It is Halloween. I am passing alone, on foot, through a singularly dreary tract of Green Lake. The wind murmurs through a construction site across the street from a house with a red-lit porch. There is an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart. In that house of gloom I now propose to myself a sojourn of some hours. What depraved horrors await me inside?
"Everyone dance or I'll kick you out," advises an authoritative girl wearing a Promiscuous Palin outfit. Hot Tamales litter a table pushed into the corner in an attempt to clear space for a dance floor. A baby doll hangs from the ceiling and "HELP" is crudely written with what appears to be duct tape on the wall. The party is winding down as I rebelliously avoid the dance floor by hiding in the well-lit kitchen. The Tree of Knowledge stands next to me, playing with an untouched apple in his hands. A fully clothed Eve is talking to him, and I begin to nervously keep an eye out for serpents. Somebody pushes a wine bottle toward me, but before I have a chance to react, Promiscuous Palin shouts, "Everybody's leaving and I'm going to bed in retaliation."
From that kitchen and from that house, I flee, aghast. The wind is still uttering its murmurs as I find myself crossing the road. Suddenly, there shoots along the road a wild light and there drives by the Tree of Knowledge in a Honda Civic.
Want The Stranger to callously ignore the baby doll's pleas for help at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@ thestranger.com.