Three kids and The Demon Possessed Paint

(continued) Three stupid kids and a 5 gallon bucket of yellow paint.


We knew this was going to be dangerous, but never anticipated the scope of the blast zone.








Tonight Tony was going to celebrate his job promotion from Wright Brother's Ford in Venice (on Lincoln Blvd next to the Carroll Shelby racing facility) to becoming the Service Writer at A and B Chevy in West LA by inviting the hippies to his property on Palms Blvd.

(Above - picture of celebration dinner in front of the Palms garage)

(Right - picture of Shelby Cobras rolling out of the Shelby's factory in Venice directly behind Wright Brother's Ford)*



Assembling our tools, fighting over rollers and pulling the lid off of the big 'O bucket of paint―Tommy, Jeffery and I started off with the best of intentions. Looking back we realize now that the fact that any paint at all actually went on the house―was a miracle in itself.

Tommy bored quickly and was the first to succumb to the small wicked voice coming from inside bucket. The insidious paint told him to lightly brush Jeffery's elbow with his paint-dipped roller and had also tempted him to lie by saying it was an accident.

Jeffery sensed that his cousin had no real remorse and of course, had to―HAD TO paint Tommy's forearm in retaliation. Ughhhhhh! It was almost impossible for a 14-year-old like me to manage a couple immature 11-year-olds. These guys went back and forth, tit-for-tat and were practically worthless, but I tried.  I TRIED!


I really did until Tommy missed Jeffery and got the front of my shirt―accident or under the spell of the evil spirit, I couldn't tell.

All I knew was that the paint in the rolling pan TOLD ME to stay cool and to pretend like it didn't bother me. The haunted paint actually talked to me by name. "Markie D, you're the oldest―you're the boss―they can't treat you like this and get away with it." Everything the demon said made sense. "You've got to show them who's boss. Calmly put your roller into the pan and soak up as much paint as you can. Do it."

I mean a voice from the paint was talking to me. "Something evil this way comes" Who was I to argue.

"Hey Markie D the juggler vain on the side of your neck is bulging and a dead give away―GET IT UNDER CONTROL"  The ominous paint yelled. But it was right.

Trying to calm myself down I breathed like a lady doing la maze at child birth. As if under a spell, I obediently plunged my roller into the paint and pretended to go back to the patch of wood siding I was working on and screamed, "ATTACK!"

I had to show the two little kids that I was older and that I would win at all cost.

The DEVIL TOLD ME THAT I HAD TO WIN.

Screaming "attack" I lunged and ran that roller up the front of Tommy's shirt all the way to his nostrils.

The paint.
The paint.
It was the paint, I tell you! Just like the demon possessed rototiller that had dragged El Heffe around the front yard. This bright yellow paint incited a war and just like in those occasions where more baby food gets on the outside of the baby than inside the baby―there was more yellow paint on the torn up lawn, on  the stack of lumber, on the ladders, on the neighbor's wall, on the sidewalk and on the three of us than on the house itself.

  

 @

It was a canary yellow disaster of epic proportions. By the time Tony arrived back the three of us dripped from head to toe like zombies ONLY instead of blood it was bright yellow paint. This gave new meaning to painting the town red only in this case it was yellow demon paint―nearly half of of Venice was lemon colored. 

It wasn't like we could hurt the prices of Real Estate on this side of Lincoln Blvd, like anything over here would ever be worth more than twenty five thousand dollars.

The three of us stood there dripping and in unison said, "The devil made us do it." knowing full well that we would have to go to confession before we could ever take communion again.




BEST DAY EVER. That is until we found out that it was oil-based paint.

Tony called the Heffe, woke him up from his nap and told him to bring gasoline so we could scrub patches of the haunted yellow goo off of our extremities and out of our orifices.











The party went on as planned, only we were no longer invited. Our moms weren't too happy but the good news is we went trick or treating as three radioactive alien-brothers from Superman's neighboring planet―Plankton!

At least we thought our Halloween costume idea was funny.






Until next time!  














* Shelby Cobra picture posted by Enis Yeneriz on You know you’re from Santa Monica Facebook group

@  Picture telegraph.co.uk/news/newsvideo/viral-video/11643553/Russian-driver-crashes-lorry-and-covers-himself-in-yellow-paint.html

Halloween and the Ouija Board pt 2

(Continued from last post) Seeing that it is Halloween and that we had unleashed the evil forces of the dark spiritual world upon Venice... it is only reasonable that I tell of that spooky and TRUE - Yes...True Story of the infamously creepy event of the Ouija Board of 1965.

It was as if dark tar or slow creeping molasses had begun to flow from portal we had opened earlier with the séances that we had carelessly dabbled with back in 1962. The evil substance was like a sticky sludge that stuck to the bottom the shoes of whoever happened to step in the thick wicked slim. It was infectious and I could smell when it began to take over someone's body like an odoriferous cancer.

Adults could neither see the the gooey slim or smell the rotten stench.   But, it was here and it was in our house.

I think it was one of the reasons that I threw up so much...evil deeds seemed to have the stench of rotting flesh that I become very sensitive to.

Being buried in pits  (Click here) Pit of Despair
Given templates   Chewbacca and the template of doom
or stuck in the hamper of death...  Hamper to Valhalla it all smelled!      "Mean" things, smelled.

Our house...like the fraternity house at the corner, the McClain's house and the Lennon Sister's house on the other end of the street were all originally two story homes built at the turn of the last century with giant attics.  Our house at 925 Harding had an attic on top of the attic and in order to make the most use for all of the kids - those attics were converted into third story bedrooms...we had 4 bedrooms on our third floor.















The older boys had returned from "trick or trick"... no I didn't get that wrong... I did not mean to say "Trick or Treat" with my brothers and that cancerous slim that had attached itself to their skin made them torment, prank or trick regardless if given candy or not -  you know the "flaming dooh-dooh bag" and stuff like that.

Well after coming back with the plunder of tormenting all of Venice, they decided to pull out the Ouija Board - after all they reasoned, it the Devil's birthday.

Turning off lights and making the house as scary as possible they begged the oft-used board to reveal to them a hidden secret. I could smell the beast and they did not let me near the board, because I kept gagging and heaving my guts up... after getting thumped on the head a couple times, I stood out of arms reach and watched from a safe distance.

The creepy board had the 5 older boys crammed around it and the pointer-thingy-ma-bobby... slid violently in the direction of the dining room from where we began in the Living room.

Chaos broke out among the boys - accusing each other of pushing the pointer-thing and a small fist fight ensued and eventually order was restored to the normal state of controlled chaos.  Again Wolf Pack lightly placed finger tips on the triangle-shaped-thingy-ma-gigger and this time it jerked to the right - towards the brown stairs just past the 50 pound sack of powered milk. Powered Milk Wars

Again, blaming broke out that turned into a wrestling match with the corresponding protest of innocence as fear settled the boys with the awful realization that just maybe - this thing was really in charge.  Goosebumps!

Up they went! One flight of stairs... yells and accusations and blaming and angry denials and wham went the pointy-thing... up another set of stairs to the third floor they went and I followed. It took them in a 360 turn and pointed to the junk-filled room that overlooked Edna's house (the grouch who lived directly next door).

I'll bet Tommy Blaser was not at home throwing up because he had smelled the stench of death and that Jeffery Lennon had not had to experience the spin-tingling sensation of being in the presence of evil and certainly Joey or Kippy Lennon did not have to live with the oozing tar like evil - You see, they were normal and were probably at home with the lights on counting up the sweet plunder of "trick or treating" and swapping candy with siblings like regular people do.  If I had to guess, I'd say the Lennons were gathered in the family room strumming a guitar and singing "Kumbaya my Lord"    

That's my guess!



But not us... We were at home fighting and under the spell of this contraption that led all of us to a third floor bedroom that was full of junk.

It was dark and it was scary and I did not let the older boys know that I had tears in my eyes and I think one of them had wet their pants again...But no fighting this time - they were too scared!

Everyone had goosebumps and no one dared set foot in the uninviting blackness until the the bravest one pushed Kurt into the room. THIS IS WHEN THINGS GOT CRAZY! We heard a crack... and frantic cries for help as Kurt disappeared and then muffled screams as if he had fallen into an abyss.  He had been eaten by the room. The older boys screamed and jumped up and down and swung wildly in the air as if defending themselves from an invisible attacker.

Kurt was gone. They would have to explain to mom and dad how they had either murdered their brother or try to explain how the house had swallowed him.

Then the faint cry. Kurt had indeed been swallowed, like Jonah who been trapped in the belly of a great fish. Sharp teeth tore his shirt and clawed the sides of his body as he was helplessly wedged in the black darkness of the secret hole stuck between walls a floor below.

This was the Devil's portal that the Ouija Board had led us to and Kurt was now stuck in it.

I ran down a flight of stairs and threw up in the toilet while the boys fought over whether to rescue him or let him die and discussed how they could cover up the evidence.

The ooze was creeping and I could smell the stench of death.

(Sorry - but kids are knocking on my door asking for candy so I'll have to finish this dark TRUE Story of the The Black Abyss of Death next time...)

If you don't believe me - Find someone in my family as ask!

Stay safe!

"Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - bird or devil! Pt II

Tap! Tap! Tap!  As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber floor. It is no one I muttered. No one rapping on my bedroom floor. Deep into darkness peering, long I lay there wondering fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
But since the silence was unbroken and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words of "Monday morn!"
This I whispered, "nevermore" an echo chanted louder, "Monday MORN!"

Rap, rap, rapping on my bedroom floor.

"Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, it bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
In this Harding house by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore
Is there - is there balm in my Gilead - my head - tell me, I implore!'
quote the raven, 'Nevermore."

Thump, thump thump grew the rapping as a beating heart of the dead body beneath my floor.

"Monday morn! Monday morn!"shouted in cadence with the tapping from my chamber floor.
"Prophet!" said I, 'thing of evil! - Prophet still, if bird or devil!"
"Nevermore" I said, tossing in my slumber to the haunting voice below one floor.

Thump, thump, thump went the broom handle on the entry ceiling - "Truly your forgiveness I implore."

"Up and at 'em!" yelled the vice that had been rapping at my bedroom floor, "It's Monday morn!"
Presently the light grew stronger and I realized that that tapping and voice morphed into my nightmare lore.
It was not a a heart beating -  not the dead rising - in fact it was not to be that tame!
No! Monday morning was always the same and yet no timid game!

Eyes finally adjusting to the light of day, it was the staff sergeant's broom handle beating on my bedroom floor.
"Up and at 'em!" yelled my dad. "let's go, go, go, go, go" cried he,
"Its time of the harvest moon" he implored!
Be it beating heart, or dead man or ghoul beneath the floor would have been better than what was in store!

Morning morning trash day had become my chore.
This was not Wednesday or Thursday "street cleaning day" circus galore (blog post 7/1/2013).
This did not involve the entire Wolf Pack, only Markie D and this infamous chore.

No one dared go out the backstairs door with what the Veloci Raptor had in store.
No dared tempt the evil bird that was no one's friend!
Someone flesh the rooster was destined to rend!

I marched down stairs with angry in eyes, dragging trash cans twice my size.
"Why was I the only one?" I criticized!
I knew the answer, it was no surprise.
I was Saint Francis, to the evil bird with crazy eyes.

Only me. Markie D!
My gift.  My superpower gave me a free pass
The bird of prey allowed me and me alone on the weeds and remnant grass.
Only I was allowed to drag the trash cans pass.

(Okay, you get the idea and the story will take much too long to continue in the prose of Poe)

Blaming the violent rooster for scares and blood, the older boys on the third floor were not part of my Monday morning ritual on trash day. Dad pounded on the ceiling below my bed. I dragged out the billion cans of trash to alley every Monday morn.  I looked at the rooster with love in my eyes and spoke a language it didn't despise(Blog Post: Kid in a pit with a water hose 2/27/14).  The hideous beast cleared a birth wide enough for this little lass, unhindered by the wild beast, I did pass.

Packing cans and stacking trash in the alley I did my chore.. my chore forever more.
when finished with the mundane task, I turned towards the house alas...
this is where things got wild, for the beast blocked my path - standing on the grass.

The Veloci-Raptor stood in the narrow path between cars and junk old kitchen sink
and a look in the eye of the evil beast cause my heart to sink.
But I was Saint Francis lover of animals not the typical hippie or rat fink!
Why rooster? Why?" Be that word or sing of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and quell this nightmarish horror.
Leave no blood foul fowl as a token of our sacred bond and let me pass now and forevermore!"

Why? (Again too much rhyming and I mean it -  anyone care for a peanut)

This is a true story as I looked at the crazy bird
and threw out positive pheromones of gentleness and kind word.
slowly approaching with my Saint Francis confidence and the "Covenant we struck in the Pit"
I trusted that rascle -  "Oh - S...Poop!"

Nevermore be still
Nevermore cursed bird or devil
I shrieked as betraying raptor flew waist high
and struck me repeatedly with sharp talon usually reserved for the hippies and the other guy!

Fresh blood flowed through the holes in my jeans
I laid on the ground with unrequited screams
shaking my fist at a horror worst that any of my bad dreams

Like wounded soldier, I crawled to the back gate
stood to my feet in haste I scrounged for battle gear
I plundered a trash can lid as shield and buckler
a broken mop handle - IT WAS WAR for this little suckler.

(Hey, if Dr. Suess and rappers can make up so so can I)

Thump Thump Thump! Tap Tap Tap! Rap Rap Rap
we clashed in epic battle
With my trash can shield and wodden sward I gave that beast quite a rattle.
Losing my Saint Francis I said, "Mess with me you devilish pig, your shallow grave, I'll gladly dig!"

Anyway, I managed to survive the fiendish attack before I set off that day for school
and was bent on being no bodies fool
Not Erick, Sister Edith, Mike, Terry, not Joe
Though animals and babies, I'll consent to try to give my Saint Francis eye
but for this mini-Godzilla, Wolf pack or foe
all I can say, "Stay clear or my oh my!"

I came in to test my Dad's experimental milk (Post 7/13/13)
and choked down clumpy oat meal meal worms and all (Shocking and Vomitous Thursday post 7/11/13).
and limped off to Saint Mark's school
determined not to be played for anyone's fool




                                    
                       "Watch out Terry, don't even think about messing with my friend Harry!"


Quote the raven, "Nevermore!"