The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

"Okay, okay, let me get this straight!" A middle-aged, bearded white man laughed out loud with his beer in hand. "You're telling us that...those things killed all those people this past summer?" The man then looked around the bar. "I know that we're in the Halloween season, ghosts and ghouls and that bullshit, but c'mon, kid, even you know better than that!"

At once, all five white men that were gathered around the pool table inside the saloon burst out in a humongous chorus of laughter at Jeremiah's hearty story. Foreigner's, 'Cold as Ice,' was playing loudly on the jukebox, while behind the bar the bartender giggled and wiped down mugs. Jeremiah, with his ninth pitcher of beer in hand, swayed back and forth while wobbling about the pool table like a buffoon. He watched in bleary-eyed wonder as the men joked about him at his own sorry expense.

"Look, look, I know it sounds outlandish, but you gotta believe me." Jeremiah sat himself down at a nearby table. "I've seen all kinds of things that will make you believe."

"Like what?" Another man stepped forward.

"Like one of them inside my closet." Jeremiah slurred. "It killed my cat, for Christ's sake!"

Once again, the men all laughed in unison while Jeremiah sipped away at his beer unfazed by all the joviality. All his fuzzy eyes could make out before him was one shape after another. The music was blaring, but the words were unclear.

Approaching Jeremiah, one of the bar dwellers said, "Look, kid, it seems to us that you've had one drink too many. Why don't you go trick-or-treating and leave the boozing up to us adults?"

Picking himself up from the table, Jeremiah said to the man, "You don't believe me, but I have proof."

Every person inside the place all stood perfectly still and watched as the young man blundered over to the bar. He then happened to see a shot glass full of Vodka just sitting idly beside him. Jeremiah picked up the glass and gulped it down in one breath.

I'm right

around before staring straight at Jeremiah like

here, Isaac!" Jeremiah

enough for tonight." The bartender tapped Jeremiah on

and began staggering around the pool table. "Where are you now?" He yelled. "You attacked me back in the field, and at my home! Come now and show these

all, to them, he was just another disorderly drunkard. In Jeremiah's head, however, no matter how much laughter and joking was being handed out, the man couldn't stop himself from wanting to pursue his side of the story, no

in the middle of nowhere! You made my wife up and leave me! You even killed my fucking cat! C'mon and show yourself to these assholes!" He screamed at

those people over the summer." Another drunken man uttered at his own table. "That peanut picking

players stepped towards Jeremiah. "Look, kid, why don't you just

Jeremiah stood and looked at the man's facial features for a few moments before those same features began to morph right there before

falling over one table after another. "See, see, I told you, he's already here!" He

man, including the bartender, all took on the same

to pick up a pool stick only to have it snatched right out of his hand by one of the barfly's. "Please, somebody help me!"

him. Some climbed on top of the pool table to get at him, while others shoved and tossed tables and chairs aside just to swipe at him. Jeremiah reached into his back pocket and pulled out a revolver before carelessly pointing it at the beasts. At once, the things

just calm down,

put the gun