Amos House Revisited

       Mr. Amos Rustigan, a sour, wasted, middle aged bachelor, had a 20

    year old nostalgia for his old family home on Hawthorne Street in

    Old Pawtuxet Village , near Providence, Rhode Island .

        A bit of a miser , Amos now had enough money in the local bank to

    buy that old - decayed aristocracy - " mansion " back... if only the

    low lifes who now occupied it would ever vacate it .

          And the dream wish happened late in October of 1999. Amos

    quickly contacted his old friend Silas at Pawtuxet Village Real

    Estate.

          Late on the night of October 31 , Amos gazed at a the

    old skeleton key, coruscating in the bluish light of the seedy

    Gaspee Lounge.

         It was now about 3 o'clock in the morning , that most ungodly

    hour. Amos found himself at the very door of the family mansion.

       " That beautiful, solid door has not changed at all ", he reflected.

    A bizarre image of  his long dead grandfather - an immigrant from the

    old country ( and a suicide by drowning ) -  mysteriously appeared

    on the heavy bronze knocker.

        " That hideous vinyl siding will have to go ", Amos resolved. How

    he hated all unnatural things!

        But  immediately Amos was a aware of a human presence in the sacred

    childhood home. An eerie blue light blinked on and off in the kitchen.

           Amos beheld a whole family - numbering 13 - a strange and unattractive

    bunch, but not really sinister looking , seated around the old oak family

    table. They just stared at him with the fish eye stare.

        " I must call the police right now ! "  Amos yelled. " You

    people have no business here ".

          Then the father of the clan got up threateningly from his chair. The

    table had been oddly set for a formal dinner, but the 13 were munching

    uncouthly on Silver Lake Pizza.

         When the father reached for Amos' throat, he grabbed the antique

    phone still hanging on the kitchen wall. He tried to call 911 but

    could hear nothing but static.

        Amos struck the strange man on the face with the receiver. But

    the man was made of SILLY PUTTY or something ! His face was hellishly

    distorted into a hideous, amorphous sight.

          Instantly the ghastly stuff of the invader's face stuck to Amos'

    hand. And soon the right hand of Amos was a throbbing, bloody, red pulp.

    Amos felt it to be on fire .

        Then the whole brood of aliens got up at once with those expensive

    family steak knives in their hands. Amos knew that he was to be sacrificed

    for their angry god. He screamed all the louder.

        Suddenly Amos woke up in that filthy, squalid room he rented above

    the lonely waterfront bar. " No more CHEAP BEER for me ", he resolved.

         The skeleton key  was still in his hand .