Vance McCloud American Hero

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ever wondered why the guys in those ghost movies dont try to fight back?

Submitted: April 08, 2008

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Submitted: April 08, 2008



Ghosts had never existed before then, one day they did. And it was bad. No not just old houses in old fishing towns or cemeteries at night. Everywhere. An infestation of ghosts. Most were annoying rearranging furniture, making noises only tape recorders could pick up, appearing in mirrors. Some were really bad through. Some were Lovercraftian abominations. Dark seething things that would look into your eyes and make you scream. Creatures from under the beds, bleeding the walls that kinda things. Vance McCloud didn't care about such things. Vance had believed in ghosts his whole life even before the infestation. Besides Vance had bigger things to worry about. How could a convicted statutory rapist get an apartment? It might not have been his fault, or if it was well what can you do about it. She did say she was 16 that was pretty close to 18, right? The jury didn't think so however. Not justifying what Vance did but he did do it thats the important part. Vance was a pervert plain and simple. Sad for Vance but like I said "what can you do about it"

Vance sat in the chair of the real estate broker's office. Waiting watching as the short bald man with thick glasses punched away at a computer screen. A difficult assignment finding a "Megan's law guy" a place to live. Suddenly the little bald man smiled and looked up at Vance.

"I found a place its cozy, scenic, in good condition, and surprisingly cheap."

Vance smiled a bitter smile. Remember he was a pervert not an idiot

"You mean its small, isolated, drafty, and there is a catch"

The little bald man didn't even blink

"What are you going to do about it?"

Vance said

"Nothing just tell me the catch and I will take it"

Vance had no choice really. Ever since the "day they came" there had been a major upheaval in the real estate industry. New building had been built over night as fast as they could be. Anywhere where they were no ghosts. No matter how many times the plot was rebuilt the ghost would still be there. Hence the real estate industry had gone through the roof. Millions of families, couples, and loners trying desperately to find a non-haunted place. As you can see he really had no choice.

"Its haunted"

Vance shrugged

"Look, I am not going to kid you this is the only place I got that you can afford and still be far enough away to not have to deal with your, umm, legal troubles. However, it is haunted and its a bad case."

"how bad?"

"Let me put it to you this way, your going to have to wear a blindfold between midnight and 4 am."

"Why a blindfold?"

"well, it seems this is a class Delta visual temporal haunting"

Slang for "The Exorcists, Shinning grade haunted but only to the eyes for certain hours" no physical or mentally damage unless you see it. In fact no physical form unless you see it.

Vance breathed in deep and told the little bald man that he would take it.

Moving was uneventful, living was easy. Getting up at 6 am he was rarely awake between 12 and 4. Even those days when he stayed up late were easy. He had a nice grandfather clock which chimed good and loud 10 minutes to 12 (yes he set it ahead) and he would walk into the bathroom and get his blindfold on. Often he still watched TV with it on. Or perhaps heard was the better word. Vance thought it was getting on the ghost's nerves. Him sitting there shaggy beard in his wife beater with a microwave dinner on his lap listening intensely to the game. The poor ghosts must have been going out of her mind trying to get this guy to rip his eyes out with madness. At some point perhaps by sheer effort of will she managed to croak out

"Die die die..."

Vance laughed and laughed. He called the ghost a nasty name and went to bed. One day upon returning from his shift (the boss had spent the entire day on his back threatening to fire his ass) he found his dog dead. Poor fellow killed itself by severing its own artery with its teeth. The amazing thing was it had managed to do this after it had ran straight into the TV causing it to shatter. Of course only one thing could ever make a dog do something like that. Very angered he plotted his revenge. Calmly He drove to the department of ghosts and spooks affairs (your tax payer dollars at work) and for 38 dollars American purchased the report on his home. Seems the ghost was named Lisa she was 16 (does god play dice with the universe?) and had died by suicide. She killed/drove people insane by looking directly into their eyes. Which cant be seen except when she moves her headband up off of them (why they covered here eyes until the last second was a mystery). Apparently she had gotten into a ridicules argument about the beetles with her then boyfriend (she hated them he loved them) and they broke up, distraught she killed herself. Vance read the report in the car and laughed with contempt for several minutes.

What a ridicules girl, kill herself over something that f-ing stupid. Doesn't like the Beatles huh? Well Ithink there pretty good. In fact they are damn good. I think I should definitely get some Beatles CDs tonight. Vance had money when he entered the store, he had almost none when he left, but he had something better then money, he had revenge. Biggest ghetto head banging speakers he could find, a sweet pulsating jaw-breaking sub-woofer, a razor sharp piercing tweaker, 12 CD auto changer a pair of construction worker ear muffs, anew TV of course, and finally the Beatles complete collection.

11:50 pm Vance sat in his car listening to the sound of his grandfather clock go off. The stereo had been installed 8 speakers placed all over the 4 room house. All 12 cds loaded over 13 hours of music locked in a music cabinet all on a timer. Vance sat in his car for a reason. No one had ever waged war on a ghost before and he had to be prepared, class Delta hauntings were nothing to laugh at. Lighting a cigarette and watching it burn waiting for 12 pm his thoughts wondered

Why am I doing this? All she did was kill a dog and ruin a cheap 12 inch TV. Poor thing is most likely in a great deal of pain. Am I taking out my bad life on her? Is that it? I am a pervert I always have been I know I am bad so why should I care if she killed my dog, don't I deserve it? Maybe....

His thoughts stopped, a 120 Db blasts of "she loves you yeah yeah yeah" will do that to you. Then it happened first the lights then the screams of pain. For 13 hours it lasted. Never before had the world seen a spectacle like that. The ground shook smoke and fire burst out of the earth around the home. Lightening balls covered the air and all the while that piercing scream. Vance thought about trying to stop the music but decided against it. In fact he went and slept in a motel that night. He came back just when the last half an hour of his Beatles marathon was ending. The piercing screams had died down to a little sick whimper. Laughing to himself he walked into the house and yelled out.

"Now look here I purpose a peace-treaty you get the house between 12-4 and never touch my stuff ever again I in-turn wont do that again. Well how about it"

Silence only.

"Fine I guess I will just turn it back on then"

"Nooooooooooo! Deal"

Vance smiled to himself and went out for lunch.

Months past and Vance lacked for companionship. He know what he really wanted was a women or rather as much women as he could grab. The sense of doubt still troubled him, was he really as bad as people said? Was that all there was to him, a sex driven animal pretending to be human. No Vance decided before I try to get a women and be a man I have to work this all out. Vance got a new dog instead (no not for that damn it, it was his pet, you pervert). Another change had taken place during these months of introspective and self-pity. He had taken to be a drunk. Just as a hobby at first but later on every night. Slowly he drank himself into an early grave wallowing in self-pity wondering what his purpose in life was. He found it one night.

11 pm he found his new dog dead. The grandfather clock on top of him, his spine crushed. Very drunk very sad he took the little dog body outside and buried it. Walking back into the house his head in the fridge looking for a beer, it dawned on him. A setup pure and simple. The grandfather clock the way the dog had died, she knows I am usually drunk right now, She is going to do me in. Think Vance think OK the blindfold is in the bathroom and the only way there is through the living room. She is most likely going to be in there so maybe I should just leave. Go outside to my car and drive off wait until she is gone.

Then Vance cracked. Rational thought and his mind became distant neighbors at an astonishing speed. With blind blood lusting rage he ran into his living room screaming an animal cry of pain and anger. He saw her in her dirty moldy hippy clothing hovering behind his armchair, attempting to get him, unaware that he stood behind her. He didn't stand behind her for long he leaped on her. Grabbing her head he repeatedly slammed it against the floor then dug his finger nails under the hand band directly into her eyes, as she screamed in pain Vance head throbbed with rage and alcohol. He was going to make her pay.

No one had ever raped a ghost before, but perhaps no one had ever been so mad at one before. Or perhaps Vance was a bad as a pervert as everyone seemed to think. When he woke up the next day she still lay where he left her. Tied up, gagged, eyes taped shut, naked and bleeding at the end of the bed. He stared at her and wondered what he had drunk the night before and decided it was best to get some help.

The agency had never seen anything like it; a corpse of a ghost. Vance had actually killed it, driven it out of its mind. Later on it was determined how long Vance had molested that ghost. The police never told anyone, they didn't even like to think about it. The principle investigator is said on his death bed to have been found crying and repeating over and over again

"that girl it wasn't human what he did to her. Its body was in pieces pieces!"

However, that is just a legend and we are talking about facts. the fact was Vance never had money problems ever again. The agency employed him on giving him whatever he wanted. Auctioned him off to large real estate firms. Vance drinking became worse. He showered rarely. He went from property to property do indescribable horrors to the ghosts within. His breath stank drunkingly he wondered the homes of the dear departed with a dildo screaming

"here ghosty ghosty I got a big surprise for you"

The agency encouraged him to burn the corpses of the ghosts when he was "finished" the crews couldn't stand what they found if he didn't. The agency made doctors give him anything he wanted. He popped meth all night washing it down with scotch. He reported having headaches claiming the dead were screaming at him while he slept. This only seemed to make him madder. As the media eventually heard about him the uproar was large. Religious leaders and Clairvoyants condemned him and the agency. The agency fired him. The day he was fired reporters came to him to do an interview. He agreed and appeared on TV.

The Clairvoyant started the debate by saying that the dead deserve to be respected and her job was to put them at peace. That what Vance was doing was wrong. it was in fact sinful, instead she suggested he should try talking to the ghosts reasoning with them, put their soul to peace and they will go away.

The reporter looked at Vance and asked him if he had a response. Vance looked over at the clairvoyant and asked her

"Since the day they came have you managed to get rid of a single ghosts by using your approach"

She frowned at him and admitted that she hadn't

Vance seemed to sober up and spoke clearly for the last time in his miserable life. Standing up staring at the camera sweat covering his body he said

"I am a member of a species that has driven to extinction more of god's creation then any other. my species has wiped out the mammoth, the saber tooth tiger, the terror bird, most of the world's population of wolves, bears, and tigers. My species did this when all we had were rocks and our blind rage. We are the creatures that clawed our way up the food chain one carcass at a time. that built cities and towers to our own greatness and ripped them apart in fury. I am from a culture that invented football, pro-wrestling, and the atomic bomb. Furthermore I am the man when everyone else ran I stood tall. Furthermore I will not stop until I have personal raped, beaten and burned every single last one. If you want to be those abomination's friends, creatures that invaded your house and tortured your family call her (pointing to the clairvoyant) If you want that creature to suffer, to woe the day it came to your home. If you want cold hard blood thirsty revenge call me. I don't think you will like me, but your ghost will like me even less."

With that said Vance left the glare of the cameras and went into business of his own. His carrier lasted for over 30 years. The ghost plague started to die down. He personally killed thousands. As the population decreased he started to go pro bono haunting down the last stranglers. Finding the last ones eking out an existence in old warehouses. His health declined and at 64 he found himself in the hospital dieing but still enraged. His last word was a snarl of rage, and then he expired

There are no statues of Vance. He is not found on any postage stamps or any biographies. History has tried its best to forget his illustrated carrier. His name lives on however, in the fiery cauldron of hell. Spoken only in whispers for those thousands of damned souls, who tried to prey on the living, had discovered there is fate worse then damnation. For, hell had no fury compared to that of Vance McCloud!

© Copyright 2019 isiah. All rights reserved.

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