The Following is a work of fiction:
Out here in Salinas there is pretty much nothing to do. People eat a lot, drink a lot of liquor, and go to the movies. And they go to church , or else maybe they do black or white magic. Summer of 2018 was kind of crazy here, packed full of people and fireworks, and brown overgrown weeds, not to mention all the parking disappeared. In the summer we get both tourists and also guest workers (for the massive agricultural fields). The hotels fill up and get expensive. But this was no normal summer. I think the local weed was laced with ketamine, or at least that’s what the police said when they detained me momentarily.
How did things get to that point? Well, there was a good ice cream truck, which was more quiet and drive by only briefly. But the evil ice cream truck stopped by for minutes and minutes on end, cranking up the ‘Fishing Song’, with the ‘Hoochie Coochie Dance’ repetitively. This was maddening. The kids in the neighborhood were all off for the summer. The new thing was the kids just scream for no reason these days. These high piercing screeches, very annoying. Why were they screaming constantly past age three? Was something weird going on in there? Maybe the weed was laced. Well probably just annoying kids.
The good ice cream truck decided it was a nice Christian neighborhood. It started gently playing wonderful Christian songs , such as Silent Night , and the Saints Go Marching On. This truck gave out a positive vibe which combatted against the evil ice cream truck’s evil vibe, that attempted to overtake the dreary neighborhood, full of condos and apartments.
It was getting hard to get any rest in this neighborhood. On certain holidays it seemed like a micro-national version of Guatemala, complete with street parties and excessive smoke from explosive fireworks. What started happening was the good ice cream truck hardly came by. Meanwhile the evil ice cream truck came by more and more often , with louder music and greater frequency. It was a dingy, old off tan van, souped up as an ice cream truck.
People had complained about the noise before. The Indian owner replied that it was his ‘right to play it as loud as he wished’. Things progressed to where the neighborhood kids noticeably screamed like a bunch of autistic maniacs every time the ‘Hoochie Koochie Song’ evil ice cream truck passed. Soon, their father started threatening to do tae kwon doe on others. To which I replied: “Tae Kwon Doe is gay”. The dude was talking about drowning his kids to keep them from ‘The Elders’ and some Satanic cult. Apparently , it is forbidden to let the cat out of the bag about the upper echelon of ‘Octagon’, the Swiss bankers who run the Satanic Illuminati. The neighbor across the street and his wife also began to constantly yell at each other, and his windshield appeared to be broken. A stray wolf dog, of gigantic proportion was brought to my house. I called the pound of course. Things were getting strange.
Then one night at exactly midnight, the other neighbor held a séance, with weird crappy music and chanting. I thought it was a joke, or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, from having quit weed mostly (withdrawl symptoms) or laced weed. But I got a recording of it on my old Cannon. I told them to stop playing that crappy music. “Here is what real music sounds like,” I said. Then I played some flamenco.
What started happening is that every night at exactly two am , when the dead hours would begin, the ice cream truck would begin playing a warped fucked up version of the Hoochie Coochie Dance. These were the dark, foggy , but warm twilight hours. You didn’t want to ever drive this late around here. This warped song , it was in worship of an evil prehistoric entity called Dagon, who was the father of Lucifer’s father (Beelzebub), believe it or not. Dagon was part fish and part cat. Bad news, honestly since you are not talking demons, you are talking about a being more powerful than that, being called on daily by this Indian schmuk. Basically a fallen angel, about fifty feet tall , with a legion of 250 demons was on the prowl. Wouldn’t you know it, the ice cream truck driver worshiped false idols and sold meth out of the truck, covertly. That is the real reason he stopped by so often, and played the warped version late at night to worship demons, as well as to sell (low quality) drugs.
Weird stuff started happening. Women started doing weird temptress type things to me. I prayed back against them and warded off the evil using Elvis’s gospel music + Al Green. I got in a jam against music battle with my acoustic guitar battling against an evil séance. Men started doing weird Santa Muerte chants outside my motel door at motel 6 when I went on vacation, saying ” Marajuana es illegal,” over and over again through the walls and outside. I tried to not get involved but rather to observe this spiritual battle which was playing out before me in my neighborhood.
The family on the other side wasn’t so well off in the end. It seems like a Satanic cult went in there one night and seized the kids. The father had been threatening to drown them. Things got even weirder from there…