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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