Dab smack in the middle of the eastern Canadian prairie is a tiny town called Somerset, Manitoba.
Somerset is sleepy little place where nothing much eventful ever happens. Farmers, mechanics and a few office workers going about their business. The main recreation in the place is gossiping about neighbors and talking about the latest casualty of old age. The towns population is overflowing with senior citizens. The only growth industry in town is the funeral home.
Eventually the gossip began to speculate that there was a hoarder in town. Now this was interesting, the story really revved up the usually mundane restaurant chatter. As with all gossip, the facts are usually exaggerated and embellished. The chit chatters usually don’t care if the facts are unknown, they just like the story. But this time it was different.
The hoarder himself admitted that he was one. Constantijn Vanderrassle admitted to the local bartender that he had in fact been hoarding since the early 1990’s. It started after he retired from the railroad. He loved the things he bought from thrift stores, auctions and the picks he went on. And for the life of him he just couldn’t get rid of any of the stuff.
A big structure with over a dozen rooms
After repeated requests Constantijn allowed the bartender Cletus LaFlesche to take a look. Cletus brought along his super dependable cannon XZ-500 digital camera and promptly snapped a picture of the living room.
Ignore the date in the bottom right corner, Cletus never did figure out how to set the clock on his camera. Since Constantijn was 92 years old Cletus wondered what in the hell he was doing with a little red wagon. Top left.
A few weeks after the visit something was bugging Constantijn that was causing him to drink more heavily than usual. He finally confided to Cletus that the damn house was haunted. He was seeing all kinds of weird entities. These phantoms, demons or whatever the hell they were, would throw the clustered hoarded things around in the middle of the night. Constantijn just couldn’t get any sleep.
One night, after the two buddies had drank many sambuca shooters and draft beers, they would go head first into the evil cauldron and Cletus would snap some pictures. The things in the pictures made the hair on Cletus’s neck stand on end. It was something out of a horror movie nightmare. Entities from hell!!
Bloody demon clowns!
Jesus Fricken Murphy!! The rancid breath that thing must exude.
Imagine waking up in the middle of the night to go for a leak and stumbling into this monstrosity. A guy could shit his pants!
From which hell pit did this quad eyed hideous mutation crawl up from? God help us all!!
And Constantijn did just that, he hired a servant of God to rid the house of the demon trolls.
Constantijn promised Cletus that if the Exorcist is successful, he will bring in the A&E hoarder psychiatrists and movers and get rid of all his stuff once and for all.