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.
"Okay, c'mon, Isaac, I'm right here, buddy!" Jeremiah boldly patted his chest.
Everyone waited and gawked around before staring straight at Jeremiah like his body was melting right before their eyes.
"I'm right here, Isaac!" Jeremiah shouted. "C'mon, do your magic!"
"Hey, kid, I think you've had enough for tonight." The bartender tapped Jeremiah on the shoulder.

Jeremiah only snatched himself away from the man 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 guys your true self!"
Some of the men pointed at Jeremiah in disbelief while others just continued to shoot pool. All in 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 matter how bizarre it may have sounded to the others. Even
in his inebriated state, Jeremiah knew exactly what he was saying. Someone had to listen, no matter who it was. Even if it meant
having to take a lengthy stay at an asylum himself, someone would have to hear him out.
"Isaac, c'mon, you attacked me 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 the ceiling.
"If you ask me, I'd say it was the government that killed all those people over the summer." Another drunken man uttered at his
own table. "That peanut picking president of ours couldn't count to a hundred, let alone run a country. 1980 can't get here quick
enough."
"Forget that." One of the pool players stepped towards Jeremiah. "Look, kid, why don't you just go home and sleep it off?"
Jeremiah stood and looked at the man's facial features for a few moments before those same features began to morph right
there before him. Fangs and white eyes.
Jeremiah jumped back, nearly falling over one table after another. "See, see, I told you, he's already here!" He wildly hollered.
Soon enough, every man, including the bartender, all took on the same appearance, each one slobbering and growling like
ravenous brutes at him.
Out of fear, Jeremiah attempted 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!" Jeremiah waved his hands in the air. "He's in here! He's taken you all!"
But the demons all kept closing in on 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 all ceased their rampage and stood still.
"Look, kid, just calm down, no one's gonna hurt you!"
"Just put the gun down and let's talk!"

"I'll fucking shoot every last one of you!" Jeremiah waved his gun around. "I knew it! I knew he was following me the whole time!"
He ranted before pointing his gun at one particular man to his right.
Before he knew it, however, something hard cracked Jeremiah over the back of the head sending him crashing into the pool
table. Immediately, the five men all gathered to pummel Jeremiah within an inch of his life. They not only relieved him of his
weapon but also of his jacket and glasses before dragging his carcass out the backdoor. All Jeremiah could see was glassy
darkness in front of him. Even the pain of the beating was a numb sense of awareness that held no weight with his conscience
whatsoever. The men kept dragging him until they managed to hoist his body upwards and into a dumpster where they slammed
the lid right on his head.
Jeremiah laid there inside the smelly, mouse infested unit wallowing about in not only filth but his own blood and mucus. He
could hear the men laughing and hooting before the slamming of the backdoor ended it all. The music from inside the bar could
still be heard blaring clear out into the alley. Jeremiah shoved one mouse after another aside in an attempt to at least try and sit
up. But just as soon as he was able to gain a stable foot, someone or something from outside the dumpster began stirring about.
"Hello?" He incoherently babbled. "Can...can you get me outta here, please?"
Just as soon as Jeremiah's eyes were able to somewhat focus in the dark, he managed to see the dumpster's lid open back up.
He saw a pair of eyes, orange eyes to be exact, staring right back down at him.
At first he figured he was still locked inside his dream state, but as soon as the eyes drew closer Jeremiah suddenly realized the
weight of their force. The man slid backwards as far as he could before crawling into the corner and cowering.
"Your final resting place is nigh." The eerie voice whispered into the dumpster.
"No!" Jeremiah screamed. "God, no," he wrestled about.
At that moment, the dumpster's steel lid slammed shut on top of Jeremiah once more, leaving him completely in the dark.
"God, no," he yelled on and on.