Macabre Fabulas

I would sometimes see them among the trees, as I did this particular day. They did not come near and never said a word. They stood silently among the shadows.”

Chris Priestley, Uncle Montague’s Tales of Terror.


Mr. Williams: Former neighbor of David Berkowitz, the infamous “Son of Sam”. For no apparent reason, David despised Mr. Williams and scrawled “My neighbors I have no respect for and I treat them like shit” over a large hole in David’s apartment where Mr. Williams supposedly lived (in the hole, of course.) Mr. Williams is a severe paranoid schizophrenic who hears voices and who believes he has been possessed by several evil entities. He frequently drifts in and out of reality and believes he is living  in a “fourth dimension” in the hollow of a tree somewhere in New Jersey. In actuality, he now lives in an apartment located in his childhood neighborhood in the Bronx. It is not clear if Mr. Williams is, in fact, a murderer and cannibal, well at least nothing has proven in a court of law.

Harvey: Mr. William’s black Labrador retriever. He believes Harvey is the spirit of another Harvey, David Berkowitz’s neighbor Sam Carr’s dog who was supposedly  possessed by an ancient demon and that it issued irresistible commands that Berkowitz must kill people. Harvey has become an agent provocateur, urging Mr. Williams to commit murder and mayhem.

Oscar: Mr. William’s  cat who he believes is actually Oscar, the cat who can sense impending death. In reality, Oscar is an ordinary stray cat that Mr. Williams rescued from a gang of teenagers who were about to set him on fire.

Kindred Soul: Mr. Williams is fascinated by the case of a  teenage boy who murdered his parents in cold blood. He read the story in the newspaper years ago and has become obsessed with learning every gory detail about the crime. He believes he is somehow connected with Kindred’s soul and that he is using Mr. Williams as a surrogate to commit crimes.

Baphomet: The Devil goat who suddenly appeared in Mr. William’s bedroom one night, of course uninvited. He is the product of a Ouija board experiment gone awry. Baphomet is constantly provoking Mr. Williams to commit murder.

Note: Since Mr. Williams is delusional, many other characters may find their way in and out of the stories below. He sends his apologies, or not.

My name is Mr. Williams and I live in this hole. My address is #1 Oak, not too far from Pine. My neighbor David was angry with me, so I moved here. Like him, I’m a solitary soul, so I only venture out at night. It would be your great misfortune should our paths cross. I tend to see things in a dark light. The voices in my head are loud and clear, telling me what needs to be done.

It seems the crime scene boys left behind some trash after investigating one of my misadventures. I hope they got a ticket for littering, such bad manners! Anyway, the sun is beginning to set and I’m getting ready to step out for the evening. Sleep well my friends and make certain your doors and windows are secured.

Harvey is my faithful pet. He would often visit David.

The Furry Messenger of Death

Harvey has a new friend, his name is Oscar the Cat. Oscar has the unique ability to sense impending death. He’s cute and cuddly in a morbid way. He seems to enjoy his unique talent, a bit of a “wunderkind cat”, if you will. Here’s a brief biography. Since he was adopted by staff members as a kitten, Oscar the Cat has had an uncanny ability to predict when residents are about to die. Thus far, he has presided over the deaths of more than 25 residents on the third floor of Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Providence, Rhode Island. His mere presence at the bedside is viewed by physicians and nursing home staff as an almost absolute indicator of impending death, allowing staff members to adequately notify families. Oscar and Harvey are inseparable. Death becomes them. So, if you wake up in the middle of the night and find Oscar spooning with you, prepare to meet your maker. Meow! Also, Harvey says hello; kill, kill, kill!

Notes from the hole … death becomes him.

Mr. Williams has always been interested in death. What do you experience when you draw your last breath? Are you euphoric or frightened to death? Is there an afterlife or just darkness? If you have definitive answers, I’d like to speak with you. If you don’t, leave me the fuck alone! As a young boy, I wanted to be an undertaker. Dealing with the dead all day long sounded pretty good to me. Sticking needles into dead flesh and pumping in toxic chemicals … what’s not to like? I would often bicycle past our local funeral home and find to my delight a black station wagon parked at the curb with a black bag in the back. Another stiff bagged up like fall leaves. Wouldn’t it be funny if the dearly departed sat bolt upright and started clawing at the bag!! I loved it! Alas, the job of my dreams never materialized. Instead, I chose to provide the inventory and not prepare it. So, I prowl the night, heeding the incessant voices in my head, always the obedient servant of my master, searching for yet another victim. ‘Til next time dear friends.

Fried rat on a stick … tastes like chicken.

I like fresh kill. Meat and poultry found at the supermarket disgusts me, it doesn’t taste good and it’s jacked up with antibiotics and preservatives. If I wanted to eat preserved meat, I’d rob graves!

Mr. Williams likes to do things his own way; it’s his way or the highway.

So, he likes to get his meat fresh at the local pet shop. I tell the sales staff that I have a children’s petting zoo, so they sell me whatever I want. Rabbits, chicks, mice, ferrets, you name it, I kill it and eat it. It’s fun to drop the little bastards in a simmering skillet of butter and oil. I shave them and drop them in. Talk about giving something a hot foot!

After all the screaming and jumping, things eventually quiet down. I plate them and enjoy a well prepared meal, alone in my hole. Sometimes, Harvey drops by and I toss him a few scraps. After a well deserved nap, we head out into the darkness. Hope to see you soon!

Will You Please Bee Quiet

Mr. Williams enjoys quiet. My noisy ex-neighbor David, who screamed at himself all the time, didn’t like me and scrawled some awful things about me on his apartment wall. So, in a huff, I moved out of the detritus called Yonkers and relocated to a quiet county park in New Jersey. I live alone, well not counting the choir of voices in my head with their endless demands. Things are good … most of the time.

A few days ago, I was awakened from my afternoon power nap by the sound of tapping, very loud tapping. In fact, my whole tree resonated to the cacophony of this ear rape. I looked outside and saw a little boy tapping on my tree with a stick. He just stood there and tapped … over and over and over again. His mother was about one hundred feet away, totally oblivious to the shenanigans this little jackanapes was perpetrating. Personally, I think she was texting her lover and complaining about her impotent, metrosexual husband … a wireless booty call, if you will.

But I digress, tap, tap, tap, tap … over and over and over again. It was obvious he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon and his mother wasn’t going to intervene, so I had to do something. Thankfully, a rather large hornets’ nest was a few limbs up the tree. So, I started shaking the tree, over and over and over again. The hornets grew angrier and angrier, swarming out of their nest to see what the commotion was all about. A few more well placed shakes sent the nest and its angry denizens falling onto the head of this little annoyance. The hornets stung him over and over and over again, penetrating his soft flesh with barbed stingers. He ran to his mother, who by the way still hadn’t looked up from her smartphone, wearing a hornet hat which I thought looked quite fashionable. The hornets began swarming and stinging dear old mommy too. As they both ran down the path, arms flailing and screaming for help, which by the way, would never arrive in time … something about anaphylactic shock;  I went back inside and picked up where I left off, dreaming about tonight’s adventures.

The Window

Mr. Williams likes windows. I can peer into them in evening’s dusk and watch you live your life. Your window is my big screen tv. I can watch you prepare your supper or wash your dishes. Are you relaxing on your sofa watching a movie? I’m watching too, always watching, always in the shadows. If you think you saw a something outside your window, it’s probably not your imagination, it’s me.

As I roam the night, sometimes with Harvey or sometimes with Oscar, I’ll pick a random neighborhood, street and maybe your house. I’ll watch for days at a time, thinking of ways to move in with you. I might pick your lock and hide in a seldom used closet. I might hide in your cellar or attic, sometimes I’ll tip toe into your bedroom and watch you sleep … my imagination will be unchecked as the voices in my head urge me to do something sinister. Rope and duct tape are the tools of my trade. I’ll raid your kitchen drawer and take your sharpest knife, oh how it glistens in the light of a full moon. You may hear your stairs creek as I creep up to your bedroom. Tonight may be the night I succumb to the voices, or maybe it will be tomorrow night, but I can guarantee it will be when you least expect it. Stay safe my friends, I’m always watching.

Knocking on Hell’s Door

Mr. Williams is never home. He may actually be home, but you won’t know, he won’t let you know. Knock on my door and no one will answer, ever. Mr. Williams is a very private person. Most sociopaths are very private people who shun social interaction, except of course, interactions with the voices in their heads. It’s party time all the time! 

He has a vacation home in a local supermarket. I live in the walls between the dairy and meat departments. Late at night, when the store is quiet and ready to close, I will skulk about in the walls and ceiling. The employees often hear strange noises that they attribute to vermin, but it’s me. I guess they’re half right!

I might cross paths with a rat and I’ll quickly grab it, bite its head off, and suck out the meat. He’ll raid the butcher shop looking for entrails in the waste bin and gobble them up. Every once in a while, a lost child will be calling for his mommy. This is ‘ma raison de vivre’. I’ll whisper something like “look at the nice toy I have for you”; that always grabs their attention, they’re so trusting … so stupid. I lure them into back room and stash them away until the heat is off. The police assume Poindexter has run off, but fear not, he’s safely tucked away, out of site, behind my door, with me, where the cardboard bailer is located.  A quick wrap on the head with a butcher’s mallet and little Johnny is ready to be crushed and bundled with the recyclables. Sometimes, I’ll start up the band saw in the meat department and cut little Poindexter into a rib roast or dice him into stew meat. I’ll package him, label him and put the meat out in the case for quick sale. You should hear all the compliments the butcher receives on these ‘special’ cuts. “Horace, that rib roast was so tender, how do you do it?” He will take the credit for my work but I don’t care, I shun the limelight. Mr. William’s work is never done. I’m so tired, so, so tired.

“There’s no such thing as a tough child – if you parboil them first for seven hours, they always come out tender.” W.C. Fields

When Mr. Williams lived at 35 Pine Street in Yonkers, I had plenty of children living all around me. They drained the life right out of my soul. The sounds of children at play irritated me to the point of madness. Something had to be done to silence them.

 I would scream at them and set Harvey upon them but the irritation was unrelenting. In fact, they seemed to scream louder just to provoke me. How dare these urchins challenge me? Action was needed, post haste. It was bad enough my neighbor David detested me, now these vermin wanted a piece of me too?  Challenge accepted!! The gauntlet has been dropped, his face stinging from their little slaps of ridicule. Time for some tough love.

So, Mr. Williams went on the offensive. I would fill balloons with my urine and drop them from my seventh floor window onto their little heads. Splash … fuck you little bastard!  When they weren’t looking, I would fill their baseball gloves with my shit. “Mommy, why is my baseball glove all squishy?” Fuck you little bastard!  Mr. Williams would loosen the handlebars on their bicycles so they would go flying through the air when they hit a bump in the road, fuck you little bastard!  I would hide rusty nails in their bicycle seats so when they sat down, a dose of tetanus would fill their rumps, that’s right, fuck you little bastard!

Things began to quite down, but not enough for his liking. Eventually, the little snot eaters began disappearing, one by one, never to be seen again. What happened to them? I’ll never tell. Suffice it to say that somewhere in forests of upstate New York, the bears and cougars were well fed and quite content.

Harvey, The Demon Dog From Hell

The Barking Chihuahua

Off in the distance he hears the sound of a barking dog. Not a deep, baritone bark but a high pitched bat like screech. Mr. Williams is now miffed. What kind of dog barks like that? Dogs shouldn’t sound like that! It sounds like he’s squeezing a cat’s nuts with a pair of pliers. 

Mr. Williams is now beyond miffed, I’m pissed! The sound is getting louder and my ears are beginning to ring. The offender is now in my sights; it’s a chihuahua, barking at a squirrel. Don’t get him started on squirrels, that’s a story for another time. Yip, yip, yip, over and over and over. Time to get Harvey involved. I remove his chains and point him in the direction of the little pest. Harvey is now foaming and he breaks into a full-on run! Good dog, good Harvey … kill, kill, kill! Get him boy!!! 

In a flash, Harvey is on the chihuahua, tearing at its throat! Harvey tosses the bloodied fur ball into the air and bites off the dog’s nuts!! Holy shit, Harvey is out of control!! He’s fucking crazy!! Bones crunch and fur flies as Harvey  makes a meal of the mangled viscera. Blood is everywhere and I’m loving it. 

Mr. Williams whistles for Harvey and he returns home without delay, good boy!! I’m proud of Harvey, I admire his killer instinct, he is his father’s son, the demon hell hound.

Best Friends

At times, Oscar can be a bit persnickety. Just the other day, Mr. Williams saw him playing with a squirrel. They romped about, chasing each other and rolling around on the grass. It was so cute!

A young mother and her little daughter were also watching this delightful scene. The little girl was mesmerized by this enchanting interaction. “Look Beth Anne, see how they’re playing with each other. Isn’t that cute, so cute, so cuddly. It’s nice to see different species getting along in peace and harmony. We can all learn a lesson from this!”

Suddenly, Oscar bit the head right off the squirrel!  Blood pumped from the squirrel’s headless body until its heart stopped. Oscar dropped the head at mom’s feet, hissed and scampered off, leaving the shocked mother and daughter in hysterics. Lesson learned … meow.

Samson drinks from the fountain of the crier, the spring from the cloven tooth in the jawbone of an ass that he used to slay 1,000 Philistines (painting by Giovan Battista Langetti).

The Water Fountain

Mr. Williams grew up in the Bronx, N.Y. in a gritty, middle class neighborhood. This environment suited him well; he could easily blend into the hustle and bustle without anyone taking notice, he was just another nameless, faceless brat looking for something to do, good or bad, it didn’t make a rat’s ass bit of difference.  As a young boy, he enjoyed playing outside with his friends. When he got thirsty, he would drink from a water fountain in the local park, pretty much every day. Copious amounts were consumed. As he matured, Mr. Williams began hearing voices and seeing shadow figures lurking in the periphery. These voices and figures urged him to do some awful things. Dogs, cats, squirrels and birds began disappearing. Eventually, the local park was  devoid of any wildlife. He would wake up promptly at 3:00 am every morning, put on a self-made clown mask, and prowl the neighborhood looking for something to do. He would hide in an alley, waiting for someone to pass by. When someone did, he would follow them. Sensing Mr. William’s presence, his victim would walk faster. Mr. Williams responded in kind. Soon a fast walk became a run for your life. Then, in a flash, Mr. Williams would disappear, as if he was never there.

Sometimes, Mr. Williams would prowl the local lover’s lane. There was always action to be found, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. Young Bronx bucks were busy in the backseat of their cars plying their trade with random young women. They pounded away like jackhammers breaking stone. Mr. Williams would sneak up on the couple and tap on the window…tap, tap, tap. He  would press his clown mask against the glass and start pulling on the door handle while banging his clenched fist on the roof. You should have seen these young bucks turn into scared rabbits as they hopped in the front seat, started the engine and floored the car, speeding away in a cloud of dust and spent condoms! These were good times.  

Soon, his thoughts became darker and darker, and he began collecting knives and other forms of medieval weaponry, the battle axe being his weapon of choice. He eventually befriended a kindred soul who also drank from the very same fountain. His new friend created mayhem wherever he went and eventually murdered his parents in cold blood. Stab, stab, stab … over and over and over again. What was the common link? Was it the water in the fountain? Was it spiked with mind altering chemicals, a secret experiment gone terribly awry? We’ll never know, the fountain has since been removed, but Mr. Williams lives on in your night terrors.

Mr. Williams and the Ouija Board

I have always been fascinated with the occult and all things Satanic. When David lived in my building, I could hear him reciting incantations all night long, summoning the Elder Gods of Darkness or some other entity. He seemed to be close to Lyssa, who was the spirit of mad rage, frenzy, and rabies in animals. She was closely related to the Maniae, the spirits of madness and insanity. I would often follow him into the woods behind Untermeyer Park, and I would watch Satanic rituals being performed in the dim light of torches. Occasionally, a German Shepherd would be sacrificed to honor Beelzebub. This was something I wanted to be part of, to follow and to worship. I was all-in! 

So, I went shopping for a Ouija Board, my direct line to the other side. I brought it home and began asking it questions. I wanted to speak directly with Lucifer. Night after night, I asked to speak with him and night after night, nothing happened. Frustrated and annoyed, I put the Ouija Board on the floor, next to Oscar’s litterbox and gave up. After a week, Oscar started acting strangely. He would stare at the wall and his hairs would stand upright! He would hiss and claw at the air, but nothing was there. Then, all of a sudden, the planchette began to move on its own. “Kill them, kill them now” it would spell. Mr. Williams had finally made contact. He asked, “Who should I kill?” The Board responded “Everyone.” He asked, “When should I kill them?” The Board responded, “Now!” His fate was sealed. The dark dimension engulfed him and brought him to near madness. Then the voices began, demanding action.

One evening, as I lie in bed, I felt something breathing in my ear. I turned over and put my pillow over my head, this must be yet another nightmare. Then I heard a sound, it sounded like an animal. I rolled back over and there, standing in the darkness, was a goat. It was Baphomet! He started speaking to me, in a human voice! “I am Baphomet and you will obey my wishes!” “What the fuck?” “You heard me, you will obey my wishes!” I now had another roommate. Harvey and Oscar had a new companion, whether they liked it or not.  And so, three became four and an unholy alliance was born.

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

NIV, Matthew 25:31-33 

Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

NIV, Matthew 25:41-43

Moving Day

Now that Mr. Williams has Harvey, Oscar, Baphomet and Kindred Soul crashing at his hole, things are getting very cramped. There is no privacy and we are getting on each other’s nerves. Apocalyptic trouble is brewing and the burners are on high heat.

Between the growling, hissing, bleating and readings from “Conan the Barbarian” in pseudo Olde English, Mr. Williams is ready to commit suicide. Since I have much work ahead of me, offing myself is not an option. I could ask them to leave but I kind of like hanging out with them. So, I found a new, bigger hole so that we can all be comfortable. My new address is 35 Pine, between Oak and Hemlock. 

Mr. William’s Bad Day

Mr. Williams is having a bad day. Harvey wanted to go outside to take a dump. He didn’t want to let Harvey out alone, so he waited for the rain to let up and Harvey eventually crapped on the floor. Oscar came along and ate Harvey’s shit, then he promptly puked it up in the hallway. Kindred Soul came out of his room in a drunken stupor and slipped and fell on Oscar’s puke. He got pissed and started throwing knives at Harvey and Oscar. Baphomet  came out to see what the commotion was about and one of the knives stuck him in his hind quarter. Now Baphomet is chasing Harvey, Oscar and Kindred Soul, attempting to gore them. Anyone have an Excedrin?

The Zac Brown Band performing Day for the Dead.

Mr. Williams Rocks On

The mirror in The Myrtles Plantation, which supposedly trapped the spirits of Sara Woodruff and her two daughters.

I’m Watching You

I’m watching you. I’m in your home right now. Do feel my presence? Does something not feel quite right? Who’s there, what do you want? Why are you staring at me? Leave me alone, go away!!

I’m hanging on your wall, I’m in your bathroom. I’m in your bedroom too. Your life is my life. My friends and I laugh when you laugh and cry when you cry. You see you but you can’t see me. Mr. Williams knows all your secrets, you are never alone. I’m hiding in plain sight. I live in your mirrors. Check your makeup, fix your tie, I’m with you and I won’t leave, ever. So you think a mirror is nothing but silver backing and glass? Think again my friend. We’re watching all the time. Your mirrors aren’t what they appear to be, trust me.

I’m doing God’s work, so bend over sinner!

Fond Memories Gone Awry

Mr. Williams went to a Catholic grammar school and was taught by a sadistic order of nuns. These women were so grotesque and disgusting that it was obvious why they chose a celibate life. They were bitter, mean spirited hags who enjoyed dominating those in their charge. His intense hatred of women and authority figures is rooted in this experience. 

He was not a particularly bright or enthusiastic student. He would spend most of his time daydreaming or causing trouble. This behavior often resulted in some type of corporal punishment, the old ruler to the knuckles or strap to the backside. After many iterations, he began to enjoy the daily floggings. In fact, he looked forward to them!  He often encouraged the nuns to give him their best shot! He would actually get aroused by their dark habits and pungent odor. Give me more, hit me harder, my you are an angel! Believe me, the good sisters gave him exactly what he wanted!

As Mr. Williams grew to adulthood, these fond memories turned him into a monster. Normal relations with the opposite gender would never be. He was permanently scarred. Over time, he would look up some of his past tormentors and visit those who were still breathing. His visits were brief and to the point, so to speak. How did Sister Mary Ele’phant choke on her own tongue? Why would Sister Frances Marie Bragiola jump off a five story building? Did she think she was “The Flying Nun?” Well, she certainly wasn’t if you look at the splatter on the sidewalk. Oh, we mustn’t forget Sister Dominic Hirsute. How did she manage to tie herself up and straddle the express tracks of Metro North? My oh my, the 7:15 to Scarsdale really did a number on her!

Mr. Williams’ mission is not over yet. There are still a few old friends he needs to visit to make things right, though it is highly doubtful that things will ever be right.

Kindred Soul Celebrates Our Nation’s Birthday

July 4th, our nation’s birthday, is celebrated with parades, barbecues and pyrotechnics, marching bands and hot dogs, relaxation and family fun. Our Kindred Soul also enjoys this holiday. He prefers to celebrate in his own unique way. One by one, water fountains in Bronx playgrounds and parks mysteriously ignite into balls of flame and explode into pieces, concrete chunks hurling through the air to the rockets’ red glare! He was and is a true patriot. As public officials scratch their heads trying to ascertain what happened and little children pine for a sip of water on a hot summer’s day, our friend is in the background, laughing and hoisting an ale, God Bless America!

Mr. Williams Goes To The Movies

I hate crowds. So, when I want to see a movie, I go to an early weekday matinee. The theater is almost always empty. I can get a tub of hot buttered popcorn, a box of Goobers and a large soda, find a seat, make myself comfortable and enjoy the flick in peace.

But not this time…

As I was settling in, a thirty-something hipster douche bag came in and sat right in front me. I looked around and it was just me and numb nuts. WTF, is this asshole kidding me? Now I’m beginning to get angry. Is this guy for real, what’s his problem? Suddenly, I hear his phone begin playing “I can’t do without you.” He answers and begins a lengthy discussion with his gal pal about the benefits of micro brewed beer. “Ya, you’re so intriguing, not like other girls. Ya, I do grow my own basil, it’s so much better than store bought. Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

Mr. Williams can’t take this anymore. I put down my popcorn, Goobers and soda. I look around and no one else is here, it’s just me and Maynard. I bend down, untie my shoe and quickly begin garroting this diaper stain with my shoe lace. He’s gurgling and gasping for air. His eyeballs are bulging out and his tongue is large and purple. After a minute or so, silence. Ah, golden silence. He slumps into his seat. I take his I-Phone X and place it in my soda cup. Call terminated!

Mr. Williams finishes the movie and leaves without incident. It took a few hours before management realized that Hipster dude was dead and not asleep. Maybe the shoe lace gave it away?

Hunting Season Is Open

Mr Williams loves the fall. Everything is dying all around him. Once beautiful and vibrant leaves and plants have withered away to detritus as the sun sets earlier and earlier while the days grow shorter and shorter. A blood thirst awakens in me and I must heed the call. There’s no stopping me, I’m a man possessed.

I have found a most wonderful secluded spot where I can ply my trade. A path seldom traveled is my shop of horrors. I don’t mind the wait, eventually someone will pass by and I can get to the task at hand. Poor soul, walking the path and enjoying the crisp air and setting sun, hearing the leaves crunch beneath his feet. I can move freely about under the guise of a forest rodent gathering nuts for the soon to come winter. I have fashioned the perfect cudgel out of a fallen maple branch. Funny how a dead limb can transform the living into the dead, a bit ironic perhaps? 

So I wait patiently for my prey to pass. A swing and a hit and you’re gone. 

My lucky day! Here are two unsuspecting souls strolling to their end. Excuse me while I get to work. No worries, they never will be found.

A large rock will keep them nice and cozy at the bottom of the lake. The fish will dine quite heartily over the next few days. Life is good – well, at least for me.

April Fools

Mr. Williams looks forward to April 1st. He likes to stake out a crowded spot, be it a busy street, a supermarket, a coffee shop, whatever. He will pick a person at random and stare at him or her, never breaking his gaze. Soon, his victim will begin to feel uneasy. No words will be uttered. His objet d’interet will eventually move on, hoping to lose our boy in the crowd. But that won’t happen.

Mr. Williams is a determined soul. Once he locks eyes with you, the game is on. He will follow you all day long, always a few steps behind you. He will use a street lamp, a traffic sign or a doorway as camouflage. Beek a boo, I see you! 

Take a bus, Mr. Williams will take the seat behind you. Ditch into a store, he’ll be a few aisles away, staring at you, just blankly staring right through you. Pick up the pace, he’s a few steps behind you. This will go on all day long. He will follow you home and then, suddenly, disappear. 

April Fools…he was never there!