Is Elvis Presley still alive? Some people swear that he is, and you'll never convince them otherwise. I'm sure you've heard what they say.
"My neighbor just saw him working at a supermarket in Florida!"
"No, wait! He actually manages a car wash in Seattle."
"He's the guy who just inspected my house for termites!"
Sounds crazy, right? Well I'm here to tell you that while he never held any of those jobs mentioned above, not everything you may've heard is without merit. To understand, you have to go back to that fateful day, August 16th, 1977, the day the world lost Elvis... for the first time.
Before I go any further, let me introduce myself. I'm Timmy Watkins, from Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Not too long ago, Elvis (aka The King) was my next door neighbor, and this was well after his purported 1977 death. Now, I know the first thing you're wondering is how Elvis managed to stick around years after the media first reported his demise. Maybe you're guessing that the pressure of all that fame caused him to fake his own death, but here's the scary part, he actually DID die that day. Unfortunately, he didn't stay that way.
The events of that August 16th unfolded pretty much the way they were reported in the news, with him collapsing to the floor. One of his favorite snacks, a peanut butter and banana sandwich, was on a table nearby. His manager, Colonel Tom Parker, took the news hardest of all. Elvis had made him a rich, respected man. Without Elvis, he was nothing, and he knew it. He refused to accept the fact that Elvis was gone. Later that night, Col. Parker sneaked into the Memphis morgue and injected the corpse with a top secret serum that'd been given to him by none other than Richard Nixon.
The Serum, called Revivian, had been developed by the U.S. government as a way to bring important dignitaries and statesmen back to life. And it worked, too! In 1975, a young, up-and-coming singer, who had died in a car accident, became the first test subject. The lead scientist's daughter was a close personal friend of this singer, and she begged her father to turn the poor lad into a proverbial guinea pig when she heard of accident. Long story short, that singer was Leif Garret, who's probably unknown to most of you younger readers, but in a horrible twist, he fully recovered and went on to become the Justin Bieber of his day, singing crappy music that only a tone-deaf thirteen year old girl could find palatable.
As the government cronies watched his subsequent musical career unfold, they knew right away they'd made a tragic, horrible mistake. Who were they to play god? Awful music was being unleashed upon the world by the person they'd saved. A blunder like that could NOT be made again. The project was shut down, and all of the scientists were lined up and shot in the head. The laboratory, along with all documentation, was burned to the ground. The remaining samples of the serum, save for one, were destroyed. That last sample managed to find its way into the possession of Richard Nixon, though the chain of events through which that happened remain fuzzy. While Nixon fully intended to use the serum on himself, he eventually had a change of heart when he realized that with his looks, it was probably better to not live longer than necessary. Using his unimpeachable wisdom, Nixon saw fit to send the sample to Col. Parker about six months before his friend Elvis passed away, as he was well aware of The King's declining health. It was Nixon's hope that if Elvis ever suffered an unexpectedly early death, the serum could be used to bring him back to life. I guess it was his attempt to atone for the whole Leif Garret debacle, and his foresight proved to be accurate.
As noted earlier, Col. Parker was all too eager to revive Elvis for his own greedy needs. The problem was that the serum should've been administered within three hours of death, and Col. Parker wasn't able to get to Elvis until at least ten hours after he died. He didn't care though, nothing was going to stop him from bringing back The King! The serum still worked, mostly. Yes, Elvis came back to life, but he was never the same. He lumbered around aimlessly, constantly looking for his next meal, with greenish-hued skin and a foul stench permeating from his body. He was able to follow simple directions, but he never sang again. Col. Parker hid Elvis, and the truth, from everybody. He moved Elvis from town to town, keeping him chained up in basements and always trying to stay one step ahead of The National Inquirer, The Weekly World News, and other such supermarket tabloids.
Sometimes Elvis would escape from his confines and wreak his special brand of Elvis havoc upon the world. That's where all of the "Elvis is alive" rumors come from. Once, after having snapped his chains, Elvis made it outside and found an unfortunate teenager wearing a yellow shirt. Mistaking her for a giant banana, Elvis consumed the poor girl right there on the spot, leaving only a pile of greasy bones. Another time, he escaped to an electronics store and angrily smashed a stereo over a salesman's head after he saw a Beatles DVD playing on the wall of TVs. It was noteworthy incidents such as these that precipitated each move from town to town.
The stress of maintaining his own public life, and keeping Elvis hidden from the world, weighed heavily on Col. Parker. He faked his own death in 1997 so that he could fully dedicate his life to taking care of his zombie charge. He and Elvis continued to move to various locations, finally ending up in Wisconsin. And that's where I enter the story! The house next door to mine had been vacant for at least six months before Col. Parker and Elvis moved in. That was in 2002. All my life I'd heard the Elvis rumors, and like most people, I thought they were silly. I would soon find out just how true they were.
The two lost souls quietly moved in during the middle of the night, and kept to themselves over the next three months. I was barely aware that anyone was there at all, though I did occasionally hear odd sounds coming from the basement. Finally, I decided that I wasn't being very neighborly towards the new, mysterious residents, so I baked a pan of my famous peanut butter bars and took them with me as I headed over to their home.
I confidently rang their bell, with a big, goofy smile plastered across my face. Seconds later, the door opened slowly. There in front of me was the Colonel, looking tired and old. My honest impression was that he really looked like a guy who'd been beat down by life.
"Hello there," came his week greeting.
"Hi, I'm Timmy from next door, I thought I'd come introduce myself." I handed the peanut butter bars to the Colonel.
The Colonel looked pleasantly surprised, and he wasted no time, "Hello Timmy. I think it's very serendipitous that you've come here today. I have quite a problem that I don't think I can solve by myself."
"Sure, I'd love to help you. What do you need?"
I was invited inside, and over a cup of coffee and a couple of peanut butter bars, I was told the story of reanimated Elvis, the same story that I've just relayed to you.
Then Col. Parker laid out his request, "Now Timmy, you need to understand that I'm an old, dying man. I've not much time left, and when I'm gone there'll be no one here to deal with Elvis. When I'm dead, I need you to go down to the basement and put a bullet in that monster's head. I can't do it myself. I'm.... too weak." Col. Parker looked down in shame as those words left his lips.
I sat there in silence, with a look of disbelief on my face.
The Colonel looked in my eyes, "Of course, you want proof. Don't you? Come with me, come meet The King. But before you do, I must warn you!"
"Warn me of what?"
"Elvis is... well he can be very infuriating. He only speaks in song titles. HIS song titles to be specific. Come and see for yourself." He motioned towards my plate of goodies, "And bring those peanut butter bars, Elvis will want some."
I followed him downstairs to the basement. The room was lit with an assortment of candles, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw before me The King himself. He had green skin and vacant, yellow eyes. An unpleasant odor filled the room. His body was adorned with one of his classic sequined jumpsuits, but it obviously hadn't been cleaned in a long time. A chain ran between his ankle and the wall, giving him perhaps a ten foot radius within which he could move. He was eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
"Now listen to this," the Colonel whispered to me, "and you'll see just how upsetting he can be."
Directing his words towards Elvis, the Colonel asked, "What's that you're eating?"
Elvis sluggishly looked up, and in his slow familiar drawl, he answered, "Hound dog."
"Dang it Elvis!" The Colonel was quite upset. "You know damn well you're not eating dog! That's a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I made it for you myself!"
"Don't be cruel," came Elvis's slow, chicken-fried response.
Col. Parker looked at me, "Do you see? Do you see? He's impossible!" Even though the monster's behavior at that moment didn't seem so bad to me, it was clear that after twenty five years, Col. Parker had reached his boiling point with Elvis's annoying, murderous ways.
At that point I'd seen enough. I wanted nothing more to do with the freak show that was unfolding in front of me.
"Uhhh, thanks for showing me Elvis," I stammered. "I can see myself out."
I turned quickly to leave, but crashed into a table that I hadn't noticed earlier. Several bunches of bananas had been resting atop the table. I collapsed in a heap along with the bananas and peanut butter bars, creating a huge mess. As I sat stunned on the ground, I saw that the food was smashed all over the front of my shirt.
The colonel helped me to my feet, but he was stopped cold by the sound of breaking chains. I looked over and saw that Elvis had gotten free and was headed straight towards me! I knew, that covered in peanut butter bars and bananas, I was just too tempting a meal for Elvis to pass up.
"I want you, I need you, I love you!" Elvis caterwauled while looking directly at the smeared food on my shirt.
It only took Elvis three steps to reach me. He shoved Col. Parker out of the way and pushed me into the wall. I tried to shove Elvis back as hard as I could, but weighing close to three hundred pounds, he wasn't easy to move. He began gnawing at my chest and licking my face. I understood then that I was in big trouble.
The Colonel got back onto his feet. "No! I won't let you take another life!" He screamed as he dove and tackled Elvis.
"Whole lotta shakin' going on," Elvis sang out as he and Col. Parker collided.
I darted towards the staircase, then paused as a question occurred to me, "Hey, isn't that a Jerry Lee Lewis song?"
The Colonel and Elvis rolled around the room, punching and clawing at each other. Between punches and kicks, the Colonel tried his best to answer my question, "Elvis... recorded... a... version... too."
For a moment, the surprisingly strong Col. Parker gained the upper hand, pinning Elvis to the ground. He looked at me, "Now stop asking stupid questions! Go, save yourself!" he screamed.
Elvis pushed Col. Parker off of him. They rolled into a shelf and knocked over an open can of kerosene that soaked both of them. Several of the lit candles fell down as well, and soon the two fighters were consumed in flames. They continued with their struggle, causing the room around them to ignite. I got up and ran out of the house, leaving the two of them to a fiery grave.
I could hear Elvis's voice sing out one last time as I ran from the property, "Burning love!" Then, there was only the sound of the roaring fire. Elvis and Tom Parker, each the bane and the blessing of the other, were consumed together in the inferno.
In the end, and after a lifetime of greed and cowardice, Col. Parker had ultimately redeemed himself with a heroic act. And Elvis? He was finally able to get the rest he should've gotten all those years earlier. Sometimes I look back on that day with amazement, and I almost don't believe my own memories. That's why I'm finally writing all this down, not that any of you will believe me. Tupac, another neighbor of mine, tells me I'm full of shit, but I know the truth. I was there, and it really happened. I'd never been a fan of Elvis's music before that day, but you know what? I'm still not, because that jerk tried to eat me.
Written by Creepy Thomas O.