A dark and mysterious Specter possesses the nation this Halloween.
The majority of America’s population lies paralyzed in its deadlights, waiting to be eaten. Meanwhile a determined minority of demented minions faithfully executes the Specter’s darker machinations.
Welcome to the Halloweenland you might have once called home.
What is the Specter? It comes in the guise of a clown but It is a mysterious traveler. At the very least, this Specter represents the sum of every unreconciled dark deed since our origin.
The Specter’s minions come in two stripes – the Gluttators, a group mesmerized into insatiable wants and the Anachrotons, a group bewitched into evermore violent rages. A phalanx of long-dead ghosts of slave overseers, intolerant puritans, exterminators of Native Americans, and other hate vendors command the Anachrotons as they seek “revenge” against the descendants of those they tormented in life.
The Gluttators, cursed to never be satiated, already possess far, far more than their neighbors, but it’s not enough and will never be enough. Cut taxes. Cut regulations. Smash workers. Feed the Gluttators. They’re hungry. Always hungry. A clan of Jabba the Huts mining out their Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, regardless of the consequences for themselves and others.
What hex has the Specter cast on the Anachrotons? They foam with anger led by wraith horsemen of the long dead. Their robes depict a coiled snake that boldly proclaims “Don’t Tread on Me” which is a secret code for – We Fully Intend to Tread All Over You!
The Anachrotons represent every dark remnant of our past, everything we thought was behind us but really isn’t … everything we wanted to forget, but can’t.
An army of Henry Bowers set on a path of vengeance that could only be charted by the long dead.
Some Anachrotons channel the ghosts of plant
ation overseers, seeking revenge on a population of runaway slaves in dire need of “correction” and punishment.
Others channel the ghosts of religious zealots seeking to burn at the stake all those women who have forgotten their place and all the sodomists who so shamelessly flaunt themselves, and anyone else who’s “different” where “different” is so loosely defined and randomly defined as to be anyone and everyone.
Still other Anachrotons seek to build a theme-park version of White Privilege that never actually existed, especially for the vast majority of their actual ancestors.
Our National Origin Sins – land theft, genocide, slavery, repression, theft, intolerance … the Spector uses all of them as tools for bewitching the Anachrotons. Never underestimate the ability of bigotry and fear to find a way to thrive.
The Spector held George and his comrades in its deadlights. No, not little Georgie. The first George.
We’re still in that same chapter, trying to follow the angels of our better mercies while hexed by demons.
The page hasn’t turned; it only just seems to have turned from time to time.
We are struck with our past until one final reckoning. Otherwise, the Anachrotons will always come back.
The Gluttators are secretly terrified of the Anachrotons, and they have been led to believe – incorrectly – that their superior skills will allow them to escape the violent rages of the Anachrotons. They are mistaken, and ultimately the Anachrotons will shove them into the same hell camps being built for everyone else.
The Gluttators mostly live in safe states like California and New York, the
states that will resist the ravages of the Anachrotons the longest but they will eventually crumble, too.
The Gluttators are so blinded by greed that they fail to see that they are undermining the very places that might protect them from the Anachrotons. Most Gluttators assume that they can flee with all their gold when things become bad enough. This will only be true for a handful.
We almost escaped this madness. But we didn’t.
The vast majority now asleep with their eyes open to every horror grew complacent and petty when they should have been vigilant and united. Now they lie like so much salted meat waiting to be eaten.
This madness had been brewing for years … unquenchable greed blended with hatred covered in a thousand self-justified masks.
Hope?
Hope is a little bird that sings when there’s no reason to sing at all.
For now it’s just America’s nightmare before
Christmas.
For aNewDomain, I’m Tom Ewing.
