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Story in a Jugular Vein

Has anyone seen this movie or a book associated with the movie?

The other day, I ran across some notes for what seemed to be a horror novel or movie. I wonder if any of you, dear readers, have encountered something like this.

It starts with a junior congressman from Maryland, Lee Boyleston, who has received an alarming message from one of his constituents, Johhny Blackwater, living not far from Washington, DC in the town of Queens Revenge whose founding took place before the reign of Henry VIII of England. The message, which arrived in the form of an email that morning, begged Boyleston for help concerning a terrible matter which Blackwater had serious trouble describing -- his email was nearly incoherent. But he did say that the matter involved covert slavery, human sacrifice as part of black magic rituals, the theft of mail from government agencies addressed to men and women living in Marys Revenge, and hacking of government computers for the purpose of creating fake accounts checks drawn on which were sent to individuals living in Marys Revenge. There was more, though it was so nearly incoherent and full of what seemed to be paranoid ravings that Boyleston was extremely hesitant to believe any of it. But as the email described what clearly were computer crimes, theft of government money, and other federal crimes, all of these taking place in Boyleston's own congressional district, Boyleston decided to go to Marys Revenge, meet up with Johnny Blackwater, and investigate whatever was going on there. If the email wasn't merely a prank, and if Blackwater wasn't lying through his teeth or raving mad, Boyleston would turn the matter over to whatever agencies had to do with such things -- the FBI, Defense Intelligence, or the like -- so that they could get to the bottom of it all and try to set things to rights.

Boyleston thus sets out for Marys Revenge in the morning of what seemed to be a beautiful spring day (assuming that clouds hovering on the eastern and southern horizons didn't move in and cover the region with grey overcast). He had exchange further emails with Blackwater, agreeing to meet with him in a certain bar in the town, which lay about 2 miles southwest of Baltimore. The day before his journey to Marys Revenge, he'd gone to a local library where a librarian he'd made friends with worked, and asked his friend there what he knew about the town. The librarian turned to his computer and, using a search engine, quickly brought up links for a rather sparse list of articles on the town. Orginally it had been named Fair Weather, but during the rain of Bloody Mary, Henry VIII's unbalanced daughter, a number of refugees from England, fleeing Mary's religiously-fueled wrath, had made their way to the New World and had settled in the town. They had not done well there, but weren't willing to return to face the Stake, the Rack, and the other tools of the Inquisition which had taken root in England during Mary's reign. Feeling that the devil you know was better than the one you didn't, rather than striking out to find something better for them in the new country, they decided to remain resident in the town, which they re-named Marys Revenge due to the sad troubles that had beset them since leaving England and arriving in the New World. Other residents of the town didn't object to the change of names, and so the town became Marys Revenge. From all reports since then, those living in that town had little interaction with anyone else, something that those in neighboring towns were more than happy with, since the latter regarded the residents of Marys Revenge as "queer," "peculiar," "deformed," "possibly mad," "ingrown," and otherwise repugnant. Ever few weeks two large wagons filled with various items for sale as well as -- it was rumored -- gold and silver bullion left the town, headed for Baltimore, returning to Marys Revenge within two or three days filled with foodstuffs, bolts of cloth, tools of various kinds useful for farming and manufacturing and digging in the soil, weapons such as knives and swords and pistols, and other things of value. Some of the people who had been living in the town before the arrival of the newcomers decided to seek their fortune elsewhere, as they found the newcomers too strange and full of "dark desires and darker practices" and too well equipped with weapons and the skill to use them to good effect "for their nerves sake" -- the newcomers were just too repugnant and scary to put up with or try to drive out. So most of the older residents, excluding some whose antecedents went back countless years to natives of the area and foreigners from England, France, Spain, and even parts of what modern people called the Middle East left, instead. Those older residents and products of ancient lineages who continued to live in the town were at least as repugnant and scary as the newcomers, with whom they apparently got along fine.

Since then, there had been a small but persistent trickle of reports in the region of kidnappings of infants, female children, and nubile girls, murders of boys and men, strange activities that took place on nearby hills and in valleys of the region at night and under fearsome astronomical portents such as total eclipses, occultations of Venus and Jupiter by the Moon and conjunctions of them by the Sun, occultations of certain "bad stars" such as Caput Algol by Mars or Saturn, and the like. Occasionally skeletons of deformed infants, children, and adolescents were found in the hills near the town by residents of other towns who reported such findings to local police, whose responses to these reports constituted a strange reluctance to take any of them seriously. Once two partially complete skeletons of children were brought to the attention of the police, who laughed at them, calling the skeletons "excellent imitations of skeletons" and threatening to have those who had brought in the skeletons jailed for wasting the policemen's time "with such pranks." Those who had brought in the skeletons threatened to go to regional authorities to report it to them, but the police refused to give back the skeletons, saying they were confiscating them "as evidence of attempted fraudulent reports," so that those who had brought them in had nothing to show regional authorities what they had found. Some time later, the five or six men who had brought the skeletons to the local police all died under mysterious circumstances in tragic and fearsome ways. The police regarded those deaths as unconnected with one another, blaming three of them on "drunken sprees leading to violence" and two of them on two separate encounters with "highwaymen." That being a time before the region became part of the new nation of America, there were no agencies with higher authority in that area to investigate further, and the people of the area who had discovered such things from time to time had neither representation nor any strong backing from a federal agency. Their pleas for help from local authorities in these matters seemingly fell on deaf ears, and threats from local police to have them put away in a local madhouse if they didn't cease and desist bothering them with such things served to dissuade them from trying to get help from local authorities ever again.

The librarian advised Boyleston to be careful if he did decide to go to Marys Revenge to try to investigate the matters Blackwater had described in those sinister and confusing emails he'd sent the congressman. Boyleston did promise he would be careful, and then left to go home and pack for his trip. Congress had just finished up a session, and Boyleston, a conscientious man who did not abuse his office, had a week or two before he had to be back in Washington again. Off he went to Marys Revenge in his small but dependable Toyota, arriving there a few hours after leaving the apartment in Baltimore where he stayed when in town to take his part in Congress,

Boyleston had some trouble finding Marys Revenge. He followed Blackwater's advice and directions, which should have had him arriving in that town within an hour and a half of leaving for it, but it took him at least eight hours after leaving for the journey at about 11 a.m. He apparently took the wrong road from Baltimore to start with, then, trying to correct that error, took a series of back roads every one of which seemed to take him in a weirdly skewed direction, the Sun seemingly in all the wrong places in the sky. But around sunset he finally found himself driving into Marys Revenge, now a small town with many attractive homes and places of business such as restaurants, boutiques, stationers' shops, grocery stores, a modern-day elementary school, an equally modern high school, and even a hospital that seemed the equal of anything in Baltimore or Washington. There were also a police department, a fire department, a psychiatric hospital, a stadium where the home teams could play football with away teams from within the state and other states. A gas jockey at a gas station where he stopped to top up his tank, finding that Boyleston was from out of time, happily informed him that the home school teams had won coveted prizes in games with "some pretty tough tames from Virginia and Delaware," and that the local college, renowned for its mathematics, physics, and biology departments, fielded a high-power team, the Marys Revenge Bears, which had walked away with sixteen trophies in the past two years.

Thus having had his suspicion that Blackwater was more than a little mad reinforced by these findings, Boyleston drove deeper into the town, looking for Mickey Phearson's, the bar where Blackwater had agreed to meet Boyleston. He found it a little after sunset. Parking his car in the neat asphalt parking lot that surrounded the bar, Boyleston got out and went inside.

This is where the notes start to become, well, fuzzy. Boyleston meets Blackwater in the bar. Blackwater turns out to be an aging hippie with a salt-and-pepper beard who sounds like a refugee from the mid-1960s. Sitting near the door, Blackwater at once recognizes Boyleston from the congressman's photos in local newspapers, and asks Boyleston to join him at his table. After a couple of drinks -- straight Scotch -- Blackwater begins opening up to Boyleston. Blackwater sounds coherent enough, but his face is that of a badly frightened man, and his hands tremble minutely but steadily throughout the evening. What he has to reveal to Boyleston is this:

For some time, children ranging in age from 2 to 16 have been disappearing from their homes and the town's elementary and high school. Distraught parents have reported the disappearance of their children to the local police, but somehow the police never manage to find a trace of those children. Local newspapers never carry these reports, and neither do the mainstream media, including important national and state news, over media ranging from television, radio, and online news to Facebook, Twitter, and other social media. And those who try to get the police and the media involved in letting citizens across the state know what has happened and in helping to look for these children and learn what happened to them do not fare well thereafter. Generally, they die of causes that are reported in local papers as "improbable" or "strange," but without enough detail to know what exactly happened to them; or they are found wandering, naked and stark mad, under badly aspected planets and the Moon late at night, and are taken to the local psychiatric hospital, where they have remained in confinement ever since. Many other residents of the town are terrified of showing any interest in these matters lest something bad happen to them, while a few seem smugly indifferent to such things.

Boyleston, who is a bachelor without real attachments beyond his parents, who live in Delaware, and a niece, who is attending the University of Southern California with a major in political science, is impressed with Blackwater's knowledge of the area and the fact that Blackwater is a badly frightened man who nevertheless is willing to tell his story to the congressman in spite of his deep fear of what might happen to him as a result. Blackwater, who is likewise unmarried, without a girlfriend, has several nieces and nephews, and is seriously frightened on their behalf, his fear for their well-being great enough to completely overwhelm his fear of what could happen to him for telling a federal officer about the situation.

So, accompanied by Blackwater, Boyleston goes through the town, his native guide informing him about the town's history and the details of the disappearances and murders that have taken place there for the last five or six centuries. Blackwater is neither a drunk/alcoholic nor addicted to hard drugs, though he does take tokes off the occasional joint ("Hey, man," he tells Boyleston, "back when this country was founded, taxes were paid in hemp, and for many years hemps was used to make paper of all kinds, as well as beautiful cloth that could be made into anything. In the early 20th century, though, Old Man Hearst had a patent on a way of making paper out of wood pulp. He didn't want any rival taking away his profits from that, so he had a relative, Harry Anslinger, lie to Congress about the 'terrible evils of marijuana.' Congress outlawed hemp -- maryjane as well as the male plant, or hemp -- and it stayed outlawed until various states began legalizing it over the last twenty years or so. When Monsanto and the other GMO companies and their allies tried to produce their own brand of GMO hemp and marijuana, everything they produced didn't have enough THC in it to get a flea stoned, so now they're trying to get it outlawed everywhere again. Thanks be to "Bob" and Mother Magistra Batrix, author of the three Sacred Brags of the Fenmale SubGenius, however, between all the lawsuits brought by the Temple of Shiva organization in India and all these united states as well as Brazil and some other countries such as the Netherlands, Monsanto's going under and the other companies aren't in the world's best shape, so it looks like Boo wins again!" he said, pumping a fist in the air, grinning broadly.

Then, his face falling again, he said, "Turn right here, man. This is Lumley Street. We want to go down to the intersection of Lumley Street and King Avenue, which isn't much farther on."

When they came to the intersection, Blackwater pointed out a park with parking spaces around its edges. "Park there, man," he instructed Boyleston. Boyleston drove the car into the niche Blackwater pointed out. The two get out of the car. Blackwater takes Boyleston to a place in the park where new concrete had apparently been poured just a few days before. "You know what was down there?" Blackwater said to Boyleston. "A humongous, godzillamous hole. Went straight down for maybe fifty feet. Used to be the entrance to a mine of some kind. Hadn't been used for a long, long time. But one afternoon, when little Wendy Carson and her brother Howie were playing here in the park near that hole, something came out of it, grabbed them, and dragged them down the hole. The cops wouldn't do jack shit about it. Neither would the mayor, a big fat bastard whose been in office for 15 years and shows no sign of leaving it before the Last Trump."

Boyleston asks if they can climb down the hole. Blackwater, looking ill, affirms that there is, the rungs that the miners set in the side of the hole so they could climb down into the mine and back up again. But he doesn;t advise it in the dark -- nightfall has taken place. Boyleston asks where he can stay in Marys Revenge. Blackwater offers his own apartment, and Boyleston goes home with him.

The next day, they try going back to the park, only to find it off-limits. Wooden "horses" with yellow tape saying "Do not enter by order of Marys Revenge police department" have been set up all around the park. Two cops stand just outside the wooden "horses" on the west side of the park order the two men to go away when they come up to ask what's going on. They refuse to tell Blackwater and Boyleston what's going on, and tell them they will be arrested if they "persist in making trouble." So Blackwell and Boyleston go back to Mickey Phearson's, which also serve lunch and dinner, to talk about what they should do next.

Through a series of events, it becomes clear to Boyleston that the town is ruled by several lineages living there, all of whom descend from or are related to those refugees from England and Europe who were not Christians and might possibly have been related to Druids, who had remained officially closed-mouthed about why that had fled the Old World for the New, and what their lives had been like before coming to the New World. The current mayor is one of their descendants. The cops are descendants of them. So are others in high places there. They run the town as they will, and somehow manage to keep anyone in the town from reporting to those outside it about what has actually been going on there. There had been countless abductions of infants, children, adolescents, and young adults from the town over the years; somehow the powers-that-be there never seemed to suffer such losses. The evidence for what has occurred in the town is down in that abandoned mine and other places in the town, all of which are now being paved over or otherwise hidden from view -- but not extirpated. Various covert activities are apparently being carried out in such hidden places, activities which, according to Blackwater, include human blood sacrifices, blood sacrifices of pets and, in some cases, "nosy parkers who got a little too close to places they had no business in," says a waiter at a restaurant where they stop in for dinner as he stares with intent hostility at Boyleston.

Finally, the two men are able to get down another hole near the center of town where they find, to their horror, that a terrifying occult ritual of invocation of the goddess Ash-Nibbearog is taking place, one involving the ritual sacrifice of a pretty teenaged girl to the goddess -- and that the President of the United States is the priest leading the ritual (and just incidentally, snacking on the heart of a previous blood sacrifice)!

It wasn't clear what happened to Boyleston and Blackwater after that, and the story needs a lot of filling in. And it needs a title, above all. But I wanted to share with you what I do have of this story in case any of you are familiar with it or know its origins. If you do, please contact me at polaris93@aol.com. Thank you. -- Yael Dragwyla,QWERTYUIOP FNORD

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