A Very Delta Green Groundhog Day
Groundhog Day 2017
inside the head of Jeff Moore
You wanted this. This stupid,
ridiculous assignment. Go to Punxsutawney, take some pictures of Phil, and
write a bit of fluff about this silly tradition. You’re like Bill Murray, only
without a camera man or a producer. Damn, I love Bill Murray. Probably,
everyone loves Bill Murray. But there may have been something to the weirdness
that his character went through. What was his name, Phil something-or-other.
This isn’t a time loop, but that might be preferable.
Maybe coming here early wasn’t
a good call. Maybe it was. Fuck I don’t know. It’s a groundhog, right? Sure, it
is. A groundhog cared for by a bunch of Pennsylvania Dutch speaking nerds
who’ve built a club around their weather predicting rodent. It’s not a cult,
it’s a tradition. The rodent isn’t immortal. It most certainly has not been the
same groundhog for over a hundred and thirty years. And those guys yesterday,
they certainly weren’t a military strike team. Oh fuck, there is something
going on here.
This is just like before; the
easy answers don’t add up. Only you’re not in Persia or Sumeria, you’re in
Pennsylvania. Old Gods of Appalachia. Timber and coal. Most ancient mountains
in the world. There is no time loop, no romantic comedy, no getting it wrong
until it’s right. But what is really going on in these hills and hollers and
why do I feel like Punxstawney Phil is the lure for something much bigger. I
cannot get the image of an angler fish out of my head. No wait. Worse.
Alligator snapping turtle.
Okay, everything I’ve read says
this whole thing goes back to a celtic goddess. Then the Christians cleaned it
up and attributed it to a saint. But the totem aspect of this party is still super
present. I’m watching the guys watching the top hat wearing members of The
Punxsutawney Groundhog Club. Why are they watching. What are they watching. And
I’m sure they’re not civilian. Eight years active army, four years ROTC, go
with your gut on this one lieutenant. Special forces. Black ops. You know these
guys.
Maybe just wander back to the
house on Gobblers Nob and ask a few more questions. For the story. Yeah, for
the story. There was a time when they’d eat the star rodent after his show.
Now, he’s off the menu, but I think something else is being devoured. Maybe I
should take a peak inside that tree-trunk lair and take a look at the living
conditions of their “seer of seers.”
---
Jesus Christ! Macy Anne, if I
get out of this… What? I’ll tell you what I suspect? Maybe I’ll scare the shit
out of Olivia and Ben with the mother of all bedtime stories? Fuck! Great plan.
Why do I keep stumbling onto this shit. Maybe just take the world at face value
and stop poking at shadows and questioning the paradoxes. Wouldn’t that make
for a great reporter. Do you want to know or don’t you. Just do your job.
Figure it out. Get back home and take care of those babies.
Once you get past the touristy
bullshit, that house is… unsettling. I don’t think that’ll go in the article,
but unsettling is an apt description. And what’s with the “elixir of life” they
were brewing? That can’t really be the immortality potion. Can it? They said it
was punch for the Inner Circle’s Ball. I really wish they didn’t have an inner
circle. It would be so much easier to ignore these guys without all their balls
and banquets and ceremonies. Remember to bring some spare change, to tithe, for
all the English speaking tomorrow. This get’s weirder and weirder. But scary
weird, not fun weird.
Candelmas, my ass. This is full
on Eve of Imbolc stuff. They’ve got a witch running this shit. The Cailleach, if my research is right, and she
is well aware of our black ops friends. She’s hot, but she’s got the witchy woo
going strong. Totem animals, witches, cultists, and a fertility goddess, when
do we get to the pagan blood ritual? Tonight, Brighid goes about her travels
and delivers blessings to the virtuous. There is a 14-year old girl missing.
Virgins. Fertility. Goddesses. I’ve got to tell those government agents what I
suspect. Hopefully, the part about them being bewitched won’t sound as bad as
it does in my head.
---
They were less receptive that I
had hoped, but they’re fully in on the game. Brush me off, sure. Make me
believe that line of shit, no, I don’t think so. I’ll do what I can on my own.
That may not have been the best strategy. Stay away. Write the article. Go
home. That’s the right strategy. Instead, I found the girl. Fuck. I wish I’d
gone home.
---
The animal saw his shadow, or
so they say. They being the god damn cultists of Brighid. Or are they priests.
I don’t know. Do monsters have priests? Cause that isn’t any kind of goddess I
ever imagined. Six more weeks of winter.
The black ops are gone. Their van
is still here, I heard shooting earlier, the celebration is in full swing, but
the four of them are not participating.
The witch gave me a top hat and a pretty smile, I think there was
gristle in her teeth. She said I should join the festivities, take some
pictures, maybe go back to the hotel and send off my story. I feel ill, like I
should have done more. What could I do. What can I ever do. I think she won. I
threw out the hat. It was full of sick.
---
What now. Always at the worst
possible…. Where is it. Hmm… No Caller ID.
Not Unknown Caller, somebody doesn’t want to be recognized. Let’s see
what this is all about.
“Hello.”
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