Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Earth Day, a Day on Earth

Congressman Herrmark was taking a break from his duties as Capitol Hill zombie hunter to search for anti-fracking campaign donors at the Global Citizen 2015 Earth Day rally next to the Washington Monument.

"These people don't seem to have any money," he grumbled to his Chief of Staff, Ann Bishis.  "Some of them look like hippies.  And the children and animals are useless!"

"Sir, this is more about building up your name in environmental circles," replied Bishis (who was also in charge of the war on the Zombie Caucus).  "You want people to say your name in the same breath as the great environmental politicians like Michael Bloomberg--then you can get money from people like Leonardo DiCaprio!"

"Mark Ruffalo won't even return my phone calls, and you said he's the biggest anti-fracking celebrity in the country!" whined Herrmark.

"Well, he's probably upset about your vote to weaken Wall Street regulations.  It's a complex political field these days."

"Well, I regret that vote now!  Had I known that legislation was secretly sponsored by the Zombie Caucus, I never would have voted for it!"

"I know," sighed Bishis.  "Who would have guessed that zombies are so heavily funded by investment bankers?"

"I can't take this music anymore!" exclaimed Herrmark.  "And my bodyguards are making out with hippies!"

"Nick!  Costas!" she shouted at her Greek twin cousins, who immediately shoved the girls off and pulled their guns.  "Put the guns away!  I just wanted to get your attention."  She turned back to her boss.  "Why don't you go talk to that D.C. Councilmember?"

"A local politician?  Forget it!  It's bad enough I have to do that back home."  Then he kicked away a golden retriever trying to lick his hand.

Several yards away, Sebastian L'Arche shook his head in disgust.  The Dog Whisperer and his business partner, Becky Hartley, had a dozen dogs in tow, themselves.

"Best dog walk ever!" exclaimed Hartley, who was constantly handing out brochures for all the services they offered--walking, grooming, boarding, whisper therapy, acupuncture, rodent removal, weddings, and funerals.  (L'Arche wouldn't let her put anything about ghosts on the brochure:  he said that was something he should keep secret with the dogs he whispered to.  Why disturb the owners if the owners weren't already disturbed?)  "Have you noticed that our dogs are the best behaved?"

"Of course," said L'Arche, "but not for long."

"What's the matter?" asked Hartley.

"They're here," said the Dog Whisperer, looking nervously at the crowd.

"Who's here?"

"The cat pack."

Hartley knew what that meant:  the ghost of Condoleezza Rice's cat, Pippin, had gradually been gathering a large pack of angry feline ghosts.  (Most had been feral alley cats hit by cars.)  They still didn't know what it meant for animals to be ghosts, and L'Arche found them more disturbing than anything else.  L'Arche had taught many pets to learn not to be afraid of human ghosts in their homes, but this was different to him.  It was just so wrong.

He watched their old friend, Petro Pig, let out a loud grunt and charge straight into the pack of cat ghosts, which hissed and ran away.  The pot-bellied pig's owners, Luciano and Helen Talaverdi Yellen, spotted L'Arche and came over to him.  "Sometimes he just goes crazy like that!" exclaimed Luciano.  "Oinking at nothing!  Does he ever do that when you are taking care of him?"

"Sometimes," replied L'Arche, who was already squatting down to whisper a thank-you to Petro Pig for his bravery.  "Don't worry about it--he's a very smart pig."

"I tried to introduce him to Congressman Herrmark earlier, because they have so much in common," said Helen, "but he yelled, 'Get that pig away from me!'"

"Aw, he's from a state with hog slaughterhouses," said Hartley.

"I don't think he understood the sign, honey," Luciano said to his wife, referring to the t-shirt Petro Pig was wearing that said "Big Oil -- Wallow With Me!".

"It is a little subtle," agreed L'Arche who, along with Petro Pig, was now noticing the arrival of a different ghost pack--this one canine.  He felt his living dogs start pulling at their leashes, and stood up.  "We need to get moving."

Hartley, as usual, followed his cue.  "Nice seeing you!"  L'Arche led them away from the crowd.  "Sebastian, what are the cat ghosts doing?"

"Oh, they're gone," said L'Arche.  "Petro Pig scared them away.  But The Gopper Ghost is here with Anatoly Malenkov."

"The Russian diplomat trapped in the Samoyed ghost body?!"  (L'Arche nodded.)  "Oh, God, that is the freakiest thing!  Why hasn't he gone to Heaven, or somewhere?  How can he be in a dog ghost?  Are you absolutely certain?"

"I'm not crazy!" said L'Arche, who handed all his leashes to Hartley.  "Stay there," he said, calming their living dogs, and then he walked over to the canine ghost pack, which was now almost a dozen.  What are you doing here? he whispered, squatting down.  The Ghost Gopper said they felt good energy emanating from this place.  Anatoly lay down to have his ghost Samoyed belly scratched, but L'Arche shook his head.  You can't stay like that, Anatoly.  You don't belong in this pack. 

They keep me safe! cried Anatoly, whose spirit had jumped into a Samoyed just after being murdered, only to have the distressed Samoyed then leap out a window to its death.  And I love Earth Day concerts!

You have to try to go where you belong now, whispered L'Arche, with your own kind!

Let him be, said The Ghost Gopper, to his old friend the Dog Whisperer.  You don't understand.

Not far away, conspiracy theorist Glenn Michael Beckmann was getting into a heated argument with a "Ban the Bomb" t-shirt wearer from Hyattsville.  "You don't understand!" shouted Beckmann.  "The Bomb is the only thing stopping the Russian invasion!"

"Those people can't even invade Ukraine properly!" the bohemian rebutted.

"How dare you bring up Ukraine!  Putin assassinated my wife, Darja!" screamed Beckmann, who was not entirely certain of that but had no supporting evidence for his other theories:  President Obama, Federal Reserve Chair Janet Yellen, or the CEO of Au Bon Pain.  "I bet you're one of those gyrocopter, femi-Nazi, eco-terrorist, Occupy-Wall-Streeters, aren't you!?  I'll shoot you all out of the sky, rebel scum!"

"Jeez, man, calm down!  Here, take this, dude:  you need it more than me."  And he handed Beckmann his last reefer.

"Oh, thanks," said Beckmann.  "I ran out yesterday."

"Make love, not war, right?"

Beckmann narrowed his eyes.  "Don't push it!  I'm a veteran!"

That last part was a lie, but like many lies told in Washington, if you told it enough times, you came to believe it was true.

And so Ardua of the Potomac laughed at this feeble and futile celebration of Mother Earth.  After all, Mother Earth had also given birth to the river demon and all her minions!  And it would take a million gyrocopters to take back Capitalism Hill from Big Oil and the investment bankers, and save the planet.

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COMING UP:   DC Fairy Tale Endings

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