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Unspeakable Horror is a website about the horror genre, including fiction, film, comic books, and poetry (with a queer twist).

This website features the writings of Chad Helder: Campy Horror Comics, Undead Poetry, and Chad's Queer Horror Blog, which offers quasi-literary explorations of the Horror Genre.  In addition, this website seeks to promote the work of rising stars in the Horror Genre. 

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    « Orok the Neanderthal | Main | Happy Birthday Unspeakable Horror! »
    Wednesday
    18Apr

    Car Crash Detectives

    "Car Crash Detectives" originally appeared in The Harrow: Original Works of Fantasy and Horror

    The film opens
    with our overweight car crash detectives
    examining another smoking wreckage,
    depressed from witnessing the Jaws of Life
    retrieve too many mangled corpses.

    Montage of crash test experiments.
    Dismemberment.
    The audience imagines themselves in those seats.
    The interstate plugged up with lookie-lous.
    Speeding ambulance.
    Face collision with windshield.
    Fragmentation.
    Nose of vehicle punched in.
    Decapitation.
    The bloody arm sticking out the roadside coffin
    of steel and glass.

    The midnight interstate collision.
    The body is missing, shouts the detective.
    And the bodies of the family in the station wagon:
    no life ending injuries,
    but no blood,
    only throat mutilations,
    all strapped in with pale mannequin faces
    under the handkerchiefs of the detectives.
    The car crash detectives return to idyllic nuclear families,
    despite the obsession with car crashes strangling their hearts.

    The pattern emerges:
    what now appears to be homicide,
    but how could the perp survive
    the willful head-on collision with holiday travelers?

    Look here:
    fingerprints in blood on the severed head.

    The first witness on the scene
    mumbles words
    like pieces of broken glass
    dropping one by one
    from his shattered psyche.

    In finger-painting therapy,
    he drew the horrible shadow sucking on the stump.

    Reconstruct the accident with model cars and flashbacks:
    the perp in the Buick waits behind the billboard
    under the moon,
    steps on the gas.
    Head on collision with the family.
    Somehow the perp exits the Buick,
    worms into the wreckage
    where no rescuer can reach and
    feeds on the spilling wounds.

    What we have here is a vampire,
    say the car crash detectives,
    and the rest chuckle but second-guess.

    It seeks out the detectives' families
    who encounter the impact
    and the subsequent spider web constraint
    of their seat belts:
    the jagged glass teeth
    and the shadow
    coiling itself around the precious wives and children
    to slurp warm mammalian hemorrhage.

    The car crash detectives lose their families,
    ruin their careers pursuing a vampire
    the papers call urban legend.

    The detectives build cabins together in the forest,
    abandon cars to rust in retrospect,
    never speak of the past,
    and dream of car accidents.

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