I have decided that I am not going to let Heather’s death or my possible impending doom deter me from celebrating my favourite holiday. I want to be able to hang bodies in some stranger’s front yard and record their screams as my lullaby.
I’m just
kidding. I’m dark, just not that kind of dark. I generally fall asleep to the
sound of my husband snoring, and occasionally some white noise. The swinging
dead bodies is real though – and they definitely scream.
When I was
young, I always assumed that horror movies just had bare-breasted women screaming
for the sake of the drama but I can tell you from years of experience: people
do actually scream when they see a dead body. Full body, trembling shrieks. I
will admit, hearing it and knowing I’m the cause of such an intense emotion, does
fill me with no short amount of pleasure. It’s the closest I’m going to get
screaming fans of my work; I might as well enjoy it.
Which
brings me to my latest hobby: ancient serial killers.
I’ve always
knows that so long as there were people in the world to murder, there were
murderers to act out those deeds, but I have never taken the time to actually
look into who those people were. It’s actually quite fascinating.
A favourite
of mine is this guy from Greek mythology (I think his name was Sinestro – no,
that’s a Green Lantern villain…whatever). He would meet a man on the road and
then when they branched off, he’d circle around and catch the man by surprise,
leading him deep into the woods. There, he had pulled two trees to the ground
so their trunks were bent inwards, and he tied the man’s arms to one tree and
his legs to the other. Then, he released the bent trees so they flung apart, the
man was cleaved in half.
How. Cool.
Is that?
I have no
idea how I would work the mechanics in modern times but isn’t that so cool? I
want to try it but I don’t know where I’d find bendy tress this time of year.
The other
thing you discover in these ancient and medieval tales, is how sexist everyone
was. All the time. And I’m well aware that a lot of ancient mythology is
tainted by the western overrun of Christianity and Christian views of women were
less than stellar. Are less than stellar. But the amount of stories I found
about women who poisoned their husbands for money and power…it’s hardly news.
Or the women who jump from husband to husband because they can’t make up their
minds. I read about a woman tried for witchcraft who escaped persecution, so
they arrested her son and her best friend instead. The friend was burnt at the
stake in her place while her son was given a list of good deeds to perform and
when he couldn’t, he was flogged and sent home.
There is a
part of me that is so grateful for all the women who burnt at the stake or were
painted as floozies throughout history because they paved the way for me and
other women to live our lives a little better.
It’s still
really shitty, all the things they went through just to get here. And here isn’t
particularly great either.
I guess all
I can hope is that when it’s Casey’s turn to take up the long-held tradition,
the world will be a little better for her.
Maybe by
then, there’ll be more bendy trees so I can eviscerate a man with the help of
mother nature.
As always,
dear readers,
Stay Safe
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