the Witch Cult of O'Leen Gater and Alley Gruber V8

O'Leen Gater and Alley Gru:ber were two of the meanest Witches the
lonely, isolated woods of Michigan's Upper Peninsula have ever
known..........
along about 1873 in the town of Mashburn, some 13 miles west of
Whitefish Point, was a crooked creek which flowed through the center
of the quaint country settlement from a gnarled and gloomy swamp
head into the big lake they call Gitchigoomie.....the area known as the
Graveyard of the Great Lakes, due to the large number of shipwrecks
which have occurred there, probably the most infamous of these
disasters being the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald ...............
a sagging, rickety old falling down hovel in the most inaccessible,
vine~covered, shady heart of this wretched, noxious swamp served as
the lair of the two decrepit and ancient Witches........in the days before
steam, Pirates and Privateers were known to bury their ill gotten loot in
this accursed swamp to be guarded over by O'Leen and Alley.....many of
the treasures were never recovered since most of the Pirates met with
untimely fates, finding their graves in the blood stained snows or
sinking to a watery crypt beneath the swells of Great Lakes.....forever
silenced in a tomb of icy water.........so there lies a great fortune in the
swamp at the head of the crooked creek, but who would take their life in
their hands by going into such a foreboding place to search for it ??.....
no one knows how long the greedy, malicious Witches had been in that
primordial swamp or from whence they came, and certainly no one
dared to ask..... Wolves don't howl there..........no Bear paw print has
ever been seen near that freakish thicket..........no animal tracks, not
even a Great Horned Owl hoots in the vicinity of that grim
mire.......ThornApple and Juniper, Cranberries and ChokeCherries,
indeed the Hawthorns grow tight and strong in that swampy
morass............ it was from this dirty, macabre abode that O'Leen and
Alley sent forth their smoldering, smutty blight into the cold country of
the sparsely populated north..............
stirring and stewing Pole~Cat innards in their Dark Cauldron, the
hateful Witches spun and spewed vexes and hexes from the foul ilk of
the nasty odor of their deadly brew..........something putrid and rancid
about boiling Skunk guts with poisonous toadstools, bat~wing and
moccasin fang thrown in to increase the potency of the potion.................
it was said that anyone audacious enough to profess a disbelief that
O'Leen and Alley were real Witches capable of wielding real Dark Magic
was soon overheard in their pompous preachings and set upon by the
Witches.........
according to Local Lore, O'Leen and Alley would cast an evil Spell
which would cause the non~believer to hear a knock upon his or her
door at about supper time............when said non~believer opened the
door, a sickly, white mare was seen standing at the threshold..........the
door was then closed and the non~believer returned to supper..........
next day and always in a public place, the cursed non~believer would,
without warning, fall down hard on floor or ground into a fit of
uncontrollable spasms............jerking and twitching in muscle twisting
seizures, tearing and ripping out the hair from his or her own head,
spitting, kicking, biting, gnashing of teeth, shrieking, wailing and crying
in terrible,writhing agony..........no help could be given the afflicted,
punished for their disbelief by the egotistical Witches.........
when the spine cracking contortions and throat crushing convulsions
finally subsided, the victim lay in a pool of dark blood, limp as a
dish~rag, lips muttering in a quiver that the town was lost in the tar
smoke of a perpetual night.............over and over, this muttering never
ceased................most were taken to the State Mental Hospital where
they died soon after, some perished where they lay...................
after a visit by the Witches to one who was reputed to be the prettiest
girl in the district, the unfortunate beauty would be found wandering
the outskirts of town under the full moon of a summer night,
mushrooms in her apron, Belladonna in her hair, chanting a sad ballad
about the heartless depths of unrequited Love...........
Indian Legends tell how this vile Plague had continued for generations
even before Europeans arrived in the New World, because no Medicine
Man, No Shaman, no one had ever possessed the Magical Power to
banish the malignant, terrifying Swamp Witches..........
certain young injun Braves who felt they had not been treated with
respect by the Elders abandoned the Tribe and pledged their allegiance
to O'Leen and Alley........
this, as the North Woods Legends relate to us, was the birth of the
Witch Cult of O'Leen Gater and Alley Gruber........
in later generations, as the European settlers began to arrive, sheep and
cattle ranchers found their livestock mutilated, eviscerated, decapitated;
the severed heads mounted on feathered Warrior Spears stabbed into
the front doors of the Ranchers' Lodges or the ghastly, bloody
domestic animal heads would be ominously jammed onto fence posts,
gate handles and even the old iron picture pumps used to bring
drinking water up out of the ground...........if the Witches bade one of
their renegade injun Braves to bury a hatchet, a Tomahawk, somewhere
near your firewood stack, you would promptly begin losing livestock to
disease or someone in your family would soon die.........
to this very day there are Natives who claim no heredity to any Tribe,
but you can find the branded scars of the Witch Cult of O'Leen Gater
and Alley Gruber burnt into the back of their sinewy necks.........
you'll see them in the North Woods, sometimes alone, sometimes in
small parties, riding bare back on their pale steeds, dark mud around
their eyes, clam shells in their long, dark hair and pentagrams Painted
on their chests in the blood of their victims...
Farmers during the 20th century claimed to have found Runes chiseled
into stone..........
dug up out of the earth with their plows, many of these interesting finds
were turned over to competent archaeologists for study........important
to such a degree are a number of these Relics that certain prestigious
Colleges and Universities have staked their reputations on claims that
these arcane Runic Symbols, quite similar in fact to those used by the
Druids of StoneHenge, were created in the New World as early as the
year 1000, centuries before Columbus ~*
Star Charts, accurate in surprisingly advanced detail, for navigating the
Seven Seas were found scribed onto still intact sheets of vellum lodged
in the nooks and crannies of secluded alcoves and rarely visited inlets
along the shores of the Great Lake ~*
Petrified tree bark with maps scrawled in charcoal showing the
locations of buried skeletal remains, probably victims of some savage
Pagan Ritual, have been located inside the stone walls of wells dug far
from any known encampments..........what was the purpose of these
mysterious wells, dug in the middle of the Northern Wilderness with no
community of people situated nearby to make use of them ??
seashells have been found in the bottoms of several of these
wells.........shells whose origins have been traced to as far away as the
Gulf Coast and the Pacific ~*
it begs the question, from whence did the wicked Witches O'Leen and
Alley truly come ??
the Witch Cult of O'Leen Gater and Alley Gruber is still very much
working incantations among us to this very day........in the form of Serial
Killers..........all those in the know, all those social scholars who truly
study the evil deeds and heinous crimes of modern day Serial Killers, all
those who have listened when speaking one on one with such criminals
know the truth...........the pop psychology nursery rhymes about
disturbed child~hoods and chemical imbalances in the brain
perpetuated by Pulitzer seeking head~shrinkers are simply so much
rhetorical refuse................the serious paid thinkers of the day, and
many housewives, mothers, common laborers and even Gourmet Chefs
in Restaurants serving International Cuisine know the real story behind
Modern Day Serial Killers.........Serial Killers, these cannibalistic slayers
of their own human kind have a dark secret which they will tell you if
you ask............Serial Killers and Mass Murders like Adolf Hitler, have
one thing in common.........there's a common thread which connects all
these atrocious butchers, slaughterers and murders........they all claim
the pedigree of being in the Witch Cult of O'Leen Gater and Alley
Gruber.............the Founding Fathers and original members of the Ku
Klux Klan always dedicated their Lynchings to O'Leen and Alley..............
WhiteChapel, London Bridge, that's right folks, Jack the Ripper is the
first example of the modern day Serial Killer spawned by the Witch Cult
of O'Leen Gater and Alley Gruber.....Genghis Kahn, Vlad the Impaler,
Bloody Mary, Lizzy Borden, all are Progeny of the Witch Cult of O'Leen
Gater and Alley Gru:ber ......hints of Alchemy, traces of the Occult can
always be found in the acts of ritualistic depravity committed by these
villainous fiends ..............
and little did anyone know that in 1873 in the innocent looking town of
Mashburn in the rural woods of Michigan's Upper Peninsula when the
most beautiful girl in town was removed from her enviable position by
the jealous spite of O'Leen and Alley, it was only the beginning of a
Contemporary Curse which would spread the world over........in late
19th Century Mashburn, debutantes who suffered this ghoulish fate
were either sent away to live with relatives or, if they stayed in their
doomed hometown, ended up as an old maid, a solitary old spinster
with dozens of stray cats mewing about their cottage,.. scrawny,
starving felines begging for handouts...........
O'Leen and Alley were bad right down to the very core.........these horrid
hags once stole a puppy from a family Labrador..........anyone fool
enough to have been within earshot of the old hags' hovel that night
would have had their ears pierced by the helpless, desperate, fearful
whimpering and whining of the abducted pup.............who knows what
those hateful haunts did to that poor little puppy, but the next day, early
autumn, cloudy, cold and rainy it was, the wee pup was seen sloshing
through the chill mud toward Beaufort Knight's house.........a passerby
on the wooden sidewalk out front saw his young wife, Sarah, come to
the door and take the puppy in as it was scratching with a nerve
wrenching grating sound trying to enter into the warmth of the homely
dwelling..............
no one knows what came of the puppy, but Sarah, a new mother with a
6 month old infant to care for, began to sit at a back window of their
house staring out into the coming winter while nursing her baby
girl.............within a month of the mysterious puppy incident, Sarah
stopped nursing her baby altogether and not even taking nourishment
herself, she sat day after day staring out through the window of the
back room into the dense, shadowy, gloomy forest which lay just
beyond the acre clearing of their vegetable garden..........
Beaufort was out of his wits not knowing what to do, the town doctor,
the midwife, the entire church congregation, nobody could muster a
cure for whatever malady had taken young Sarah from her loving
husband and baby daughter............
a neighbor, who was nursing a newborn of her own at the time, took the
Knight's baby to care for, but she too soon stopped caring for her
babies and children and sat staring out at the woods from the back
window of their house ..........
believing the baby to be cursed, it was left in the Town Square in a
basket one evening just before sundown for O'Leen and Alley to come
and take the infant off to their Witch's shack.......with this unimaginable
sacrifice, the townsfolk hoped to prevent any further spread of the
cursed virus which the baby must surely have since no one in town
could either cure or pray the sickness away.................
the neighbor mother returned to normal after a few days, claimed she
didn't remember anything beyond offering to care for the infant which
had so mysteriously and pitifully been abandoned by its own
mother..............
poor Sarah Knight never recovered, however, and she was taken away
to Kratchet Sanitarium as Beaufort ran the only Livery Stables in town
and had not the time to care for his emaciated, young bride...........
a sad and broken man, Beaufort Knight didn't last long himself.........a
year later he was found early on the morning of October 31 hanging
from the rafters of his barn by a length of hemp rope, rough and
scratchy, which he had apparently fashioned for the express purpose of
putting an end to the hopelessness of his shattered life..............
a first cousin from a county on the Lower Peninsula had sworn revenge
upon the hateful Witches, had sworn he would rescue the baby and see
the old crones burned at the stake..........a newspaper brought a short
time after from that county by a traveling salesman reported how the
would~be avenger had been arrested for public drunkenness, even
though by reputation of all who knew him he had never had a drink of
whisky in his life.........while locked in the jail cell overnight to sober up,
he began urinating on himself......the next day, when he was to be
released, he stripped naked, defecated on the floor of the jail and
started smearing the feces all over his pale body.........not having the
money to afford specialized treatments of shock therapy and drugs in a
private sanitarium, he was subsequently sent, shackled in leg irons and
bound in a straight jacket, to the State Mental Institution..........no word
of any improvement in his condition was ever received........
there's an old story of a newcomer who had recently moved to
Mashburn and one day after his shift at the Wood Mill he set out with a
Willow Pole and some packing string to go down to a sharp bend in the
crooked creek to catch a big, meaty, granddaddy channel catfish..........
he had been warned that though that deep hole in the crick would no
doubt provide a good catch, it was too close to the sinister swamp
wherein dwelt the wicked Witches, O'Leen and Alley.........
the newcomer, Taunton Silks by name, scoffed at the warnings of his
coworkers and headed for the tempting bend in the cold, crooked
creek............the path he trod was well worn(by none other than the
Witches themselves, but Tuanton Silks didn't know that and wouldn't
have believed it had he been told) and he soon arrived at the fishing
spot he sought...........hanging a chunky, curling, juicy nightcrawler on
his hook he gave it a flip over into the eddy of the sharp turn in the
crick channel and watched as his worm, hook, line and sinker drifted
down out of sight into the deep, cold, dark, swift water of the crooked
crick...........then he sat back against the great trunk of a towering and
aged rustic looking hemlock to wait for the big channel~cat to bite..........
while he waited, he tried to close his eyes and relax, for he was tired
from his day's labor at the mill, but the eerie feeling of eyes peering at
him from the shadows of the deserted woods kept him opening his eyes
and casting quick glances around in all directions........
try as he might, he just couldn't shake the feeling that he was being
watched by someone, or some thing, and a time or two he thought he
heard a twig snap as though being stepped on......
before too awful long he got his big bite, his Willow Pole bent over
double and he had a real struggle on his hands..........fighting the
bottom dwelling leviathan, Taunton's fishing line shot in erratic zigzags
through the swiftly swirling water, struggling and pulling and tugging it
took all Taunton Silks had, all the strength in every bone and muscle of
his body to land the gargantuan channel~cat.......
meaty it was! what a girth on that slick, white slithering belly!
a fine, fat silvery granddaddy catfish indeed........
securing his prize catch in a burlap sack hanging in one hand by his
side with the Willow Pole thrown over his shoulder, he headed for
home..........
the well trodden path seemed to have developed some growth that he
hadn't noticed on his way to the deep hole of the crick bend......limbs
had fallen across the path, rotting branches were scattered about over
what had been a clear trail only an hour before.......
it was becoming difficult to walk amid the chunks of foliage and
brambles of debris which had somehow piled up all in the woodsy trail
during the short time he had been down at the crick fishing.........
maybe the wind had gotten up and done some blowing around, anyway,
he didn't have time to consider it much because the sun was setting.......
he wondered at how quickly the darkness of the approaching night
seemed to fall here in the quiet woods..........and quiet it was........he
heard no frogs, no crickets, no birds, yes, it was quiet, too quiet and
how dark it was getting.......Tuanton Silks started to hurry, he was trying
to get home fast, he wanted to outrun the gathering gloom and escape
the threatening woods before total nightfall had enveloped him in
complete darkness......the branches on the old growth trees seemed to
reach out and try to grab him.......the knot holes on the huge, lumpy old
trunks seemed to yawn into hideous, monstrous expressions........he
thought he heard them moaning his name.........Taaaaunton Siiiilks,
Taaaaunton Siiiiilks, Taaaaaunton Siiiiilks............
as he rounded a tight turn in the trail his rapid movement locked up and
he froze in his tracks at the shocking sight of what he suddenly saw in
front of him.......a slain deer was lying dead center of the leaf strewn
path, its entrails scattered around it on the blood soaked ground, steam
rising from the open wounds of the corpse in the chill evening
air...........the sad looking creature had been torn open by something
with claws..........a bear ??........wolves ??, if so, where were they now so
soon after the kill..........Taunton Silks, though he was from the
populated cities back East, had been in the lonely emptiness of the
North Woods before but never had he seen anything like this...........
his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a loud pop in the trees to his
left and slowly something gruesome and gangly came swinging out
toward him dangling in midair..........the giant, granddaddy catfish was
making his death throws in the burlap sack, Taunton lost his grip on
the sack and it fell to the ground with a thud while the hideous thing in
front of him had swung full out over the trail.........sagging from a
rubbery tree limb hanging upside down by its thin stretched hind legs
was another dead deer.........this one had been ripped open and stripped
of its insides as well.........the deer's gaping, bloody chest cavity stared
Taunton in the face and the reek of raw flesh assailed his
nostrils.........thick, gooey drops of blood were dripping from the deer's
nose which was only mere inches from the leaf covered forest
floor.......Taunton Silks cringed at the sight of the dark, mucous like
blood slowly oozing from the dead deer's nose, he felt his stomach
churn and at that very moment he heard another twig snap and this time
he knew there was something creeping up behind him.............he started
to turn his head but something with tremendous strength shoved him
forward with violent and frightening force, his face smashed into the
gaping wound of the deer's chest, then that powerful force from behind
painfully butted the back of Taunton's head, driving him forward and
downward until Taunton's entire head was crammed inside the empty
chest cavity of the dead deer.........a hard, heavy object like a battering
ram slammed down with devastating impact on the back of both
Taunton's hands and a vice like tight grip clamped down on his ankles
and snatched him off his feet so that his head was pressed down into
the deer's neck then instantly he felt the whole of his weight and that of
the deer's corpse drop quickly to the ground in a pounding, bouncing
crash which nearly knocked the breath from him, made all the worse by
the fact that he could barely breath from being smothered on the inside
of the dead deer's neck...........
he tried to wench himself free but whatever had him by his ankles was
strong as steel and crunched his bones together so hard he thought
they would surely break........a fierce bumping up and down of his whole
body inside the deer corpse and the sound of ruffling leaves ..............he
was being dragged..........Taunton Silks was being dragged along the
dirt trail, but by what and to where ??
he was suffocating to death and as he began to lose consciousness he
thought he heard the sound of children laughing, one of them seemed
to say, "Don't be scared, you'll soon be in here with us." .......
for some strange reason he suddenly thought of his fishing line tearing
through the dark, mysterious waters of the crooked crick and that giant
granddaddy cat~fish flopping, lunging, turning about in the burlap
sack........the fear of hurt, death and pain surged through his trembling
limbs.............why had he been fool enough to walk down that trail in
the woods when everyone warned him not to .............
what Taunton Silks was suffering from was a nightmare, how could he
be seeing it?? trapped in the pit of a dragon's cavern where strange
figures danced in grotesque costumes...... long thin fingers with
daggers for nails.......Lizards crawling the spikes jutting down from the
domed ceiling......... tiny, doll~like people with soot smeared around the
edges of their gaping mouths, no tongues and hollowed out, darkened
eye sockets, empty holes in their faces, moving toward him, mobbing
Taunton Silks as they reached out for his pounding
heart.........children's voices.........the gruesome sounds they uttered
were that of the voices of children, "We're coming to get you Taunton
Silks, you're going to be in here with us!" .........
then he had a flashback of the trail and his giant, granddaddy channel
cat~fish, wriggling and writhing in the burlap sack......something moved
above him and Taunton Silks could see a vile looking little man wearing
a tall pointy pale blue hat, a pale blue suit with dark blue belt and boots
climbing down out of the shadows of the high Hemlock, backing down
the great tree trunk, looking of its shoulder and leering down at
Taunton Silks with a menacing grin.........
no sign of Taunton Silks was ever found, not a hint that he had ever
been down that dead end path which starts from the edge of the dirt
road that leads into Mashburn from the West......... a quarter of the way
to the crick, it forks into another trail that comes out behind the old
sawmill where Taunton had so briefly worked...........he was never ever
seen or heard from again, the ominous warning of these horrifying
events was related to the townsfolk by Marge Appabey, the town
seamstress, who said she had been napping beside her sewing
machine that evening when she was suddenly seized and afflicted by
visions of the agonizing demise of poor Taunton Silks..........
as she tells the story, the vile Witches, O'Leen and Alley, were magically
transmitting the terrible fate of the helpless newcomer to her mind in
the form of a hellish dream from which she could not awake because
they had her under an evil spelll.............
later, her night~terrors continued as they sent a murder of crows to
squawk on her stovepipe and during the Witching Hour in the middle of
the dead of night, the sadistic, hateful Witches sent three Sasquatch
Monsters to beat and bang on her door..........
they pounded on her oaken door, they threw rocks at her cabin
breaking her windows and punching holes in her roof as a hail of
stones rained down upon her simple, country dwelling.......
Marge Appabey thought sure the angry creatures of the night would
break in and get her, oh no, what then ??
just before dawn, all was quiet...........
at first light she ran from her house, stumbling and crying down the
deserted dirt streets of Mashburn to the home of the town midwife,
Sadie Stark, to whom she whimpered out the night's spine~chilling,
nerve wracking fright....
after Sadie nursed Marge with some warm milk and biscuits, Marge
went straight to the Mashburn Arms Hotel from whence she caught the
first Stage Coach out of town..........
she didn't even go back to her place to collect her belongings....
word has it, she boarded a train in Detroit and traveled back East to live
with her brother and his wife in Connecticut ..........
no one in the cursed, country town of Mashburn ever saw Marge
Appabey again............
so whenever you are tramping through the deep, dark woods skirting
the edge of some creepy, shadowy swamp full of quagmires, toads,
spiders, snakes, ghosts, dead bodies and who knows what all, if you
should hear a twig snap behind you, if you should get the eerie feeling
that venomous eyes are watching you from out of the briers and
brambles, if you should feel a lizard drop into your hair, if you should
see a patch of Witch Plants growing, RUN!!, take off running for your
Life! even a moment's hesitation can mean your death! run as fast as
you can out of that dangerous, haunted place and don't look back!
WitchCraft is alive and working its Dark Magic among us today, bad
medicine is being brewed and stirred in ancient dark cauldrons, evil
spells, curses, hexes and incantations are being muttered from secret
lips all around the world even in the present day of so~called modern
technology.........be on your guard, be wary, be warned and be a
believer, whatever you do, don't be a disbeliever, never doubt the reality
of the Witch Cult of O'Leen Gater and Alley Gru:ber *~V8~*