Hello, my name is Dr. Luis Creed and I'm waiting for my wife to rise from the dead so we can have dirty sex . . . Oh my, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. About a month ago my family and I moved into a beautiful farmhouse just outside of Boston. Wouldn't you know it, whenever the realtor showed me the place, it was as peaceful as a lamb, but the minute we moved in, a constant stream of eighteen wheelers come cruising in front of our house at a mild eighty miles an hour, day and night. Now our neighbor, Jud Crandal seemed harmless at first, but even then I sensed there was something not quite right about him. A man who is the spitting image of Herman Munster in overalls and speaks with a "wicked" New England accent should be considered suspect. Jud, however, did rescue my son Gage from getting run over before we even met him, so I guess I looked past Jud's slaughter of our language. "Betta watch aout for that roooad Loowiss, betta watch aout for that roooad." "Rooad is menacing Loowis." He really had a thing for that road.

My first day on the job I started to get the feeling Massachusetts is a place where evil dwells. They bring in this kid who got his head crushed in by a bus and was obviously D.O.A., but then he sits up and grabs me. He knew my name and everything, saying encrypted things to me and then he was dead again. That's not the end of it though, he shows up in my dream that night and takes me on a tour of the pet cemetery in the woods behind our house. He tells me not to go past the edge of the cemetery saying the ground is sour. I wake up to find that my feet and the sheets around them are covered in mud. My lord! Was it just a dream? So the wife and kids go to spend Thanksgiving with my jerk in-laws, honestly, the whole family is a disaster, even my wife Rachel. What a bitch. Nag, nag, nag, but she is dynamite in the sack so what are you going to do?

They're not gone a couple of hours when I get a call from Jud, "Looks like I got a dead cat next to the rooad Loowis, could be your cat Loowis." As I'm prying my daughters' cat from the frosted ground Jud asks me what I'm going to do with the cat-sickle. Now those shades of creepiness in Jud were becoming more prevalent as he led me past the pet cemetery. Exactly where that kid with the crushed skull told me not to go. I did feel like I was stepping into a Steven King novel, but would you listen to the advice of a kid with his brains hanging out? Me neither. Up the hill we go, where Jud shows me where I'm to put the cat carcass, in the Micmac Indian burial ground. It seemed to be a nice enough place until I started to dig. This old man was playing some sort of sick joke, having me dig a hole into bedrock. Sick bastard just sat there smoking cigarettes as I busted my ass all day to dig a grave for a little cat!

Next day that same cat nearly scared me to death in the garage. Lawdy! My daughter's cat had come back from the dead! This seemed disturbing until my son Gage was run over by one of those truckers. Listening to those no-good Ramones turned up to eleven, no wonder he didn't see my little Gage in the road. My plan seemed so clear; dig up my little boy's body and put it in that Indian burial ground. Jud knew what I was thinking and tried to sway me by telling me whatever comes back is touched by evil. "Somethings are betta left dead Loowis." Damn him all to hell, my name is Lewis! But by this point I had had enough of Jud's advice and his slaughtering of my name, so I put my son where he could come to life again. The funny thing is, Jud was right and the little bastard came back and not only killed him but Rachel too, so I just had to put him down. Things will be different with Rachel I just know it!

Hamlin Grade: 6

Fletch is a killing word!