We still may not know what happens after you die but we have gathered enough wisdom to understand there are fates worse than death. Clayton, New York is covered in death benches.
Clayton is a small town in Northern New York right on the Canadian border. It’s cute, four block riverside front is full of jubilant coffee shops, restaurants, bars and antique stores to make any tourist happy to buy some trinkets. However, this same four block stretch holds an overlooked horror.
Scattered across this strip are conveniently placed benches for the weary and downtrodden to take a break from their riverside excursions. As the tourists slouch, heads back releasing a sigh of relief and relaxation they remain blind of the witchcraft right in front of their closed eyes. Every bench is dedicated to an individual with a small quaint golden plaque. Sometimes the plaque lists more than a single individual per bench. As you traverse the small downtown area, locals smiling and greeting you in the utmost polite manner, you begin to wonder. Why are there so many benches? Why are there so many plaques for such a small town?
Then you reach 398 Riverside Dr. A small park overlooking the Saint Lawrence River, a little dock with boats hesitantly making anchor in the bobbing water to enjoy all that Clayton has offer. But also, within this park, rounded up to the nearest thousandth, is a thousand benches all bearing plaques to those who are not around.
Or maybe.
Just maybe.
They are still around.
Reminiscent to Circe in Greek Mythology turning men into pigs, does Clayton house a witch turning people into benches? Living benches in an undead state praying for the reincarnation of Miss O’Leary’s cow, Daisy whom burnt down Chicago to provide Clayton with the same sweet release.
As a news source that prides ourselves on not being able to say anything for certain, we wonder, did the Salem Witch Trials miss one? Son of a witch! Why are there so many benches in a four-season town! No one’s sitting on those benches in the cold cold winter. The winter colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra!
To live in limbo is to live as a bench. Neither good nor evil. Sometimes a friend to people who need a rest, sometimes the perch of man’s ancient enemy, the squirrel. No one can say for certain what is going on in Clayton New York but we can all agree, it’s nuts.