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Cantney Gessner

I went to the Cemetary during the Covfefe Pandemic this Year of our Lord
2020. That's what President Donald Turnupseed called it when he turned out
in front of the high speed, emotional woman to steal the race from her,
before she crashed and mysteriously disappeared. It means there's no more
coffee, is all, unless you go through drivethru wearing a mask. And don't
get out of your car to chat and ask questions! William Morrison was with
me when I drove him to the Cemetary despite Dr. False's claim it is unsafe
due to the cough-fake-fake, Donald does not take serious. Willy had
flowers for his late mother.

His name is after his dad, a very important man, but he was far from being
a Republican as he portrayed in the Movies, and was actually a Liberal.
What I didn't understand was why he had to impress his dad, in the first
place, by serving his Country through service in the military for over
20-years. He told me his friends were all kinds, including gay people,
when he grew up in Beverly Hills. When his neighbor brought him into the
jacuzzi at his mansion, he stuck his finger up 16-year old Willy's ass,
suddenly. He never went to that mansion again after that. However, I did
respond to his whimsical confession that I wouldn't have let him runaway
and join the military if it had been my finger. With his hands closing in
on his head to silence my words from him hearing, he would scream, hum,
sing; he would not hear of it and it scared him more than anything in war
had of what life he had yet to live. Still, he stayed, as I drove him
around, revisiting his trophies in life -- including the big moment with
his drunk best friend, Mel Gibson, and the secrecies they held so well as
the key to their perfect acting.

I didn't think I would see Willy again, after our last stint, but he had
recently escaped from his long stay at The VA for 4-years. He claimed they
put him on steroids, injecting him with tranquilizers to lose his memory,
while in-and-out of consiousness. He found himself on another mission for
the good ol USA as a sniper and this time in France, but he remembered
nothing of what had happened. To me, he seemed like the broken down
airplane pilot in the desert, talking absent-mindedly to a young kid who
somehow appeared in this void to ask him why he's struggling here with a
Chopper that won't fly anymore.

"Stay with me, Willy. You can sleep in the front seat, and I'll just be in
the back and not worry about every store and coffee shop closed down. I
have a gas range and instant coffee stored up."

He agreed.

At the Cemetary, a petal from the red roses he put up on the hook from the
mausoleum where his mother's ashes were, fell to the ground. We were both
talking to her, making our wishes, as she looked down on us with my head
bowed and hand held firm about the vase from the hook.

"This is for you," he handed me the petal. My mom has heard your prayer.

I tucked it in my wallet, and he took me to Freddie Prinze's spot, on the
other side of the wall from his mother, then to Liberace, who was on the
wall behind him, and to some others he had been close friends with. He
loved to tell me the stories he had with each of them. He would not take
me to his wife's spot and 5-children who were tragically killed in a car
crash just ten years ago. He could not bear to visit their resting spot.

As the days in my Gypsy Caravan bled on, Willy would open up to me more
over his cries for God to take him out of his misery, that the snake
should finally bite him after the dance.

"Antonio, oh my dear Antoine," he grabbed me hard about my neck, pulling
me to his skeleton body of shrapnel and radioactive flesh, as though a
thousand men were the strength of a singular man. "There is a way outta
here. You will have to disappear and you will not be able to come back for
a long time, if you accept."

I listened, as he had me drive him to a certain Japanese Restaurant in
Studio City. I tied my long hair back with a clothes line pin to give the
effect of respect, as we would order soup from 'Mum'. That's what William
called her, as he bowed before her redundantly, before giving us our to-go
order. They were telepathically speaking, as he asked her to help me, but
she was resistant and fearful of me -- not knowing who I am. The soup she
would make for him was a very special soup that would heal him of his
psyche trauma, along with his aches and pains. However, he was asking her
to let me into the secret door, and that I'm safe and won't bring anyone
else here.

"Go! Go! Go!" she ordered. It was closing time, but he was on his knees
bowing inside the empty restaurant, while I studied all the Samurai art
and sacred objects.

Half drunk, he carried the soup he paid for, continuously bowing and
telepathically speaking.

"I like his hair," she snickered, answering him with a final nod.

"Maybe tomorrow, Willy?" I asked. I was ready to go. All I had to do was
tear up all my writing back in the Caravan, so nothing of my trace would
be left behind.

As oriental cooks and helpers rolled garbage out to the dumpster upon
closing, Willy showed me the secret door. It was a heavy-ass plate of a
sewer hole.

"You got to be kidding me. What you think I am? A teenage mutant ninja
turtle?" I asked, not helping my outright laughter, because I believed it!

"All I have to do is knock 3-times, Antonio. And it will open."

I looked at it, where I had parked my Caravan alongside of it at the curb
of the sidewalk. Ironically, the plate was made of wood, and not metal. I
stepped on it, but didn't knock, though I wanted to be sure of its

He continued: "It's a sanctuary of many people. A whole new underground
society. You can have your cigarettes, coffee, food, clothes, whatever you
ask for. It will be given to you. You won't be able to return for some
time until you heal. And no one can ever know about this place. Steven
Seagal is a friend here, and he knows Mum."

"Dude, what's happening to your hands ... and your nose .. how big it's
getting ..." He was laying in the back of my Caravan, with my fox and
little sheep, Sara and Rocky, calm at my side. His hands were stretching
in the dim light, his body contorting, hair growing along his face.

"Is getting close to the Full Moon, Antonio."

I looked out the skeleton curtain through the tinted window and saw how
big and bright the Moon was.

"Are you scared?" he asked. "I'm a wolf, Antonio. Think of me as the
Teenage American Werewolf. I'm not going to hurt you. I fight Vampires
that are running this New World Order and I've been fighting them since
they came to America when Abraham Lincoln was fighting them, too. I have
the President's diary up here," he pointed to his skull. "My Grandmother
gave it to me. And I want you to help me fight against them..."

I couldn't believe I was seeing what I was seeing. He was literally
transforming into a fucking Werewolf!

Cantney Gessner is a writer living in California.

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