(Originally posted October 31, 2008)
Happy Halloween, DREW BLOG readers! Last night I went to Chilla, the law school Halloween party. It was a pretty exciting time. Some of the surrounding circumstances, though, were a bit creepy.
I decided to take a nap last night before going to the party. Suddenly I opened my eyes and saw a dark shadow hovering overhead. I tried to scream, but my lips and limbs were both paralyzed. I could do nothing. The darkness enveloped me.
Later I awoke. As real as it seemed, apparently the occurrance had been just a dream. The time was now 10:00 p.m. It was time to attend Chilla. I put on my Musketeer costume quickly. My roommate Yonicio and I walked outside and headed toward the party. Fort Sanders can be a dangerous place for pedestrians, but I figured we would be safe sticking together.
After a few minutes, we came to the Clinch Road bridge. It was the edge of our neighborhood. We were about to cross the bridge, heading east toward downtown, when a homeless man approached. He asked if we could spare any change. I told him that we didn’t have any. Strangely enough, the bum refrained from saying the usual “Have a good night sir” or even “God bless you.” Instead, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Be careful. Dark forces are at work tonight. I can feel it.”
His comment piqued my curiosity. The man explained further, “There is a beast that stands twelve feet tall — with the intellect of an owl, the cunning of a fox and the strength of seven men. His name is Trogdor, the Scourge of Appalachia. He devours the hearts of young people to extend his own life. So far, this diet has served him well for eight hundred years. Trogdor has returned to Knoxville”
Yonicio rolled his eyes. “If such a monster existed,” Yonicio said, “good men would him down.”
“Oh no,” replied the bum, “The spirits protect him. Besides, Trogdor controls this whole city, and others. No one can stop him.” At this point, the bum introduced himself as “Swaggart.” He extended his hand. I told him my name, and we shook hands.
Suddenly I noticed that Swaggart was concealing a weapon. He had an M-16 assault rifle under his long clothing. “Whoa!” I said, “Don’t you know that those guns are illegal? You could get arrested just walking around with that.”
“Bah,” Swaggart answered, “If the pigs want to take it from me, they’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”
“But why would you possible need such a weapon?” asked Yonicio.
Swaggart looked both ways, then answered quietly and with a straight face: “I’m hunting vampires.” Then he held the gun up for us to inspect, and he added, “Silver bullets.” Swaggart smiled.
I had seen strange bums in Fort Sanders before, but this man was completely out of his mind. It was really sad. Besides, any idiot knows that silver bullets only work on werewolves. Yonicio and I hurried away, distancing ourselves from Swaggart and continuing downtown to Chilla. We finally made it to the party and stayed for several hours. It was an exciting time. The only bad thing was that musketeer sword broke when I tried to fight someone with it.
Anyway, around 2:30 a.m., Yonicio and I finally left and started heading back toward Fort Sanders. As we passed under an overhanging tree branch, I looked up. I noticed a squirrel glaring at me, menacingly. I brushed off the chilling omen as we arrived at Locust Street.
We had a green light so we began walking across. At that same moment, a police car pulled up to our right. The motto “To Protect and to Serve” stood out distinctly on the side of the KPD cruiser. The policeman stopped his car at the light, but did so very gradually — and not without bumping slightly into Yonicio.
Immediately the cop activated his siren and jumped out of the car. “What are you two doing?” he demanded to know. “You UT students really get on my nerves. Clearly you are both drunk. Line up along the wall.”
Even if we were actually drunk, I told him, that was not a crime unless we endangered someone or unreasonably annoyed the public (Tenn. Code Ann. 39-17-310). The cop told me to quit smarting off. He threw Yonicio against the wall, handcuffing him, and put him in the back of the squad car. Then the cop came for me. Since this jackass only had one pair of handcuffs, I expected that he would have to call for backup in order to arrest me, too. Instead, he merely grabbed me by the collar and threw me in the back of his car. “You’re both under arrest for public intoxication,” he informed us.
I notified Davenport that there was no way a judge would convict us of that crime. He just smiled. We began driving east toward the police station. Strangely, however, Davenport did not pull into the station parking lot once we arrived. We kept on heading east, and soon he stopped the car at Morningside Park. Officer Davenport drew his gun and pointed it at us. Then he led us out of the car and into the park.
We walked through the forrested park and over to a grove of trees. In the dim moonlight, I could see a large figure ahead. “You two are about to meet my favorite judge,” Davenport told us, “The Honorable Judge Trogdor.” He laughed. Within seconds, I could see the figure ahead more clearly.
The beast was twice the size of a man, with tremendous muscles bulging from both arms. His dark, greenish skin made him all the more terrifying. This large troll was standing inside a pentagram about twenty feet in diameter, which someone had painted on the ground. At each point of the pentagram, a large candle burned softly. When the monster opened his mouth to lick his lips, his enormous teeth glistened in the candlelight.
Davenport called out to the beast, “Mr lord, I have brought you two more fresh, youthful hearts from troublesome UT stud-” — But Davenport suddenly stopped talking. He noticed that we were not alone. Policemen have an excellent sense about these things. He began looking off to our right, and I followed his gaze. We could see two cars parked a couple hundred feet away, near the road and obscured slightly from view by trees. A hispanic man and a white man appeared to be exchanging something in plastic bags.
Davenport could not resist this opportunity. He left us with Judge Trogdor and ran toward the men, ordering them to stop. The white man took off running, but the Mexican merely cursed and drew a gun, aiming it at Davenport. The criminal fired several times with remarkable aim, dropping the officer to the ground. Davenport was injured.
Then we heard the troll rumble behind us, shouting, “I will take care of this disorder.” I watched as Trogdor lept after the drug dealer at forty-miles an hour. The man screamed as Trogdor waved his left hand and, somehow, magically, pulled the gun from the criminal’s hands.
“We have to go, Drew!” whispered Yonicio, as I stood transfixed, watching the troll pull the man’s arms from his body one at a time. Then I realized Yonicio was correct.
We both ran out of the park. Unfortunately, Yonicio was still handcuffed and could not run as fast. We began to distance ourselves from the brutality as we a heard a tremendous roar pierce the night air, coming from behind us. There was no way we could outrun this creature.
We made it about half a mile running west, getting closer again to downtown Knoxville. The streets, however, were deserted at this late hour. I saw a dumpster a little ways ahead. In desperation, I hoped that we could hide inside it. The trash would surely mask our scent. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the chance to hide.
Trogdor bore down on us from behind. He could see us clearly. As the monster closed in, he raised his razor-sharp right claws as if to slay us both in one strike.
“Drew, get down!” shouted a voice. I heard the clank of aluminum cans as Swaggart emerged from behind the dumpster. He dropped a trash bag full of cans and raised his rifle. Yonicio and I both hit the ground as automatic weapons fire tore through the air. The monster had no time to react before silver bullets pierced through his chest, head, and limbs. Swaggart clung bitterly to his gun and his religion, refusing to stop firing. You could see Trogdor wince as each new bullet tore through his monstrous body. It took a full half-minute of machine-gun fire before the creature finally collapsed.
Swaggart smiled and walked over to the corpse. “He’s dead,” Swaggart beamed. Then he stopped smiling. He added, “Trogdor’s family will be angry now.” Trogdor’s family?!
At that moment, we heard howling coming from Morningside Park. Quickly, Swaggart used his M-16 to blast apart Yonicio’s handcuffs. As we heard police sirens wailing in the distance from multiple directions, we promptly fled the scene. We headed back to the safety of Fort Sanders.