On Being Haunted

Pogo 8If you grew up in Chicago, you learned of John Wayne Gacy as routinely as you did how to dress in layers during the winter. When I first heard of him he was alive, though jailed, mewed like a bird, and waiting to die. There, he was in the middle, in between the words of being and not being, a form transitioning from action to epilogue. There, he became a different type of threat, one that would live in legend and possibility. His legacy would be exhibited as a cautionary tale of over-trust, in baleful stories of warn, then, alone, in nightmares. When I first heard of him I was young, a bit younger than the many of the boys were when Gacy met them and had them to his home for work or to buy an old car, for sex, for unadorned companionship. At onset they shared a continue reading…