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Concerning the Folklore Fallacy of Factory Hill (HHWC)

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posted on Oct, 15 2010 @ 04:47 PM
You know, it all really started Friday night, Halloween Eve, if you will. I had stopped by my friend Nick's house to
see if he wanted to go with us to the Halloween Party up at the high school, an annual fun and games event that
practically everyone in town attended at some time or another, and he was waiting impatiently on the porch with
a peeved look on his face which read "Where the hell have you guys been, anyway ?" We took the hint and began
to walk towards school in the early dark of the night, Nick falling in step with the rest of us. Together, the four of us
had raised a lot of hell on past Halloweens and there was nothing preventing us from having even more fun this
year. But then again, this was another year wasn't it ? And a leap year at that !

( More to come . . . . this is a start. )

posted on Oct, 18 2010 @ 04:28 PM
Now let me ask you a question . . do you REALLY remember what Halloween was like when you were younger ?

I can remember feeling "compelled" to do something wild and crazy . . something to top the existing legends that
circulated through town every year about this time. The one that everyone always talked about was a prank done
to the assistant principal about fifteen years before we came along. Seems he incurred the wrath of the whole
senior class back then by keeping them after school for two hours on a Friday afternoon when their school was
playing for the Class M Soccer championship. They missed all but the last two minutes of the game, and the team
lost. At precisely 10:30 P.M. the next night, a two-alarm fire alarm woke the town up. Down at the four corners,
in the middle of town, a beautiful blue outhouse was on fire, huge flames rising above it. The little window in the
back of the outhouse, shaped liked a cresent moon, began to melt. People talked about that burning outhouse
with its cresent-moon window for years afterward. No one could figure out how it got there ! And nobody claimed
ownership . . until an order was placed at the general store for a new one . . . by that assistant principal. But
they never did solve the case, just put it down as a "Halloween" prank. Now that's wild isn't it ?

It was getting cold outside when we arrived at the high school for the party. Everything was decorated orange
and black, black and orange. A cake walk was in progress when we walked in, and the smell of freshly baked
pies and cakes and cookies and apples filled the air. Fresh cider was free with a serving of two white-powder
donuts to go with it. If you were hungry, this was the place to be. Bean-bag tosses, relay races, face-painting,
"best"-costume contests( for different age groups), dancing near the stage, basketball shooting, and my all-time
favorite, . . .apple-bobbing. Now I was always good at apple-bobbing and I didn't mind much getting my hair
wet like most of the others did. Hell, just wipe your head off with a towel and go about your business. The next
thing you know your hair is dry ! So, I entered again . . and won twice. And that's when Al Lacroix called me
a cheat !
Now I'd never cheated at apple-bobbing because I didn't have to. I thought of it as fun. There was a particular
way to catch an apple with your mouth, push it down against the side of the tub or against the bottom of the tub,
bite into it, . . and bring it on up out of the water. Yeah you got wet, but you got your apple ! So when Fat Al
called me a cheat, I just had to see if he could better my time. I challenged him in front of his girlfriend, offering
to pay the ten cents it cost to enter the contest for him, if he wasn't a scaredy-cat. He took the challenge !
When his turn came, I could see he really didn't want to get soaked, but he did want to beat me. He pushed an
apple down into the water but it got away from him before he could control it. He found a second apple and was
about to do his thing when Nick grabbed his head and held it underwater, pushing his face all the way to the
bottom ! So much for trying to be neat and tidy, . . he was drenched and a mess. And pissed ! We ran across the
gym to where the hayride was just leaving and hopped aboard , looking back to see if he was coming after us
or not. Didn't see him. So we settled down in between the hay bales and proceeded to flirt with a group of tenth
grade girls.
And so it started !
The feud ! The feud that would lead to payback versus payback. To unmentionable deeds. To fallacies. And
finally, to Factory Hill . . . where something so strange happened that no one wants to talk about it, unless it's in
a low whisper.

posted on Oct, 19 2010 @ 02:36 PM
What in the holy bejesus is happening to my text ?
I knew I shouldn't have said anything.

posted on Oct, 19 2010 @ 03:45 PM
As hayrides go, ours were undoubtedly some of the best. Pulled by a quiet old John Deere tractor, the wagon was
filled with about fifty bales of hay, arranged in tiers so that some privacy existed, if you know what I mean. The
rides wound into the hills and back, and usually lasted about an hour or so. Forty-five minutes into our excursion,
the ambush took place, catching all of us off guard. I was sitting there with my arm around Jodi when the first
barrage hit us. Rotten tomatoes and rotten apples rained on us, some with such velocity that it was difficult not to
be hit and hurt. Some of the girls began to cry and the guys took cover and looked for something to return fire, but
there was nothing. All of us were soon covered with stinky rotten apple and tomatoes, and some had bruises. Here
and there a bloody nose, and one big black eye. And just like that the attack was over ! We jumped down from
the wagon and ran to the edge of the woods, just in time to see Fat Al and his buds driving off down the road
without any headlights. But we sure as hell ID'd his truck !

The next day all hell broke loose. Windows were soaped, all over the place, and for those disliked the most, their
windows were waxed. You can imagine what was written with wax on peoples' home windows ! And it wasn't that
easy to get off either !
Stores sold out of plastic straws and bagged, dried peas. If you've never used a pea-shooter, you don't know how
much fun you've missed. Throw a handful of peas into your mouth, and blow them out as hard as you can
through the straw, and you've got yourself a pretty irritating little weapon. Especially in the dark. Or in the movies,
when everyone is watching the movie . . .suddenly they're pelted by hundreds of peas ! It really starts things up !

First period of school on Monday found the whole student body in a mandatory assembly in the gym. Up on the
stage, our principal paced back and forth until everyone was quietly seated. Then, after silently eyeballing all of
us, he preceded to read us the riot act. Behind him, the curtains opened and standing there on stage was Fat AL
and his buddies, heads down in shame. Our principal's face turned angry red as he read off the names of those
about to be expelled for disgracing our school and our town, causing minor injury to fellow students. Oh, it was
something !

posted on Oct, 20 2010 @ 04:54 PM
Factory Hill got its name from a large, now abandoned Tannery located half-way up (or down) the hill on the
south side of Main Street. It had used the river for its hydro-electric power needs ages ago but now it sat empty
and quiet and unused, a reminder of simplier times when pollution hadn't entered the picture. On the north side
of Factory Hill, down near the bottom, was the dam in the river that no longer served any particular purpose other
than to provide a scenic waterfall, especially in the wintertime. At the very bottom, across from the dam, was
Grant's Grocery Store. Everybody shopped there. Seems Grants had always been there, . . never heard anyone
say they knew anything else was there before Grants' either. And Grants' had this catchy little logo on a plaque
above the front doors that read : "BEST STORE BY A DAM SITE". It kind of made you think.
The hill was very steep, and about six hundred and thirty feet long. And very steep.

Also at the bottom, facing uphill, was Lacroix's Diner. It had only been open say, three or four months. Yep, same
Lacroix family, Fat Al's parents ran the place. It was a strange place for a business. Little parking, difficult access.
No business had ever lasted more than seven months at that location. Seems it was plagued with bad luck. The
Lacroix's were told all of the stories but still decided to give it a go . . . the rent was extraordinarily affordable !
Such was the situation when the first week of November came around.

posted on Oct, 27 2010 @ 03:18 PM
And it was also that first week in November when strange things began to happen around town. Farmers
reported the theft of some of their crops, including their prize-winning pumpkins left over from the Halloween Fair.
Some as big as 400 lbs. ! Elderly residents in the richer section of town called the town's police station (which
consisted of a Chief of Police and one deputy) claiming vandals were targeting their neighborhood and causing
malicious damage. Arriving on the scene as quickly as possible, the police found only smashed and broken
pumpkins, squash, and apples. Many mailboxes had been completely destroyed, and some stylish fences no
longer existed.

As far as I can tell, only four other houses outside of that ritzy neighborhood were hit. Yep, you guessed it, ours !
Jim's house was hit with pumpkins, pieces scattered all over his lawn. Burley's house too ! My house and Nick's
place were bombarded with pumpkins, apples, tomatoes, and squash. What a mess. We of course, did not make
a police report. We kind of knew who might've done it. And we wanted to keep a low profile. But after we
finished helping each other clean up the messes, we had some business to tend to.

posted on Oct, 27 2010 @ 03:52 PM
Down at the bottom of Factory Hill, six hooded figures could be seen making their way past the dam, heading to
the back of Lacroix's Diner. The diner itself had closed two hours earlier but Al had his own key and his friends
had the beer. Party time ! He opened the screen door and unlocked the bulky wooden door, giving admitance to
all of his buds. They were careful not to turn too many lights on or pass in front of the big picture windows. They
didn't want anyone to know they were there, especially Al's parents who would undoubtedly get very upset if they
even had an inkling that the diner was being used as a party spot.

The beer flowed. Each one of the six took his turn telling of the mayhem he'd caused and the damage he'd done.
They laughed and joked and cried and choked . . drinking ever more beer. They bragged about who had done
the most, or who had done the worst. And then Al pulled out his Dad's pistol !

posted on Oct, 27 2010 @ 04:11 PM
The truck wind its way down through town until it came to the bottom of Factory Hill. Immediately the truck's
emergency blinkers came on as it slowly began its climb to the top. Just before cresting the hill the truck pulled over to the right and parked facing up hill. Bill Mayweather, the driver, secured the brakes, made sure it was in
gear, then got out and went over to get his usual cup of coffee at "The Inn". He was a trucker, and as usual he was
hauling produce and vegetables this time of year for the local farms. But "The Inn" made some damn good coffee
and had two middle-aged waitresses that Bill loved to flirt with, and besides, it was going on 9:30 at night.
edit on 27-10-2010 by SIEGE because: (no reason given)

posted on Oct, 27 2010 @ 04:53 PM
The wind had picked up and the night had turned a little darker when the four of us finally stepped out, heading
for Factory Hill. The temperature had dropped to about 48 degrees and appeared to be going lower. We all had on
warm jackets and gloves, but the coldness was indeed cold. We had business to take care of though, and we
wanted to see it done. Autumn leaves swirled around us like small eddies as we plodded along.
We were all probably asking ourselves what would happen tonight.

Then we saw, down at the bottom of the hill, slight movement in Lacroix's Diner ! We were stoked !

posted on Oct, 28 2010 @ 03:05 PM
They were there ! They had to be ! Word was that the police were looking for them too, about some of those
crops stolen and destroyed. But we meant to settle things on our own !

Sneaking our way down the hill, using trees and part of the dam wall for cover, we circled around Grant's and
came up behind the diner, just as two of them were outside urinating against the trash dumpster and BS-ing. The
cold ground crackled and groaned, giving our approach away. Zipping up his fly and turning around, one of them
spotted us, and began to yell and point in our direction. We stood still and waited, thinking this could be an even
one-on-one situation . . . until we saw that there was six of them ! The last one to emerge from the back door was
Al Lacroix. Fat Al himself. And he was hollering crazy things at the top of his lungs, about wussies and lightweights,
and meddling, and being expelled from school, and . . killing, and that's when he lifted the pistol and began
shooting !
Now this was the first time any of us ever faced anybody with a gun. And it was the first time anyone ever shot at
us ! Scared to high hell, we began to run as fast as we could towards the street out in front of the diner ! There
was nobody around to hear us holler for help ! Nobody ! Jim and Nick ran right, Burley and I ran left. And we ran !
Burley ran over behind the old factory and disappeared. I continued to run up Factory Hill, (a very stupid thing
to do!). Behind me I could hear the six of them chasing me ! They'd been drinking and I had a little bit of a head
start, but they all were coming after me . . and I was scared to death ! My sides began to hurt and the cold air was
hurting my lungs but I kept running . . up hill. I could hear Al saying that if he got close enough to me he'd shoot
me right in the back of the head ! I ran harder.

I was having trouble catching my breath when I saw the truck. I just wanted to get past it, to put it between me and
those crazy drunks chasing me ! God . . I couldn't catch my breath ! I reached out to grab the side of the truck
for support . . . bending over to suck in air . . . when the dump door began to open ! The trailer began to rise . . .
and the load began to slide out ! I stepped away in horror, watching hundreds, maybe thousands of pumpkins
come rolling out and begin to bounce down hill. Now remember, old Factory Hill was pretty steep. The pumpkins
picked up some brutal speed as they worked their way down hill, hell . . maybe sixty miles per hour !

From below I could hear Fat Al fire one more shot . . and then he was swearing and running back towards the
diner along with the rest of his buds. I watched as they almost made it. Almost, but no cigar ! The pumpkins, now
moving at incredible speeds, caught them from behind. I saw one pumpkin, about 200 lbs. I'd say, hit one of them
in the back like a cannonball. He went down and I'm sure he was dead before his body came to a stop. The others
fared no better. Within seconds all of them were down ! But the load continued to empty out, and the pumpkins
continued to fly down the hill, until they reached the diner itself. The front picture windows shattered, and the
pumpkins continued to fly right on into the interior of the place, causing tremendous damage.

And then, then there was silence.

posted on Oct, 28 2010 @ 03:47 PM
The next day the town was abuzz about the terrible tragedy. "Six local youths killed when prank backfires !"

It was assumed that they had intentionally dumped Bill Mayweather's load, but had somehow failed to get far
enough away to stay safe. The bodies were horribly bruised and discolored. The diner was totalled. Folks
whispered about the bad luck that shadowed the diner's location. Later on, the building was torn down and there
has never been another business there. This all happened many years ago.

Factory Hill was thought to be haunted. People seldom walked it anymore, and never at night. Folkore !

I bet you think I released that load when I was being chased and I was near the truck, don't you ?
The Fallacy. I did not do it ! I remember distinctly reaching for the truck . . but I remember that it started to release
on its own . . . and I never did anything to cause the dump ! I still have bad dreams of that trailer rising up into
the air . . . all on its own . . . like Karma or something.

I never told anybody anything about that night. Never !

I try to avoid Factory Hill nowadays. A couple of years ago I drove down the hill for the first time in quite awhile.
It was Halloween, and it was dark out, and I was by myself. When i was almost to the bottom, I glanced into my
rear-view mirror and I swear I saw this huge pumpkin bouncing down the hill behind me, heading right for
my back window.

The End

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