Every now and then a story comes along that preserves itself in the minds of the masses. A horror story brought from one side of Keene to the other, frightening the civil, and enticing the erstwhile desires of the locals. No one can explain these phenomena except the occasional expert, he or she who has studied the ways of the East, and knows its subtle nuances.

The story begins on a fated night, a first venture perhaps, into the streets of East Keene. An outsider looking in on a foreign land, taking his chances with the people, with the parking and, in fact, the culture of the east side enclave. Consulting an authority on East Keene living, this anonymous person believes it safe to park his vehicle on the street heading south. Believing in the safety of the unassuming vehicle, but not without checking the locks twice, he went into the residence little aware, yet slightly unsettled by what was about to happen.

Here it would be useful to explain the circumstances surrounding the street situation. A garage, once standing in the driveway of the home he was visiting had fallen victim to arson. A boy, not yet out of knickers, a product of his environment, had burned the garage to the ground, forcing those with vehicular means onto the street. In an effort to avoid the charred remains of the scene, our character too, parks his vehicle on the street.

As he enjoys a movie inside, strange events are brewing without. His head jerks at the sound of passing cars, the words of his West Side friends ringing in his ears. Assured that all was safe the newly acquainted couple continues watching the movie in relative harmony with the surroundings.

Upon the ending of the film, it was decided that a change in venue was in order, and the two venture to the street, joking of his anxiety about parking a vehicle on an East Keene street. But as he goes to unlock the doors, his biggest fears are realized as a power tool lies unassumingly in the road.

Now renovation is always occurring in this area, and quite possibly the drill could have belonged to the very workers laboring to rebuild the scorched garage. These are all valid reasons, but the proof, the horror lies on the driver’s side door. A dent just below the window, befitting of a power drill. Who would throw a drill one would ask, and he did? The mystery goes unsolved, but it is assured that thrown drills is an epidemic of East Keene alone. An interview with a certified drill expert revealed that, contrary to East Side lore, drills cannot fly.

Further inquiry also revealed that the object in question was out-of-date and unavailable anywhere other than underground black market dealers east of Main. This editorial suggests a drill-for-drugs policy. I give these people illicit substances for their projectiles. Incapacity may be the only method for preventing further incidences related to thrown power tools.

-Michael Gordon