HAYWARD

SEASON TWO PREMIERE:

The Conclusion of ‘Crawlers!

Splish Splash, I Was Taking a Bath

or

What’s the Best Tuna? Mud Duck of the Sea?

Murray was nearly done stocking the beer shelves. It wasn’t one of his favorite jobs at the Safe Haven, but, aside from the coffee and doughnuts, cigarettes and chewing tobacco, it was their biggest seller. They sold so much beer at Safe Haven that sometimes, just sometimes, Murray suspected people came to get gas just so they had an excuse to buy some more beer.

It didn’t matter much to Murray. He wasn’t much of a drinker anymore, not for any particular reason. Alcohol made him tired, it made him a little sour, and it made him put weight on his face and belly almost instantly. He knew he didn’t need any help in that area. No, he’d settled happily on tea and, aside from the rare Christmas cocktail or some champagne to toast the latest bride, he preferred to leave it alone. …

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“Ere it twas yonder immigrants, Black Irisherrs (sic), yearning for that olde island of their forbearers and the olde fraeries and fairies and mayhaps theire olde jiants too theye missed not a little. And so, theye put up in theire trees, candles and boughs, and not a fewe bells as well. And so, in the small village corners of the wilde forests of Hayeward, Ouisconsin, were the firste Christmas trees knowne to have beene gathered round upon that sacred eve of His holiest birthe.”
​–Midwest Historical Surveyors Organization, 1799 (disputed)

“Merry Christmas dear, I love you so
and it’s just me and you
under the mistletoe”
-Great American Song book

​Sweet William was curled up at the feet of his favorite uncle. It had to be said though, Murray was the favorite uncle, by default, as he was, technically speaking, their only uncle. Sweet William watched as his uncle flicked open a silver lighter with one hand and smoothly lit himself a cigarette. The smoke curled around Murray’s round head and seemed to crease the future lines of a face he would wear sometime later in life. Bells chimed on the Christmas tree in the middle of the room and Sweet William smiled knowing it was time for a tale.
​

…

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A HAYWARD THANKSGIVING

OR

IT’S THE GREAT TURKEY GIZZARD CHARLOTTE BROWN!

 

“One of the earliest “Thanksgiving” celebrations, is now known to have taken place in the Greater Hayward Recreational Area long before Wisconsin was a state or territory, indeed, long before the United States was a nation. A French trader, a certain Oslimane Roy, had culled together his trading partners, indigenous hunters and exuberant gatherers alike, and, roasting a freshly harvested whitetail buck on a six foot spit, had bade them feast together, before they had all drunk themselves into a stupor, resulting in the the Great Fire of 1699.”

–Midwest Historical Surveyors Organization, 2014

 

Snip, snip, snip a sequoia’s snaggle,

gird the goose, gird the goose, gird the goose’s gaggle

–early R.E.M. outtake from Chronic Town sessions

 

Lionel was hungry. Lionel was bored. For him, he knew, this was a dangerous combination. With time to kill and money burning a hole in his pocket, he took the cream colored phone off of its receiver on the wall and dialed long distance. After six rings, a voice answered.

“Hello?” asked Theodore.

“Hey Teddy Tutu, is Chaz around?”

Theodore, who hated when Lionel called him “Teddy Tutu,” reported that Chaz was no longer in school.

“Oh, home for the holidays?” asked Lionel.

“Um, no Lionel,” Theodore hesitated, confused. “He graduated last spring.”

“Oh, he did? Guess I didn’t know that.” And now Lionel was confused…though generally speaking, he was not so clear in his day to day thinking to begin with. “Hmm, well, do you know where he’s at? Do you know how I can reach him?” …

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YOU CAN TUNA FISH BUT YOU CAN’T SKIN A FINGERNAIL

OR

HERE FISHY FISHY FISHY

 

     “Now Bobby Shaw, just what is it that’s wrong with you?” asked the driver of the purple and yellow truck they called “The Viking.”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with me you stupid ass,” replied Bobby. But, there was plenty wrong with him, and they all knew it.

“Why didn’t you get any beer then you stupid ass?” asked the driver of the purple and yellow truck they called “The Viking.”

“Because you stupid ass, they don’t sell beer or liquor there at this time of day,” Bobby answered.

“Good Lord Bobby, this is goddamn Wuss-con-sin, the liquor department ain’t never closed!” said the driver of the yellow and purple truck they (but only they) called “The Viking.”

…

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HAYWARD
EPISODE 4
‘CRAWLERS

 

“Sport fishing, or, “trophy fishing” as the local guides have Christened it (though we have yet to see bronze or gilded gold upon any gills!) has long been one of the chief past times of the Greater Hayward Recreational Area. Bass, Pike (referred to by true Wisconsinites simply as “Northerns”), Walleye, and the almighty Muskellunge (or, “Muskie”) will give even the most skilled angler a run (or swim) for their hard earned vacation money.”

–Midwest Historical Surveyors Organization, 1999

 

“And Jonah and that whale, you can bet they had a ball

some bait you make go limp, and some bait you make crawl”

–Warehouse Tapes, Americana Legend Society

 

“Gonna wet a line or two friend?” called out Murray, his friendliest tone ringing off the clear coated floors of the Safe Haven. It was more than halfway through his shift, the time when real fishermen came looking for refreshments…and bait.

…

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CHARLIE MURPHY’S COOKING CRYSTAL METH BRATS!

OR

ME THINKS THERE BE A METHOD TO HER MURDERS

 

Mina Harker was not one for the sausage. Or, more properly, for the Greater Hayward Recreational Area, one for the brat. But her longtime boyfriend (of a sort) Johnny Seward, he loved them. A true born Wisconsonite, she knew he thought of the almighty bratwurst as something of a birthright–a comfort food of the highest order.

And they needed some comfort now.

…

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THE WITCH OF SIREN LAKE & A MURDER OF SCARECROWS

 

“Like many of her sister states, Wisconsin too experienced a period of “witch hysteria” (however briefly) but due to its later induction into the Union (1848), it is generally believed that the relative advancements in both science and education prevented it from reaching the levels of the Salem Witch Trials (circa 1692) with no actual legal proceedings having taken place. Most of the “witch sightings” were recorded in the greater Hayward area between the years of (document obscured).

–Midwest Historical Surveyors Organization, 1962

 

“One of the gayer (yet vital!) aspects of the farmer’s life is the creation and implementation of the omnipresent scarecrow! These watchers of the corn are utilized in the never ending game of sportsmanship between the sower and the crower. It must be noted though, that many of these straw filled, sentinels of the maize, are very often used as perches by the very fellows, black and iridescent feathered (and quite noisy), they are meant to scare!

–Midwest Historical Surveyors Organization, 1939

 

“A witch is a witch is a witch, in the days of ’39,”

–The Days of ’39, American folk song

  …

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HOW IN THE HECK CAN YOU WASH YER NECK?

OR

YOU BETTER STOP YOUR METHIN’ AROUND

 

Murray was smoking.

Lowell was smoking.

They smoked in the manner wistfully nostalgic men do, men who really do miss the old days of tobacco, the glory days when over seventy five percent of all adults smoked, and smoked unabashedly.

They smoked, at this moment, as if they had both lived right through that era, knowing that, at this point in their existence, puffing relentlessly like this wasn’t going to make much of a difference. If either of them were going to die of a sudden heart attack, it would have happened a long time ago.

They continued. A nurse walked past them. …

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VAMPIRE WEAKENED

OR

YOU’RE GONNA NEED A BIGGER THROAT

 

“He’s dead?” Lowell was doubly stunned. First he had been told that his beloved cousin Bethany Ward had just been run over by a crystal meth smoking grave digger’s grave yard tractor and then he had been told there would be no need to exact vengeance upon the worthless fool because he was already dead!

“You there pal?” It was Murray, the dark herald, bringing Lowell back to the present reality.

“What happened?” Lowell was impatient.

A long pause…Lowell could her Murray breathing.

The pause continued. …

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THE WORLD IS A VAMPIRE, SENT TO DRAIN

OR

BETH I HEAR YOU CALLING, BUT YOU CAN’T COME HOME RIGHT NOW

 

Browning threw the crumpled pop can at the high schoolers. He threw it at the high schoolers who had screamed and ran away. The crumpled can did not travel far and so, the crumpled can did not hit them. “Dammit!” yelled Browning. He had really been hoping the pop can might stop them. Looking at the now stirring body of Bethany Ward, Browning was fairly certain his entire afternoon was going to be ruined.

Higher than high, and feeling not a little dizzy, Browning sat back on his butt once more, his tattered blue jeans falling away from his ever shrinking rear end, making him look like a skeletal plumber. He fixed his eyes and focused them upon Bethany Ward. He had been so very happy to feel her breathe back into his mouth, his efforts at resuscitation had been successful! To celebrate, he had taken yet another hit of his meth and then the teens had arrived upon his untidy scene. “Dammit!” he yelled, just thinking about it. …

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Hayward: Episode 3

Crystal Meth Beth

or

Once Bitten, Twice High

 

“While one enjoys the wilderness of the greater Hayward area, it is important to take note of the many exotic predators found in the area. Wolves, bears, muskies, and other assorted, but as of yet unidentified creatures, may put a premature end to the unobservant vacationer’s respite from the doldrums of the work world.”

–Midwest Historical Surveyors Organization, 1924

 

The phone was ringing. In Lowell’s dreams, the phone was always ringing. In the real world the phone was ringing too and after several minutes, Lowell answered it. In the harsh light of the setting sun creeping in through his bay window’s curtains, Lowell could see it was only the early evening, the latest part of the afternoon, and he was not pleased. …

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HOWL LONG WILL YOU LOVE ME, HOWL LONG INDEED?

OR

BLUE MOON, YOU SAW ME HOWLING ALONE

 

L.T. was laughing himself right into his plate of eggs and sausage. And he didn’t care. Mal joined him in his eggs. Claude was a bit more sedate, but only a bit.

Claude sat in their booth looking for all the world as if he might be a kind of lord or king. He sat with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had found his true calling, his inner nature, his primal self, the essence of his higher being.

And then he farted.

His fellow wolves, in human guise, burst out laughing. For them, the passing of gas was one of the funniest ways they could bond.

Hank Hull had had enough.

…

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I SEE A BAD LON RISIN’

OR

THE WOLF WHO CRIED…WOLF?

 

When Lowell entered the Safe Haven, Murray had coffee waiting. It was exactly the kind of gesture one so desperately wanted in life and exactly the kind one seldom received.

“Five cream, five sugar?” asked Murray. It was an old joke.

“Or just black is fine too,” said Lowell, completing the routine. He thanked Murray with his eyes and sipped the beverage gratefully. He drew in his breath, letting the aroma of the coffee wash over him like electricity. “Now what’s this about my dope from Chicago being wrong? And, do I really have to go back to Spooner?”

“Yup, I’m afraid the scouting report from Chi-town is wrong my friend. And yes, I’m afraid it means you’ll be heading to Spooner.” Murray looked at Lowell, looked at his hands as they gripped the coffee cup a little intensely. “Look pal,” reasoned Murray, “I’m going to venture that poor little coffee cup didn’t do anything to you. Loosen your grip. You wanta take your frustrations out on something, take ‘em out on Spooner.” His logic was a sort of deadpan humor which served to refocus Lowell’s anxiousness.

“Yeah. Yeah…I got it Murray,” said Lowell, meaning it. “But do I really have to go back to Spooner?”

“Afraid so my friend, I’m afraid so. I mean, I really am afraid. Well, kind of afraid…” Murray was being cute. He was sometimes put out, sometimes even bothered, but they both knew he hadn’t been afraid in decades.

“Afraid of what?” asked Lowell.

“The wolves,” said Murray. “The wolves…They’re back.”

… …

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THE WOLVES OF SPOONER DON’T HOWL, THEY BLOW

OR

I CAN HEAR YOU HOWLING BUT YOU CAN’T COME IN

 

Lowell woke up to see the neon light flashing outside of his hotel room (his ‘suite’ Murray had termed it). He had slept clear through the day…again. He looked at the beige phone sitting on the horizontal dresser and right on cue, it rang. His legs, still miserable from his long drive, barked as he swung them around and off of the bed. He stretched a long arm out and its paleness shot through the darkness of his room. He brought the receiver up to his ear a little too quickly banging it off of his head, causing him to yelp a little.

“Well that’s certainly an interesting greeting.” It was Murray.

…

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“For those who would enjoy the outdoors, the Hayward geological region of Wisconsin is perhaps one of the finest locations in all of the nation, due to its almost over abundance of clean, clear lakes, its deep forests, and its rolling green hills, all of which, are glacial in origin.”
–Midwest Historical Surveyors Organization, 1906

skulls and bones
and trailer homes
grow like trees in Hayward
if you find
you’ve lost your mind
your path may have gone wayward
your path may have just led to Hayward
your path may have just led to Hayward
–American folk song

…

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