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

STOP READING NOW YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOON. IT’S TOO SCARY.

Tale Numero Uno: Cthaid Ctharking

We all raised one of our eyebrows – one eyebrow per citizen – when the city announced the return of paid parking to downtown Eau Claire. Some thought it highly offensive. Others thought it inconvenient but understandable. Still others pointed out how most cities have paid parking, so it’s no big deal. And you can still hear those people, whispering into the void.

But all of them were deceived.

For the electro-magical kiosks scattered about downtown do not feed upon our money. No. They feed upon the psychic dissonance caused by the city’s frustration. A thick-n-sickly cloud stifling all of downtown, they suckle it day and night, growing fat within their boxy metal cocoons.

STARTLING GLASS BREAKING.

Make no mistake! Soon is the hour of their birth! One chilly Autumn night these wretched Eldritch wretches will burst from their ancient dimension, taking the form of hideous, indescribable, insectoid fiends! Much like the city’s rollout of paid parking, the emergence of these monsters shall be horrific, and they probably could have handled it better.

SICKENING SQUELCH.

Tale the Second: The Twirler

The rumors have swirled for months. Stories of a man. A man who twirls.

At night, you catch glimpses of his dark figure downtown, near the library and on Barstow. A human top who spins down the sidewalk, arms held open.

You may have even seen videos of the mysterious gyroscopic lad, nestled within your TikTok algorithm. Festooned upon your Facebook. Every week, the evidence grows. And every week, the question grows louder: What’s that guy’s deal?

He is a harbinger of chaos, I tell you! Spinning our fate into a tapestry of calamity! An insidious drapery, I say! SUPER LOUD BONE CRUNCH.

Beware the twirler. For our destiny spins within him.

BLOODY SCREAM IN THE NIGHT.

Tale the Third: The Sour Brew

Lurking along the banks of the Chippewa River, many a hiker has stumbled upon a laboratory most strange.

HIDEOUS GASPING.

Locked deep inside their frothy fortress overlooking the river, dark alchemists, witches, and nerds are hard at work boiling odd concoctions within their peculiar cauldrons. If you happen upon their brick walls, dear reader, be wary. The craft they ply is not for all.

They call it “beer,” but your grandfather might balk at this label. Their bizarre ales are fruity, sour, thick, and … baffling.

Their beguiling projekt enchants men above all. Their sinister suds wreak havoc upon the taste buds of bumbling bros. These poor souls now spend hours describing hops and lactose and fermentation and chasing their whales: high-ABV, barrel-aged, limited-release potions of bitterness!

A SCREECH FROM DEEP IN THE BASEMENT.

But hey, if that’s your thing, I understand. Perhaps you’re strong enough to simply sip the maddening brew and speak of other, non-yeasty matters. Anything’s possible.

THE THEME FROM "HALLOWEEN."

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.