So I’m going to be part of this Kickstarter run by my good friend and fellow writer Jason Myers. It’s called Big Trouble in Little Canton: Supernatural Hijinks in Ohio and will be a multi-year serial novel-type-thing involving horror and the supernatural in, well, Ohio. Which doesn’t come up often in Horror, as far as I can recall. Click on the name above if you want to support the project and/or just see what it’s about.
For my part in the project I will be penning four postcards, each postcard containing a flash fiction piece detailing a location in Ohio (said location being the other side of the postcard). For fun, and to warm up to the idea of horrifying Ohio, I’ve been writing little micro-fictions about Ohio and will be doing so until the Kickstarter ends. This is a record of that experiment.
If you’re planning a trip to Northeast Ohio in November, why not consider stopping in Massillon for a night or two? The city is friendly, rooms are cheap, and the native Ohioan food is very, very fattening. Of course, the real draw is the annual Zombie Migration.
Every year, between the first of November and the ides, thousands of zombies travel through the greater Massillon area on their way north. Though this migration happens mostly by night, occasionally you will find yourself in a long line of traffic, cops up ahead holding the cars back as a small group of zombies crosses a major highway in the harsh light of day. However things are in the rest of the world, in Ohio, at least, zombies are a protected species.
While Halloween is big in the rest of the United States, it is these days after Halloween that capture the imagination and enthusiasm of Massillonians. Children carve pumpkins and place candles in them to light the zombies’ way. Civic-minded residents dress up in costumes — so as not to scare the easily startled living dead — and shepherd them through more populated areas. Special food is cooked for the zombies, and though they never eat the blood porridge or beef cakes, their groans of appreciation are thanks enough.
Sure, some children or hobos go missing, but that’s a small price to pay for the chance to experience nature up close and personal, and to keep a species that is sadly reviled for no good reason alive for another generation to enjoy.
Alive figuratively speaking, of course.