Venture with me, dear reader, this dark season into a macabre and wondrous world not unlike our own, because … it is our own! Plot twist! It’s actually fully not unlike our own! Which is to say, it’s all the way like our own.

KEEP READING IF YOU DARE.

Tale the First: The Scary Haired Man

Sightings are few and far between of this hairy legend, but those of us old enough to remember will tell you this: Years ago, nary a week went by without a sighting of the Scary Haired Man. Often, sightings would happen in broad daylight, which was somehow even more unnerving. You’d be eating breakfast at Chickadees when – poof – there he’d be, eating fried eggs in the corner booth. You’d be walking down Barstow and – piff –  there he’d be, checking out a decrepit old building with a small pack of weirdos in skinny jeans. You’d be in the Festival Foods liquor department and – WANG – the Scary Haired Man would be in the checkout buying a cart-load of White Claw.

It didn’t matter where you’d see him – the hair was always scary. Longer and scragglier with every passing year. His weird, vaguely Amish-looking beard paired with a mountain man mustache. The wispy, brown tuft atop his forehead. The neck hair. As you tried to ponder the strange depths of his mystifying mane, a haunting, auto-tuned falsetto would fill your mind, crooning over a lonely, open tuned guitar riff.

Nowadays, if you’re lucky, you might get a glimpse. But never with your eyes. A new EP every five years. Perhaps a new collaboration. Perhaps you’ll hear his ethereal voice in the background of a new dramedy on Peacock.

And yet, we still call this legend … “local.”

LIGHTING CRASH!

Tale the Second: The Peddler’s Essence

They say if you walk down Graham Avenue by yourself late at night, you might just come face to face with the phantom of a long gone local business. And when I say “face to face,” I mean “nose to odor.” See, they say if you stroll down a particular stretch of sidewalk and happen to be holding a 65-year-old book about WWII tank warfare strategies, your senses will suddenly be overtaken by the musty, dusty scent of vanilla and old paper. The smell is often accompanied by a vague sense of confusion, like there isn’t a chance in hell you could possibly ever find what you need, and yet, you’re oddly fine with it. You just want to see what might be stashed around the next rickety, makeshift … bookshelf. Be careful! If you become entranced by this mildew-laced waking dream, you might wander from the safety of the street lights and stumble into one of the many, many rusty dumpsters that always seem to be, like, just there on Graham Avenue, stealing away our precious parking spaces.

WOLF’S HOWL!

Spooky Tale Number Three: The Stone Box

It’s been there – sitting in the heart of the city – for so long, very few of us question its purpose.  The hulking Stone Box. Resting along South Dewey Street, tucked between Main Street and East Grand Avenue, people drive by and they glance up at this windowless monolith, but as soon as they can mutter “What the hell is that thing?” something happens. Their attention shifts back to the road. They’ve got places to be and pedestrians to avoid hitting. What a strange effect it has upon our minds. Like a force field fending off … questions. The whole place seems shrouded by a curtain woven of our own boredom.

Yes, sure, the outside of the building says “AT&T” but … does it really? Maybe that’s just what it wants us to see. The conspiracy-minded among us swear the brown brick façade houses a vast government research facility. But what are they researching? And the bulky array of antennas on the roof? What are they for?

Others among us (the ones with a penchant for the occult) believe you should never step inside, lest ye be driven mad. The human mind simply can not fathom the phantasmagorical creatures who toil within The Box. To see them for but a moment is enough to melt your sanity into a thick, chunky goulash of horror.

Others among us simply drive by and say, “Glad I don’t work there.”

UNEARTHLY CACKLE!

Dear reader, there are many more terrifying tales of Eau Claire’s delightful frights, to be sure, but that’s probably all the blood curdling terror you can handle for now.

GOOD LUCK TRYING TO SLEEP TONIGHT.