape the dumpster's insatiable appetite, so without a word, I fell in beside him and set to work. It was a beautiful free-for-all, and I was having the time of my life. I practically pranced around the yard, grabbing up anything I felt capable of getting over the side of the giant trash receptacle. Toys, scrap metal, fast-food trash, some ugly-ass yarn ornaments Alan's ex-wife had set out back in the late 90s. Plastic frogs and flamingos bleached in dried brittle by 20-plus years of sun and weather cycles.

It was the most fun I've had since the free resort weekend I scored just for attending a timeshare seminar and buying a share of a sweet villa in Branson, Missouri. Oddly enough though, after a solid half hour of work, Alan hadn't said a word, or even acknowledged my presence for that matter. I finally broke the ice. Hey buddy, just thought I'd come out here and give you some help. You've got a big job on your hands here, but it'll totally be worth the effort. I even have a perfect grass seed blend for you. I came up with it myself after a long battle with Clover. You won't believe how good it'll look in a few weeks. Alan never acknowledged my presence. He just continued, pushing himself harder and hard

harder. His hair was all over the place and sweat had soaked through his clothes from head to toe. A thought suddenly hit me. I lightly grabbed him by the upper arm and said, Hey, Alan, did you ever stop last night? No. I pressed further. You didn't come in at all. You've just been out here non-stop. Yes. It was killing me. I risk ruining everything, but I had to ask. Hey, man, why are you suddenly cleaning up after 20 years of neglecting your yard and ignoring everyone who has ever asked you to do something about it? Under labored breath, still without slowing even a step or glancing my direction, he said,

They're coming. I inquired further. Who's coming? You having a family get together? Pampered chef party, Jehovah's Witnesses stopping by to check on your soul. Alan suddenly snapped up, lunged at me, and screamed directly in my face. No, no, no, no. He abruptly turned and went right back to picking up a large chunk of a broken toilet,

covered in wet leaves, heaving it into the dumpster and waddling to the other side of the driveway, to begin unearthing an old riding mower covered in the remnants of the of a splintered waterbed frame. I was a bit caught off guard by the aggression. Regardless, I was so happy to see Alan's grasp for the first time since April 22nd, 2001 that I was willing to overlook his anger. Still, though, at that point I felt it best to just go on back home. I went ahead and started on my garage floor project.

I backed my RAV-4 out into the driveway. I didn't have to deal with Karen's Volvo, because I went ahead and started on my garage floor project. because she had an early appointment at the hair salon, then planned to return some things at a department store she felt were dishonestly presented by the salesperson. I think she planned on giving that manager a piece of her mind. After a few more days of cleaning outside, inside, and having a huge fence built around the yard, Allen's place was looking great. I decided I would go shake the hands of whatever visitors he was having that had motivated

him to take on this glorious project. As it turned out, I was given the opportunity to do so sooner than expected. Alan's guests arrived. The very next day. It was an interesting-looking bunch that piled out of a few of those monster passenger vans. Upon closer inspection, I saw the side of them that said, Zip Life Holistics. Everyone looked to be under 40 or so, and some of them couldn't have been much past their high school years.

Athletic wear, more specifically track suits, was the prevailing choice in attire for every one of them. Each of them wore a different color, though, and when they got out of the vans, it was like someone dumped a bag of skittles onto the driveway. Their energy was boundless. Running, jumping, and shouting loudly, with the same enthusiasm I feel when my grass finally reaches the four and a half inch mark and I get to fire up the cub cadet. God, I love that more. Everyone congregated in the front yard, surrounding Alan and giving him endless handshakes and pats on the back. Alan looked exhausted, but he had put on his best smile for the greeting. Behind that big smile, though, terror filled his eyes. The next morning at seven o'clock on the dot, the cheers began.

their life with zip and pride. We do, we do. Who flows with joy they cannot hide. We do. We do. We do. They did this over and over and over for a solid 15 minutes, stopping only to cheer and clap. Finally, they shut it down and bounded off to the van where a woman was handing out leaflets of some sort. They began to sprint off throughout the neighborhood, so after all of them were gone, I sauntered over to talk to Alan. He was alone in the yard, dressed in a line-green track suit and doing jumping jacks. I feigned enthusiasm.

Hey, buddy, how's it going with the visitors? sure an energetic bunch. His attitude had turned a complete 180 degrees. Oh, hey Brad. Yeah, they're stupendous. What a great bunch of people. They're going to change the life of everyone in this neighborhood. Just you wait and see. Despite Alan's zeal, I was skeptical and still a touch unnerved by the arrival of these health ambassadors. I mean, maybe they could help the neighborhood get back on track. Quarantine had really taken its toll on the midsection and hind quarters of just about everyone in saddle downs. Working from home was awesome, but the cafeteria choices were endless now.

Eating had become a sport for me by that point. I figured I could try and get on board. It was just a bunch of overzealous kids, right? Well, Alan, I suppose all of us could use some guys. guidance right now, and maybe they've got some techniques to help us avoid COVID, right? Oh, most definitely, Brad. Most definitely. You'll see.

That was enough for me for the moment. As I started back to my own yard, I turned back and asked Alan how he got involved with these people. I met them on the internet playing an O-R-PG game called Second Life. I had no idea what that was, but the answer was good enough for me. I cruised back over to the house, figuring Karen had my kale shake ready to go, along with a little avocado and falafel on toast that would likely not hit the spot. As the day wore on, I kept an eye on things out on the streets of saddled downs.

The lifers, as I'll refer to them, were going door to door with their flyers. Some successfully gained entry to make what I presumed was their sales pitch, while others maintained that huge smile and boundless enthusiasm after being turned away at the door. They did, however, leave a small yellow sticker on the mailbox on the way out. Alan continued to exercise, with one of the zip-life zealots cheering him on. Eventually, a couple of them were on my doorstep. It was the first time I had seen any of them up close, and the only way I can describe them accurately is to say they dazzled.

The startlingly attractive young man and woman before me had perfectly straight, shockingly white teeth. Their aroma was fantastic, like some perfect blend of sugar cookies and tide pods clean and sweet. It was intense. Their eyes were big, bright, and full of life, reminding me of those things that endlessly sworel and put you into a daze while the hypnotist snatches your wallet. The whites were white enough to make me squint, and their irises were vivid in color and matched their track suits. The young man's orange irises didn't have that fake look you see with color contacts either.

I think they were legit, which for a split second sent a chill down my spine. As the young man began his pitch, perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth opened to a mouth that said, Hello, sir, I'm Tanner, and this is Kylie. We're friends of your neighbor Alan Randall and are representatives of the world's number door-to-door health and wellness company. Zip Life Holistics. I have no idea what he said after that. All I remember is smiling dreamily, looking back and forth between their mesmerizing eyes, skin that appeared to have disco balls embedded in its pores, and feeling compelled to only breathe through my nose. I found my feet shifting below me as I pushed. As I pushed,

I pushed open the storm door and welcomed them into my home. Floating in sheer ecstasy, I let them to the couch, where they sat down and produced a flyer for me to read. At that moment, all I could think of was how much I wanted to please these strangers, how I would do absolutely anything for Taylor and Kylie. Yes, I'll sign those forms. Yes, I'll be ready at 10 p.m. on Friday. Sure, I'll be eating nothing but raw organic foods until then. I'll do everything, just as you wish. I just want to be well. For you. Thank you for saving me. Thank God for Karen. She had been in the kitchen, live streaming one of her super coupon videos. She has 152 subscribers, not too shabby, right?

I hadn't noticed Tanner and Kylie's entrance until the smell hit her. Who's here? That's not gain. That's tied. That shit's expensive. Someone needs a coupon lesson. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me starting to sign papers. Don't you sign anything, Brad.

They're probably going to hit your credit card for a hundred bucks a month or something. You kids. Skaddle, didn't you see the magnet on my car? I blend essential oils. Do you know what that means? It means get the hell out of my house with your worthless pills or whatever malarkey you're peddling. It ain't happening.

Not on my watch. The two beautiful, amazing-smelling lifers smiled. Thanked me for my time and gave Karen a little death stare as they made for the door. Karen followed them into the yard, yelling the whole way. Don't you make a face at me! I've got your leaflet in the house and don't you think for a second I won't call your manager about the shady tactics you're using. I exhaled sharply and ran my hands across my face to wake up a bit.

When I looked back up, they were gone, and one of those little yellow stickers adorned our mailbox. and gave me a bit of a scolding after she came back inside, but I did deserve it. It didn't last too long, though, because she had to get back to work on a big batch of potato salad to take to a party at my office. Those people love her recipe. The rest of the lifers eventually congregated back at Allen's house. It looked like they were camping in the backyard, which is probably why Alan had that absurdly high fence installed. Around 7 p.m., things got weird.

Firstly, there was more cheering. After the noise subsided, I could hear a lot of grunting and groaning, and eventually curiosity got the best of me. I grabbed a ladder and made my way up to the roof. Our houses are more diagonally lined up, so with a bit of height I got a pretty clear view of Allen's backyard. It looked like they were performed. forming feats of strength.

Some of them began picking up landscaping rocks the size of watermelons, followed by each taking a turn throwing theirs across the yard as far as possible. The best throw was about 15 feet, which was really far for a rock that I would guess weighs around 200 pounds. And the winner. Kylie, all 5'2 and 120 pounds of her. After that, some of the men locked arms and legs, building upon each other for some kind of creation. Bodies twisted and contorted, eventually taking the shape of a wheel,

complete with human spokes. One of the women gave them a push, and off they went, rolling across the yard. It was an impressive feat of strength and flexibility and just a touch unsettling. The wheel made it back around the yard, and several more of the men stood on other shoulders on both sides of the wheel, eventually revealing themselves to be post. The entire contraption together became a freaky Ferris wheel. Someone gave it a push, and off it went, slowly rotating on an axis made of the backs of their brethren. That was both mesmerizing and freaky.

But a big group of the women, however, really pushed the envelope. The men began to chant. Do it! Do it! It took a few minutes for it all to come together. But after everyone was in position, I was looking at all 20 of the women bent into impossible positions and exercising body control that would require the strength of a herd of elephants. Arms bent backward, shoulders dislocated, and twisted in ways that would paralyze any normal

person. I felt bile rise in my throat, even viewing it from over a hundred feet away. All the disgusting contortions came together, and suddenly I was looking at a ten-foot-tall spider with the entire body and eight legs made out of people who should have been been dead from their positioning alone. And it wasn't unstable. It wasn't about to collapse like one of those shitty popsicle stick houses we made in kindergarten. Had it not been so terrifying, it would have been nothing short of magnificent. And then that spider walked and then it ran. Their bodies were in perfect harmony as it ran across the backyard. More chanting.

Spider, spider, spider! Continuing to run with absolute accuracy, they began to emit a clicking sound that I can only describe as how a spider sounds in a movie. My skin was crawling at this point. Then, as if the situation couldn't get any more bizarre and terrifying, I watched as that human spider crawled right back up the back wall of Allen's three-story house and onto the roof. And when it stopped, I realized that before it crawled up the house, several of the men had jumped on and stacked themselves close on the front of the spider. body. Their heads were packed tightly together, and their eyes became the spider's eyes, and they blinked in unison. Then it shifted a bit. The legs, the body, and those eyes rotating around while

a few dozen mouths emitted that sound. They were in a side profile stance, faced Facing off in the distance it stood. It felt as if everything around me had gone silent. This wasn't just funny or creepy anymore. It was downright scary. And as I soaked it all in and began to wonder what the hell I was really witnessing, I watched, horrified as every lifer on that hideous creation turned their head. toward me.

And they smiled. I slept like absolute shit that night. After the spider spent a few minutes twitching around on the roof and looking at me, it crawled back down to the yard and disassembled. Eventually everyone settled down and I didn't hear anything else until early morning when the daily cheering began again. I must admit, The spider really scared me. When I said those girls got into impossible positions, I was not exaggerating.

I was looking at fully dislocated shoulders and hips, spines twisted up like paper clips, and heads that twisted completely around. These were not normal people. This routine continued. For the rest of the week, Wake up and cheer. Work the neighborhood. Cheer some more.

Do weird shit in the backyard until dark, including but not limited to, relay races, on their hands, professional style wrestling, without padding, duck, duck, goose and red rover, with tackling, forming a human snake 50 feet long and slithering around the house for 45 straight minutes, with everyone making a s-s sound and flicking their tongues, then every few minutes, coiling up and striking at imaginary things. They did try to make their pitch to us once each day, becoming more persistent as the week progressed, but Karen always she'd them off. On their Friday afternoon visit, she even sprayed them with lavender oil. Tanner looked pissed about it, too. As the days wore on, though, I noticed the little

yellow stickers eventually being removed and figured my weak-minded neighbors were finally giving in and agreeing to the presentation. Not Karen, though. She's hardcore about this kind of thing. Four days into this adventure, I noticed something. I'd never seen them eating, drinking, or going into the house to use the bathroom. I did see twice a day they were given a shot glass worth of some kind of liquid, which I presumed was whatever product they must be selling. Despite it all, the neighborhood was still running normally. People came and went, cars were washed, and dogs were walked. Mrs. Bush down the street was in her front yard, drunk and arguing with her adult son, who was also drunk, about his chronic unemployment and wasting his government money on cheap

women. Friday night, Karen and I were sipping some of our favorite craft beer on the porch, when we noticed an abnormally large number of people heading down the street. I recognized some of the faces, and others were foreign to me, but they all turned in to Allen's driveway and formed a line that extended a ways down the street. I suddenly recognized called something on Tanner and Kylie's pamphlet about being there on Friday at 10 p.m. A quick check of my watch confirmed that it was, in fact, 10 p.m. Now I was really interested to see what was going down. I moved from the porch to the living room to watch one of these quarantine MLB games, which was almost as weird as watching the lifers do their thing. I kept a constant eye

on the goings-on at Allen's, though. And as the evening wore on, the traffic really picked up. For hours, I sat there watching neighbors get in line, looking completely happy and relaxed, no doubt enjoying the scent of sugar cookies and eye candy the lifers provided, waiting their turn to go behind the gate. Several of the lifers looked to almost be standing guard there, with more standing along the street in front of the house. All night long, the cycle was the same. Person goes through the gate on one side of the house, followed by a few minutes of silence. Horrific screaming, followed by the lifers clapping and cheering.

Then the person shuffled out of the gate on the other side of the house, and very slowly shuffled home by the person. 2 a.m. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to get a look behind that house again, even if it was a shitty angle. I was headed for the roof again. I grabbed my ladder and began my ascent. As I reached the top rung and my head cleared the roof line, I heard a voice coming from below, accompanied by the very faint smell of sugar cookies. It was Tanner. Hey, Brad. What's you doing up there? He gave the ladder a little shake.

I don't think it's safe to be up on the roof this late. Why don't you come down and go back in the house? Kylie said Karen looks pretty lonely in the bed. They were watching Karen's sleep. Now I was angry. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and it was finally time to tell this asshole what I really thought of him and his stupid lifer for him. friends. Hey, Tanner, why don't you get the hell out of my yard and go back to your weird-ass

cult across the street before I call the cops? Tanner chuckled and said, Brad, your neighbor, the chief of police, is in line at Allen's right this minute. You know that. And then he literally jumped straight up the 30 feet to my roof. Tanner crouched directly in front of me, grabbed my ladder and tipped me a foot back from the edge, literally holding my life in his right hand. His orange eyes glowed like two big fireflies in the darkness. Brad, everything's fine over there. It would really be in your best interest to climb back down this very unstable ladder and get the hell back in your house."

I nodded, scared, shitless. My adrenaline surged again as I gripped that ladder with every ounce of strength I had. There was no exit plan here if he let me go. Okay, Tanner, I'll go back inside. Please, please move my ladder back and let me climb down. And just like that, he returned the ladder to a safe angle, got in a high dive position, and did a gainer off the roof, landing perfectly on his feet. When I stepped off, he was directly in my face.

He did not smell like cookies and tied now. He smelled musty, like an old museum. The glimmer in his skin came and went like static on a TV, and his eyes no longer dazzled. He looked tired as if he'd used. up every ounce of his normally boundless energy. That's the last thing I remember. I woke up on the couch around 7 o'clock. My drool-covered shirt was turned halfway around my torso, and one of my socks was MIA.

I felt absolutely awful. Every muscle ached to some degree, and my feet felt like they were made of lead. I was completely exhausted, and my back felt like my back felt like like it was on fire. I made it to the kitchen and tried to get my head together. Out of nowhere, I was suddenly ready to murder someone for some bacon or a sausage or a bagel or some lays potato chips or a big glass of seawater. I threw my middle finger in the air and turned in a circle to let all the components of Karen's stupid plant-based diet know what I thought of them. Dr. Ornish could eat a dick. Actually, I guess he wouldn't, though. I practically dragged myself to the window to see what the lifers were up to. They were gone. I was startled as

Karen emerged from the hallway, tripped, and fell flat in her face, sending half a dozen essential oil vials flying across the room. I was too tired to even try to help her up. Groaning, She pushed herself up on her elbows. What the hell happened last night, Brad? The last thing I remember is that Kylie girl standing beside my bed speaking in another language. There were bits of English mixed in there. She said something like, we are ancient, older than death himself, and then something about cows and pigs no longer being sufficient.

I looked at her like she had three eyes. Not only was I in tremendous pain, I was feeling a little combative. What, Karen? Are you drunk? Did you put too much lemon grass and lang lang in your tea again last night? When Karen is pissed, her voice gets really nasal, and her aze are literally enough to bust ear drums. After my smart-ass comment, I really had a coming, though. No, Brad!

She said it. She said it. She sent that shit, and the last thing of it I recall is her rolling me over onto my stomach and saying, thanks, bitch, I'll fill you back up with marjoram. Karen had managed to stand again, but doubled over in pain and hit the floor once more. Ah, damn it, Brad, why does my back hurt so bad? I looked down at her exposed back. It was swollen and red, and she had a tiny hole, hole or needle mark just above each kidney. I had the same. What the hell was up here? Trying to look at my own back, I began turning in circles like a dog trying to sniff its own

butt. Karen, look at these holes in my back. What's in that spot? She had spent a few years in nursing school back in the day before quitting to sell door-to-door cosmetics and God only knows what other flavor of the week, MLM, that came about. She thought about it for a moment. I think it's the atrino gland. What the? Did they steal our adrenaline? I helped Karen to her feet. We plopped ourselves down at the kitchen table, and I blacked out. Three hours later, I woke up. My cheeks smashed down on the table. Surrounding me was remnants of a bag of beef jerky, a jar of pickles with no juice, and

my mouth was caked in what tasted like feta cheese. Karen was on the floor, blocking the doorway threshold and mumbling something in her sleep about not needing a receipt. Peeking out from under the edge of her robe was what was left of the block of feta. I shuffled my way to the bathroom, stripped off my disheveled and urine-stained clothes, and let a hot shower take me away to paradise. God, I was thirsty. Karen says the chlorine and fluoride in city water is bad for me, but I didn't care.

I drank it right out of the faucet. After getting cleaned up, I stepped out on the patio for some fresh air. Many of the neighbors were out and about, moving like they were a hundred years old but trying to do the normal stuff, taking walks, washing cars, etc. I gingerly made my way next door to speak with my buddy Mike. He'd been out of town most of the week, but I saw him in line last night. I caught up to him as he was checking his mail. Yo, Mike, how's it going?

He looked terrible. Hey, Brad. Man, I feel like complete shit. I don't know what the hell happened to me last night. I haven't felt this bad since I got completely plastered at your Super Bowl party. I vividly remembered that event. Mike, the 50-year-old accountant, attempted a backflip on a dare and landed on his face. I looked at him quizzically.

You mean you don't remember being at Allen's, going behind the fence for the Zip Life product demonstration. He closed the mailbox and looked back up at me. The what? Zipu. I haven't spoken with Alan in months. I'd like to kiss him right now. on the mouth, though, for finally cleaning up his property. I wish I'd been here to see it.

Damn, dude. My back is killing me." He turned and raised his shirt, and sure enough, the same swelling and holes in his back. I told him what I suspected had happened to us, but he had absolutely no recollection of the lifers ever having set foot in saddle downs. I was too tired to press the issue, and Mike didn't seemed to care about the holes in his back. It's like his memory, and even his sense of self-preservation, was just absent. I ended the conversation and made my way a couple houses down, intercepting a lady named Sandra as she very slowly made her way through the morning walk she's taken every single day for 23 years. We had the same conversation. She had the same marks, and like Mike,

had no memory of the night before. I tried several others and got more of the same. Finally, I headed for Alan's house, banging hard on the door. When he answered, it was clear that I'd woken him up. He was wearing nothing but a pair of old, very undersized boxers. Uh, hey Brad, what's up? Alan. I've had enough of this shit. What the hell did those people do to everyone last night. He looked completely confused. What? What the hell are you talking about? Who? I roared with every ounce of strength I had left. The zip life people, Alan, they jacked everyone up. We all have holes above our kidneys and no one knows why. I'm the only one that even remembers them being here. All of the sudden, it was like the light bulb went off. Alan's eyes nearly popped

out of his skull. I exhaled sharply, relieved that someone could finally shed some light on all this. Alan jumped through the door, darting back and forth across the porch, giving evil stares to everyone he could see. As he flew by me for the third time, I caught a look at his shirtless back. There nothing. No holes, no swelling, just a nice plump back with enough hair on it to sculpt a Mohawk. And as he ran out into the street with murder in his eyes, naked aside from the underwear hanging halfway down his ass, I knew the story had ended. I wasn't going to get my answer, because I knew what the next words out of his mouth would be. Wild-eyed, and practically foaming at the mouth with rage, he said.

Which one of you assholes cleaned up my yard?