Dagan: The Curse of Meterhead PT I

 Dagan: The Curse of Meterhead PT 1 

ANGEL CITY OCCULT DEPARTMENT. EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM. BEEEEEEEEEP.

 THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST. The Angel City Occult Department has issued an emergency warning for the following counties:DEVASTATION COUNTY. OBLITERATION COUNTY. EGYPT COUNTY.

 BEEP. 

SIGHTINGS OF THE ENTITY KNOWN AS “METERHEAD” HAVE BEEN REPORTED. Residents in affected areas are advised to REMAIN INDOORS and avoid unnecessary travel. If you encounter a gas meter under unusual circumstances, DO NOT APPROACH IT.If you observe a humanoid figure bearing a gas meter in place of a head, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO APPREHEND, SPEAK TO, OR OTHERWISE INTERACT WITH THE ENTITY. DO NOT BREATHE ITS FUMES. DO NOT FOLLOW IT. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO COMMUNICATE WITH IT. Immediately retreat to a secure location and contact the Angel City Occult Department or local emergency services.

 BEEEEEP. 

The entity known as Meterhead is considered EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. Meterhead is wanted in connection with multiple murders committed in 1911 and again in 1954. The circumstances surrounding these incidents remain under investigation. Residents are reminded that GAS METERS ARE NOT TO BE INVESTIGATED. Do not attempt to determine whether a gas meter is functioning normally. Do not attempt to determine whether it is watching you. If you see the Meterhead, DO NOT INTERFERE. Remain indoors. Secure all doors and windows. Turn off unnecessary lights. Do not respond to knocking. Do not respond if the entity calls your name. And above all…

DO NOT APPROACH THE METERHEAD.

BEEP.

The Angel City Occult Department advises residents that gas rates are expected to increase during this emergency. This concludes the emergency portion of this broadcast. Remain calm. Remain indoors. Do not look for Meterhead. Meterhead will find you.

BEEEEEEEEEP.

When I was a little girl, I hid from my parents. No one believed me but I saw Meterhead in the fog that night. He walked down the sidewalk like a normal person, humming through the gas valves poking from his neck, wind blowing hard against the front cover of his face, water bubbled from loose bolts and cracks. The plastic box over the broken dial exhausted steam and talc powder. Globs of blood washed from nozzles on the side of his head. Every step blew out a funnel of red air from the inlet. The rotating of the inner crack whined as tiny plastic pieces fell loose and rattle around inside of the case. 

I heard about what he had done, but I was not afraid. My parents mentioned Meterhead, but they decided my innocence mattered more than some legend.  I had to hear it from the old people who remembered his rampage. The legend of the headless monster that lived in the abandoned factory and who closed it down for good. I had to learn it from

At first he looked like he cut their throats. Every manager, every owner of the plant. Each one with a gas meter where their head should’ve been. A crank shoved deep inside their throats. Then Meterhead took the supervisors from their beds, and hung them by the head on assembly hooks. They floated like angels to heaven. But there was no heaven. Only the dark dusty rafters of the factory dungeon.  The factory floor where Meterhead lived. 

 They went through every station, still alive. The welding station. The torque station. The spray paint station. The claws squeezed their brains, and they lived to get spray painted gray and dropped in a hydro tester. Some even had their dead bodies packaged and sent out to somewhere out there. Ohio. Hong Kong. Brazil. Somewhere out there, a landlord awaited his shipment of gas meters. When she saw the crate full of blood soaked boxes, he screamed to the janitors and security guards. With each box, he found another body part. The police arrested anyone connected to the factory but they were let off when Meterhead began sabotaging gas meters on cell tech’s homes. Big explosions shook the ground and left craters where there was once a home. He found where they lived, kicked the gas meters until pieces came loose. In one year there was 13 explosions. 33 people died. The factory finally closed its doors before any lawsuits could be completed. At the funerals, Meterhead stood and watched the families. Some say he still lives in those ruins. Some say he went into the river or the carnage swamp. But I alone know him to rise only on certain lonely nights when stars turn black and he comes across relics of his former life. The grass lot where his home once was. The grave of his family members. The parking lot where his playground once was. 

I know this because unlike the others, I followed Meterhead when I saw him. I watched him stand in those places, the meter on his shoulder tilted downward, rain water dripped from his spout. Sometimes he’d stand at the edge of the playground and watch the children play. I understood that in all of his violence, he never harmed a child. Because of this I would approach him in the cold rain and hold my hand out for him to take. 

After the 1911 murders, someone hit him with their car and pinned him down. The mob tied him up, and left him locked inside of a tomb. My father was the man instructed to keep the keys to the tomb door. He kept them locked in a case on the wall and protected them with his shotgun. In any storm, he secured the keys first. 

 I got hold of that key. Meterhead didn’t belong there. He belonged on the playground with the other children. So I unlocked the tomb, and left the door wide open. My father was horrified. He tried to get me to tell on Meterhead. Where did he go? My father asked again and again. But I never answered. 

Meterhead went on to take more lives, then vanish. Many believed he died, but us children, we knew he'd return.

We wanted him to play with us. We created the cult which leaves offerings for him upon his return to the playground.