I imagine The Wern going to Hell, but then all the sinners in Hell have to listen to Wern ranting into his phone about Gen-ZEEEE bigotry and my-sogeny all the while stinking up the lake of fire & brimstone with his unwashed incontinence-stained rags when they aren't busy being tortured by demons.
Eventually even Satan and his demon legions will grow tired of The Wern's antics and general horrible state of being, at which point he will be banned from Hell, and forced to wander the Earth for all eternity as a wayward homeless spirit, ranting about the ghostphobic bigoted dating preferences of teenage girls.
They will say on dark and lonely nights you can still hear the ghastly hobo's voice talking about his haunted telomeres, an undead faggot, a voice on the wind.
Oh man I gotta turn this into a short story...
Stacy, a 19 year old college student beginning her second semester at Gonzaga University made her way along the cold, dark streets of Spokane on a frozen January evening. The shop was six blocks from her apartment downtown, a studio apartment that was new and fully furnished, a beautiful place in a nice building, but that she got for a screaming deal because of its proximity to the House of Charity, a homeless shelter right across the street. Stacy was new to Spokane, and she liked everything about it, except for one thing. The college was wonderful, her apartment divine, her job easy-going and fun. Even the proximity to the shelters and the city's "Skid Row" didn't bother her, for the homeless people all either kept to themselves, or were utterly kind and polite to Stacy and others that they encountered. But there was someone, or something, on the streets at night that had begun to frighten her. At first she thought it was a homeless man, lurking in the shadows, but every time she heard him speak, no one was there. She had come to the conclusion that it was a ghost that haunted the street that her building was on. Though the ghost never came inside her apartment or even the building, it's constant crying and wailing had began to disrupt her sleep schedule.
She rounded a dark corner and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the sign: "Psychic Readings & Other Spiritual Work" hung in neon letters in the foggy window. Below it hung a smaller sign, which read "Madam Zagtif -- clear readings for over 50 years!" Stacy had made an appointment, so Madam Zagtif was expecting her. After a quick hello, Madam Zagtif led Stacy into a room with a short table on the floor, with pillows and tapestries covering every surface in the room. Madam Zagtif wore long, flowing clothes and had long purple nails, but other than that she looked totally normal, like someone's mother or grandmother.
"Please, sit down," Madam Zagtif said warmly, gesturing to a pile of pillows on the floor in front of the table. Stacy did as she was told, and Madam Zagtif took a seat on another pillow on the opposite side. She clicked her long nails on the crystal ball sitting on the table, and lit two sticks of incense; the room already had an overwhelming smell of burnt sage. "So, tell me what's been happening with your resident ghost. Oh, and call me Renee, Madam Zagtif is more just to draw in customers," Madam Zagtif -- Renee -- said with a smile.
Stacy gulped. "Well, Renee... I've lived in my apartment over six months now, and from the very beginning I've heard him. The ghost, I mean. As soon as the sun starts to set, the ranting and wailing begins. I thought it was just a homeless person, or even another resident, at first, but I started asking around and it was like no one else could hear it! My building has mostly elderly people, so maybe that's why but..." She trailed off. "I don't know, the voice is craggly and high pitched, and it says the strangest, and often offensive things! I began to think I could be schizophrenic but I... I got evaluated, and they say I'm fine. And I never hear the voice when I'm not at my apartment or somewhere else on my street. I've stayed at a friend's house before, gone home for the weekend, etc. and the voice doesn't follow me. So I don't think it's in my head, and it doesn't seem to be haunting ME, either, or maybe it is, but it's like it can't leave that street. It's like a horrible, creepy voice on the wind."
Renee sighed, and smiled sadly. "Let me guess," She said, leaning back. "It cries a LOT. Wails and coughs as though it can't breathe. The voice says things like that it deserves you, that it has done so much for you, that in life you denied it, and in death you are ghostphobic?" Stacy's jaw dropped open.
"How did you know that?! The ghostphobic part! I've never even heard that word until I heard the voice say it! How did you know??"
"Well, I am psychic," Renee said. "But this was not my psychic powers at work. It's simply that I've not only heard this story before, but I've seen the ghost myself. Have you seen it yet? It's really horrible to look at."
"YES, that's why I finally came in! Oh it terrified me so much," Stacy said. "I saw it through my window, only for a second, but that was enough. My cat, Miles, was hissing like crazy at the window so I went to check it out and... The face looking back at me..." She shuddered and stifled a gag. "It was a fat, disgusting old man. He was wearing the filthiest clothing I've ever seen, and chunks of his face were dripping off of him like lard. But his eyes and teeth were intact. His teeth were fake looking, like a toy skeleton, and his eyes... Even with his grotesque face and body, his eyes were the worst. Soulless blue orbs staring at me like he could see through my clothes... Oh and the SMELL! I had had the window cracked open... I haven't opened it since. I threw up immediately. The worst stench I have ever smelled, like urine and feces and vomit and unwashed flesh. I can't tolerate seeing that thing again, so I had to come to you."
Renee nodded sympathetically, and after a moment she stood up and crossed the room. She came back with a hollow, dried out gourd, and handed it to Stacy. "Do you know why we carve Jack O Lanterns at Halloween?" Renee asked her.
Stacy stared, confused as she took the gourd. She was a bit thrown off by the sudden change of subject, but she shook her head no.
"Long ago, in ancient Ireland, there was a man called Stingy Jack. He was a village idiot of sorts, but no one liked him because he was always stealing and swindling people out of money. Well, one day he swindled the Devil. He trapped the Devil in a coin, and said he would only free him if, when Jack died, he wouldn't have to go to Hell, so the Devil, having no choice, agreed. But Jack was such a bad person that when he died, God would not let him into Heaven either. So instead Jack was forced to wander a barren, empty Earth with only a hollowed out turnip with coal inside, for all eternity. A similar thing has happened here, with our resident ghost." Renee cleared her throat.
"Lucas Werner was a horrible man. Luckily, his mental limitations prevented him from doing much real harm to others, but if he had been smarter, or less inhibited by his many mental illnesses, he surely would have raped and/or killed people. He was a pedophile, who attempted to use pseudo-science to justify it. You can look him up later when you have some time, there are pages and pages of reports on him, and many posts and videos made by Lucas himself. For the last few years of his life, in addition to all of his already unsavory qualities, Lucas was a disgusting bum, living on the streets because he could not stop himself from harassing people at the apartment that he was given for free. In order to stay out of prison, Lucas claimed that he wanted a wife who was between 18 and 21, and he shouted about it in the streets, online, and to anyone in his vicinity. He was such a horrible person that no one willingly chose to be around him, except when they could extort free things from him. He was an insufferable, disgusting criminal.
He died one night after drinking too much Pink Lemonade Pucker, and fell face down in a rain puddle outside the House of Charity. That was more than ten years ago now, but he will never rest. He will scream in the streets for all of eternity. You see, when he wasn't screaming about his pedophilic tendencies, Lucas boasted about his atheism, which he treated more like a religion than most religious people treat their religions. He said that God wasn't real, nor was Satan, people who worshipped either were stupid, etc. He should have gone to Hell, of course, but even the Devil himself won't have him. He did, however, gift him something just like he did with Jack all those centuries ago. The ghost of the Wern carries a grotesque lantern made of cocktail peps, glued together with liquid gas station cheese, with a tealight inside to light his way. He will walk up and down that street forever, I'm afraid. You'll stop hearing him after you turn 22, but until then, I do have a remedy that will keep you from hearing him as often." Renee rose and disappeared behind a curtain on the back wall. When she came out, she had a small box in her hands.
"These are special Tarot cards, that I have made myself, specially for dealing with the Wern. Take these three -- The Fool, The World, and The Hanged Man. The Lovers card stays here in my shop, locked up where he will never see it. Display The Fool card in your window, and hang The World card on your door. Carry The Hanged Man card with you. Next time you see or hear him, hold up The Hanged Man card and say strongly and firmly: 'PukeAss Werner -- it is not in the cards!' This will keep him at bay until you age out of his haunting range."
Stacy left the medium that night and followed the instructions. The next day when she heard the whining, pathetic voice on the wind, she whipped out the card and said the magic words. The wailing got louder, but then disappeared. That night, he visited her again at her window. Careful not to open it so as not to let any of the stench in, Stacy repeated the incantation while holding up the card, and the face distorted, wailing and crying, until it crumbled into a pile of fat and flesh.
It has been two years since Stacy saw the psychic, and one year until she turns 22 and must return the cards as then she will no longer need them, but she hopes she won't have to use them again because the ghost has not come back. He has her blocked from his hauntings, and Stacy can only hope it remains that way until her birthday.
