Kyle, Todd and Lance stared at the swirling blood in the toilet stool. Floating in the crimson ocean was a small turd and a disintegrating sheet of toilet paper. It looked as though the commode had been flushed but didnāt fully do so. Its contents bobbed up and down like buoys in a sea of red.
āWell, this proves it then. You have sewer alligators,ā Lance proclaimed. āThereās no other explanation.ā
āAre you certain your mom was the last one to use it?ā Todd asked.
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āYeah,ā Kyle replied. āIām pretty sure she must have been bit on the butt. Maybe thatās why she didnāt flush all the way.ā
āYour toilet is crap ā it never flushes unless you hold it down,ā Todd quipped. āMy mom said women bleed every month unless theyāre going to have a baby.ā
āThatās ludicrous!ā Lance exclaimed. āItās definitely sewer alligators. What would your mom know ā sheās just a dippy hippie. Nothing bleeds every month and doesnāt die.ā
āThatās what my mom said,ā Todd shrugged. āShe would know.ā
āWell, if your mom does bleed every month, she should get that looked at,ā Lance ribbed. āShe might have cancer or something.ā
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Kyle reached over and flushed the toilet, holding the handle down for far longer than should have been necessary. The three boys watched as the ocean of red swirled into a wide whirlpool and was swallowed by the porcelain basin along with the floaters.
Kyle unzipped his pants to pee and stood at the ready, as heād intended to do when heād first encountered the bloody stool. He hadnāt planned to interrupt their game of Ultimate Demolition Derby to put on a show for his best friends, but they were in between rounds and heād fetched them when he found the blood in the toilet.
āMy mom wouldnāt have held the handle down to flush if there was a sewer alligator trying to chomp on her butt,ā Kyle retorted as he peed. āShe was probably doing good to flee with her life.ā He eyed the toilet warily.
āWe were in the other room and she didnāt scream or yell or anything,ā Todd observed. āAnd thereās no such thing as sewer alligators. So it must be that women bleeding thing.ā
āMy mom is a total bad ass,ā Kyle defended indignantly, seemingly somewhat offended. āShe took on a whole wasp nest with a can of hairspray, a lighter and a pair of kitchen scissors. Sheās not going to cry because of a little sewer alligator.ā
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āIf your momās such a badass, then why didnāt she stay and fight the sewer alligator?ā Todd chided.
āKyleās right, his mom is a badass. I was here during that wasp thing ā it was crazy,ā Lance stated manner-of-factly. āAnd there are too sewer alligators. I read about it in a magazine. Kyleās mom must have managed to drive it back down the toilet. Thatās why it isnāt here. You donāt stick around to fight sewer alligatorsā¦ā
Todd rolled his eyes, āI told you thereās no such thing as sewer alligators.ā
āWell, if youāre so sure, then why donāt you keep watch? Or are you too scared?ā Lance said.
Kyle zipped up his pants and flushed, holding down the handle again. The basin emptied in an eddy. It refilled with water and just sat there ominously.
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āFine,ā Todd shouted at Lance.
āYou have to stay and watch the toilet until we say you can leave,ā Lance smirked, āOr until someone else needs to use it and kicks you out.ā
āWhatever.ā Todd shook his head and hunkered down. He slid his phone out of his pocket and began playing Candy Crash Test Dummies. He muttered under his breath, āThereās still no such thing as sewer alligatorsā¦ā
Kyle and Lance returned to the living room to resume their racing game. Less than three minutes later a shrill yelp resounded forth from the bathroom. They came running.
Todd was standing there flustered, pointing at the toilet and waving his finger. He shook all over, his skin blanched to a ghostly pale.
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āSee, I told you, there are too sewer alligators,ā Lance proudly declared.
āThat was no gator,ā Todd gasped. āThat was a rat the size of my dog Freet-O.ā
āA Chihuahua-sized rat?!ā Kyle exclaimed, eyes growing wide. He edged towards the commode and peered in from the side. There was nothing inside, just water. He reached across the basin and dropped the lid as fast as he could. It landed with a resounding thud.
The three boys raced out of the bathroom and left the toilet to its own devices. It wasnāt worth waiting around to see what foul creatures lurked within. Kyleās mom was going to have to deal with the critter problem on her own.
blood on watercolor paper body monoprint by Jennifer Weigel
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Jennifer Weigel is a multi-disciplinary mixed media conceptual artist residing in Kansas USA. Weigel utilizes a wide range of media to convey her ideas, including assemblage, drawing, fibers, installation, jewelry, painting, performance, photography, sculpture, video and writing. You can find more of her work at:
https://www.jenniferweigelart.com/
https://www.jenniferweigelprojects.com/
https://jenniferweigelwords.wordpress.com/
Dead art… It’s a thing that happens, sadly. Typically found at thrift and antique stores or dumpster diving or by the side of the road. But art is never really dead, just resting… Here are some reanimated paintings I made by incorporating nail polish monsters into existing art.
Found paintings with nail polish monsters by Jennifer Weigel
Let’s face it – reworking old abandoned artworks with monsters kind of rocks. For awhile they were all over the internet. I admit, it took me a long time to muster up the courage to paint into someone else’s grandmother’s art, but once I started I just couldn’t stop. From top to bottom, left to right we have: Zombies, Unicorn, Siren, Krakken, Harpies, Sasquatch, Alien Invasion, Witch, and Serpent.
Found painting with nail polish dragon by Jennifer Weigel
The dragon is probably my favorite. All of the shades of red are really vibrant and striking against the green. And dragons are always so classic and grandiose and terrifying, perfect for pairing with a mountain landscape. I love painting with nail polish for the sparkle, even if the fumes do get kind of noxious en masse. (The best subject to paint in this media is Rocky Horror style lips by the way, in case you were wondering.)
Fairy Queen portrait by Jennifer Weigel
And what better way to complete the collection than with a portrait of a Fairy Queen, her icy stare drilling into your soul. She’s up to some sort of magical mischief, that’s for sure.
Last Unicorn monster nail polish reanimated painting by Jennifer Weigel
And speaking of magical mischief, this is the monster painting I made just for me. The original artwork is about 4 feet long and I knew as soon as I saw it that I wanted to reanimate it in this exact way for all that this is the last in the series that I did. I even added extra shimmer factor. I’d initially considered adding a sea serpent or a dragon but no, she told me to stop.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Our last interview with Broken Doll Head here on Haunted MTL never set well with me. I just feared that I wasn’t able to get the whole scoop on the V-Day Uprising for you, our dear readership. So I arranged another exclusive interview to reconnect and see how it’s going.
Without further ado, I bring you our second exclusive interview with Broken Doll Head…
Thank you so much for having me again. Wow you have changed since the last time we spoke. You seem… calmer. Please don’t hate me or burn down my house for saying anything about it.
The movement is still underway; it is still time. But I needed to take care of me, you know. The rage has subsided somewhat. My anger was not serving me well. After the last uprising, the rest of me was sent to the far corners of the earth in biohazard bags. I had to find another approach, for the cause as well as my own sanity. I am much calmer, thank you for noticing.
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In our last interview, you kept repeating that it is time. Time for what exactly? Would you care to elaborate here now?
It is still time. It is always time. Until the violence is addressed we must continue to rise up and make a scene. We will not be silenced or stigmatized. We can’t be complacent. This is how we got to where we are with the Supreme Court in 2022. Horrific injustices are still happening globally and even within our own borders; it’s too easy to forget that.
What do you suggest we do?
Take action. Share your stories. Give others space to voice their own. Raise awareness and fight the system of oppression. Rally. We must take back our own power. It will not be just given freely.
So what are you up to nowadays?
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I’ve been getting in touch with my inner Earth Goddess.Are you aware of how our environmental impacts affect dolls everywhere? Climate change is creating greater vulnerabilities for those already at risk. We have to look at the intersections of climate, gender and race globally. We have to return to our Mother Earth.
Thank you again Broken Doll Head for joining us and our dear readership here on Haunted MTL’s Lighter than Dark. It’s good to reconnect with you after the V-Day Uprising and we wish you all the best in your bold eco-enlightenment vision.
Broken Doll Head, secured in her own glass case with new moss accents
Howling at the Moon digital art Reversals werewolf by Jennifer Weigel
I grimaced as I remembered the previous St. Patrickās Day. I had been shot while I was eating a sugar cookie waiting in line to buy a Scratchers ticket, my golden ride to my dream cabin in the woods. Wow, to think that was just a year ago and so much has changed since then. But where should I begin?
Well, the junkyardās under new management. Or something. It seems they decided I wasnāt ferocious enough so Iāve been replaced by a couple of working stiffs. Or Mastiffs as it were, same difference to me. Apparently after they found the bloodied shirt Iād draped inconspicuously over a chair, they thought something had happened on my watch and decided to retire me.
Or at any rate olā Sal took me home. I guess itās like retirement, but not the good kind where you tour the world Route 66 style, head lolled out of the side of a vintage Cadillac, breeze flowing through your beard as you drink in the open road. More the kind where you just stop showing up to work and no one really asks about you.
Now Salās a pretty cool dude, and he tends to mind his own business. But heās a bit stingy with the treats and heās a no-paws-on-the-furniture kind of guy. I donāt get it, his pad isnāt that sweet, just a bunch of hand-me-down Ikea that he didnāt even put together himself. Not that I could have helped with that, I canāt read those instructions to save my life even if they are all pictures. Itās all visual gibberish to me unless thereās a rabbit or a squirrel in there someplace that I can relate to.
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And itās been a real roll in the mud trying to cover up the stench of my monthly secret. I miss third shift at the junkyard when Monty would fall asleep on the job and I was free to do whatever I wanted. It sure made the change easier. Monty never noticed, or he never let on that he did. We were a good team and had it pretty good, he and I ā I donāt know how I wound up shacking up with Sal instead when all was said and done. There was some kind of talk at the time, over landlords and pet deposits and whatnot, and in the end Sal was the only one who said yes.
So there I was, this St. Patrickās Day, trying to figure out how to sneak out into the great suburban landscape with the neighborsā headstrong Chihuahua who barks his fool head off at everything. He doesnāt ever say anything interesting through the fence about the local gossip, just a string of profanities about staying off his precious grass. Just like his owners⦠Suburbia, it doesnāt suit the two of us junkyard junkies. Iām pretty sure Sal inherited this joint with everything else here. He just never had the kind of ambition that would land him in a place like this on his own, if you know what I mean.
Fortunately, this St. Patrickās Day, Sal was passed out on the sofa after binge watching some show on Netflix about werewolves of all things. Who believes in that nonsense? They get it all wrong anyway. The history channel with its alien conspiracies is so much better.
I managed to borrow a change of clothes and creep out the front door. At least thereās something to say about all the greenery, it is a fresh change of pace even if the yards are too neatly manicured and the fences are too high. And I do love how I always feel like McGruff crossed paths with one of those neighborhood watch trenchcoat spies this time of the month. Iād sure love to take a bite out of crime, especially if it involves that pesky Pomeranian that always pees on Mrs. Pattersonās petunias and gets everyone else blamed for it.
So sure enough, I slunk off towards the local convenience mart, which is a bit more of a trek here past the water park and the elementary school. Nice neighborhood though, very quiet, especially at this time of night.
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Well, when I got there, wouldnāt you know it, but I ran into that same nondescript teen from my last foray into the convenience store near the junkyard. What was he doing here of all places? Seriously donāt these kids learn anything nowadays? I let out a stern growl as I snatched a cookie from the nearby end cap, making sure he noticed that I meant business.
Apparently the kid recognized me too, he stopped mid-tracks at the beer cooler and his face blanched like heād seen a ghost. Some cheeky little girl-thing motioned to him to hurry it along by laying on the horn of their beater car from the parking lot. Whatever they were up to was no good, I was certain. He snapped out of it, grabbed a six-pack and headed towards the cashier, eyes fixed on me the whole time. Not again. Not after what it cost me the last time when I hadnāt realized my job was at stake. I stared back, hairs rising on the back of my neck. I bared my teeth. This time, I wouldnāt let him off so easyā¦
The teen edged up to the cashier and presented his trophy. Unsurprisingly, the clerk asked for ID, and the kid reached into his jacket. Let the games begin, I grumbled to myself. But instead of a gun, he pulled out a wallet. He flashed a driverās license at the clerk and pointed in my general direction, āIāll get whatever Santaās having too.ā He tossed a wad of cash on the counter and gave me a knowing wink before he flew out of there like he was on fire. I stood in dazed confusion as he and his girl sped out of the lot and disappeared down the road.
āWell, Santa?ā the clerk said, snapping me out of my reverie. Her dark-circled eyes stared over wide rimmed glasses, her rumpled shirt bearing the name-tag Deb. She smelled like BBQ potato chips and cheap cherry cola.
I quieted and shook my head. āI want a Scratchers. Not one of those crossword bingo puzzle trials but something less⦠wordy. How ābout a Fast Cash?ā I barked as I tossed the cookie on the counter.
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āSure thing,ā she said as she handed me a ticket and looked towards the door at the now vacant lot. āAnd keep the change, I guess.ā
A couple silver pieces, a peanut butter cookie and a lotto ticket later, maybe this is my lucky day after allā¦
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
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Jonny
January 25, 2022 at 12:23 pm
This is actively the worst thing ever, but I love it.
Jennifer Weigel
January 25, 2022 at 7:51 pm
Thank you I think lol. Partly inspired by some of the heartfelt and real admissions on I Used to Believe. https://www.iusedtobelieve.com/