RIE DYES
Yep, he died. What can we say really? Rye was keeping us all up last night complaining about how he was going to die and all that jive, until he eventually died. Up until then the time passed very slowly for all (except Joneaux Thomas was in Maine with no means of communication and thus had n
o idea what was going on). The rest of us kept entertained by our various mannerisms; Dirk Razor played Rolling Stones songs (which he insisted he wrote), Alice Thompson complained that it was too cold, and new comer Peter Fury did impersonations of various animals and what kinds of voices they would have if they could talk. Then came the big moment. It was like a sadistic new years of sorts. The minutes passed like hours, then the seconds passed like days until the clock struck 12. A silence fell over the room. There was not a movement from anyone. Nothing happened. That’s when Baxter Black pointed out that the clock was a little fast. After about five minutes Rye died. We were all struck by how straightforward his death was. He was told he was going to die and he did. There weren’t any puzzles, demons, ghosts, nothing. Just a very simple plain death. We assume Rye would have liked it that way, if he hadn’t told us multiple times that he didn’t want to die that way at all. After followed an awkward, somber funeral procession. His body was placed inside a cardboard box and then placed inside the furnace. The ashes were mixed with cement and buried deep. It is the way all zombie hunters must be buried so that they shall never come back.
Rye Remembered:
JREZHS HQ is going to need a lot to turn its frown upside down without Rye’s persistent smile. Rye is known far and wide as being one of the only zombie hunters ever to be able to use a sharp knife as an effective zombie-hunting weapon. Jamie Dwyce is going to have some large shoes to fill at Mr. Hooper’s Country Grocery Store now that Rye is unable to work there anymore. Within hours after Rye’s death his spiritually filled bluegrass band, “Forferd Meg”, whose motto was “Right from our souls and into your ears and then into your souls for a little while and then somewhere else” has now changed into a horror punk band whose new motto is “Die Die Die you filthy prostitute!” When at home Rye often spent time constructing cardboard houses for his gerbils Vera, Chuck, and Dave. And who could forget all the effort Rye always put into family night (which was an idea conceived, organized, and celebrated only by Rye).
Rye’s Eulogy was read by Frank Gritt and will printed in the Times Argus on Monday:
“I really didn’t like Rye. He was always so cheery about every single thing. It made me sick. He once told me how he thought the immense amount of crust I awake with on my eyes every morning ma
de me unique and that’s what he liked about the most. He also told me once that we’re all just one long vibrating string of energy so by hating each other, we’re just hating ourselves. I punched him a few times but I stopped because I noticed he was wearing a gem sweater. I can’t beat up a man while he’s wearing a gem sweater. It’s a personal thing. I don’t want to get into it. I don’t want to talk anymore. Stop writing down what I’m saying!”
A special message from Jim Rage
My fellow zombie hunters, it is with a sad heart that I announce to you that our esteemed comrade Rye Crofter has shuffled off this mortal coil. Sometime ago, he received notification from a bizarre Master Cultist that he would die in thirty days time. Today marks the end of that thirty day period. He was surrounded by friends and he died seemingly without pain. There were those who found Rye to be abrasive and annoying, but let me say that these people did not know the true Rye. Rye was well known for his courteousness, polite demeanor, and general good cheer. He was a true gentleman. I can remember when he and Max Powers fought biohazard zombies in Barre. A good hunt, many zombies were exterminated that day. When you consider things, every hunt that Rye Crofter was involved with was a good hunt. He used his sharp knife like a madman, and regaled us with his bluegrass/gospel tunes when things grew dire. He kicked ass and took names, all with a friendly smile and a glint of light from his lip-ring. Rye Crofter made me proud to be a zombie hunter. Rye crofter most surely is dead, but he’s still 100%.
