The “double funky monkey” as they called it here, went down fast, and smooth, like a sky diver who just jumped out of a plane. As soon as the first tinge of milky froth hit my throat, it was as though the parachute opened, the landing, a great bombardment of warmth that cascaded through my whole body. “This double funky monkey has got to be the best latte I’ve ever had.” I told my friend Jack. “Hate to say I told you so.” He blurted uncaringly. Jack was one of those characters that loved to be right, about everything. But on the same note, he generally was. His intelligence superceded him, which pissed alot of people off. Not a bother to me though.

I like to think of myself as a pretty laid back kind of guy. The real reason we became friends is for the love of heavy metal.  Jack and I could pretty much give a biography for every rock band worth knowing since 1972. Even the more obscure artists, like Roky Erickson.

Anyway, lately we’ve been spending our time in local coffee shops, and metal-friendly bars, you know, checkin out the local scene. Which really isn’t much. Tonight however, we have a  plan. Considering our preparations for plans A through G had failed, we called this one preparation H. Ok, so maybe we stole that from the Austin Powers movies, but it’s still pretty hilarious. At least to us.

Anywho, the plan is to spend one night in Damian’s woods, next to the old route 58 truck stop. Legend has it that Damian’s woods are haunted by the ghost of Edgar James Habernathy. Habernathy was a cereal killer who had a habbit of ripping out every hair from the scalp of each of his victims individually. It took so long for him to do this, that most died of insanity, or starvation, whichever came first.

Jack and I left the coffee shop, and headed for the woods in the green SUV Jack’s mom got him for christmas. This thing had only been used about a year, and already he had beaten the hell out of it. We parked on the shady edge of the highway, where no one could see, and began walking into the woods. “I think I stepped on a stink bug!” I exclaimed as the unique stench of sulfur whafted into the air.

The night got colder, the deeper we went into the woods. But not so cold as to elude to what would happen next. We got to a clear area where the moon could shine through the trees. “This is where we will sleep.” Jack said in a non-shalant voice. We quietly rolled out our sleeping bags as not to disturb the living nature around us. Jack fell asleep rather quickly, where as I could not.

While he snored away, louder than a fire truck, I calmly munched on an apple. I couldn’t quite stop staring at Jack’s hair. I slowly, but carefully, reached over, and pushed a whisp of the black locks out of his face. The strands reminded me of a spider web, thin, yet strong. Jack did not wake. I reached into my bag next to me, digging for tools, but quietly, so as not to disturb my slumbering neighbor. I pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and hurriedly cuffed him to a thick, nearby tree branch. He woke up abruptly, and in shock as I pulled out my “happy tweezers.” I started first with his nose hairs, and amidst all the screaming, the keen listener could hear me yell “I am Edgar James Habernathy!”