Eerie, Indiana

To whom it may concern.

If you're reading this document, it means I'm either dead,

or have disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

My name is Marshall Teller.

Not long ago I was living in New Jersey just across the river from New York City.

It was crowded, polluted, and full of crime.

I loved it.

But my parents wanted a better life for my sister and me.

So we moved to a place so wholesome, so squeaky clean you could only find it on TV.

Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth.

Sure, my new hometown looks normal enough.

But look again.

What's wrong with this picture?

The American dream come true, right?

Wrong.

Nobody believes me, but this is the center of weirdness for the entire planet.

Thank you, little pipe boy.

You're the Indian, my home sweet home.

Still don't believe me?

You will.

Ever since moving here, I've been convinced

that something is very wrong with here Indiana.

I try telling myself there was a logical explanation for everything,

but logic doesn't apply here.

That's my family.

They're all too busy to see what's going on.

Mom just started her own party planning service down at the Erie Mall.

My sister Cindy is practicing for a driver's test.

Personally, I don't think anybody who spells Cindy

SYNDI should be allowed to operate a motor vehicle.

Dad works for Things Incorporated, a product testing company.

Dad's job is one of the reasons we moved here.

Because, statistically speaking, Erie is

the most normal place in the entire country.

Statistics lie.

Hey Mom, what's to eat?

There's plenty of leftovers.

Leftovers from what?

Think we ought to send this to the lab for carbon testing?

Okay, so it's not an ad for a good house keeper.

But your father and I work all week so until

I can get to the grocery store this afternoon, it's every teenager for himself.

Don't eat those.

I'll get it.

We're just going to read when you need her.

Welcome, neighbors.

Hi.

I'm Vandy Wilson.

From Up the Street, just thought I'd stop by and

welcome you folks to our little corner of the universe.

Won't you?

Smith?

I'm Cindy.

This is my brother, Marshall.

These are my boys, Bertram and Ernest.

Hey, how's it going?

They're such good boys.

Is the lady of the house at home?

Mrs. Teller, if you're like me, a homemaker on the go,

you know how overwhelming the task of everyday housework can become.

Well, I wouldn't say overwhelming.

Well, those days are over, thanks to the space age wonder for everywhere.

Every homemaker's answer to every home making problem.

From our own secret formula simulated plastic,

for everywhere manufacturers a full line of vacuum seal containers

to meet any contingency in the home of today.

Sorry.

Tell you what.

Why don't you come to a little forever where

party I'm throwing at my house tomorrow afternoon.

Come as you are.

It's just a few gals from the neighborhood getting together to train gossip and tips

about how to organize your life with this wonderful line of products.

Honey, is this leftover stuffing or something else?

I can't tell.

Sorry.

So it's all set then?

4.30 sharp.

Well, I was looking to meet some of the ladies on the block.

Oh heck, why not?

Wonderful.

I'll just leave you with this complimentary catalog written by my late husband Walt,

the inventor of forever wear.

It's full of recipes, household hints, words of wisdom,

and information on financing plans.

Financing.

Oh, and one last thing.

I always like to leave a special sample behind.

It's a little, thank you.

Here's one of our super sandwich savers.

It's yours to keep.

No obligation, of course.

And if you're hungry, the baloney sandwich inside

is as fresh as the day it was made in 1974.

Of course, you've always got to make sure the lids are sealed tight.

Otherwise, the aging process is accelerated.

Oh, of course.

Otherwise, forever wear is guaranteed when used as directed to keep anything fresh.

Forever.

Well, great then.

We'll see you tomorrow.

4.30 sharp.

You're going to love my friends.

Oh, should I bring anything?

Oh, joy.

I thought that was the last I'd see of the twins.

But then, suddenly, unexpectedly, one of them slipped me a note.

It was a weird look in his eye.

Sipped him desperate.

Yearbook 1964.

What did it mean?

Was it some kind of cry for help?

That's Simon, my next door neighbor.

He's just a kid, but I let him hang out because

his parents don't seem to want him around.

He's the only friend I've made since moving here.

He's also the only one who believes me back here.

The librarian thought I was weird checking out all those yearbooks.

Better weird than dead.

What are you looking for anyway?

Here, you got this note.

Yearbook 1964?

There's got to be something in these yearbooks.

It's some kind of clue.

I'm looking for something wrong around the place.

This is something like these, guys.

Hey, it's Bert and Ernie.

These guys must be really dumb.

They've been in the seventh grade forever.

I don't recognize any of these other kids, though.

How could you?

This yearbook is from 1964.

But that's impossible.

Unless...

Unless the twins are 30-something.

We got to get a closer look at this forevermore stuff.

Smells like a baloney sandwich.

Looks like a baloney sandwich.

Nah.

I'm sure forever is just a figure of speech.

Not according to the financing plan.

This man was still paying off the student loan.

Simon, your mom's yelling for me.

Hey, you boys aren't playing with my foreverware, Sam Florie.

Oh, no, Mom.

It's not a toy. It's a tool.

I mean, what does that mean?

I don't know.

The way Mom was talking about foreverware.

I knew it was time to spring into action.

That night, Simon and I agreed to sneak out

and spy on the foreverware lady in her twins.

I had to find out what was going on before Mom went to that party.

Regicent?

I was born for this.

Unfortunately, this would require some stupid risks on our part.

I knew something was wrong with her.

It ain't natural.

Mr. Salmon says it's 85 times.

I'm coming up now.

I'd seen some strange things since coming to Erie.

But nothing prepared me for what it's on next.

Good night, dumpling.

See you tonight.

No wonder they don't age.

The mom vacuum seals them every night in giant size foreverware.

Marshal, look!

Run away! Run away!

I was scared to death.

But if I didn't do something quick, my own

family was going to wind up human leftovers.

Normally I wouldn't be afraid of pancakes.

But back in Jersey, breakfast was always the service of both cereal.

Mom hadn't been worried.

So, how are the pancakes?

Great.

Yeah? I got the recipe out of my foreverware catalog.

It was almost time for that foreverware party.

Mom was on housekeeping binge.

If she went to that party in her state of mind, who knows what could happen?

I decided I had to tell somebody, no matter how crazy it sounded.

I'll tell Dad.

Dad was a reasonable guy.

He believed that mom was being lured into a mind-sucking cult of housewives,

zombies who'd preserved themselves in giant rubber kitchenware.

He'd believe me. He'd know what to do.

Dad?

Yes, sir.