Captain Splatter

When I was halfway through high school in the mid-2000s, I had to move. I'd been in that town and school district for 7 years and it was good to me. Suddenly, I had to leave all that behind for a shittier school where I couldn't make friends or maintain my grades.

I became a recluse. I had saved enough money to buy my first computer at a mere/whopping $600, so I learned to get by with dvds and mp3s. Suffice to say, I was pretty cool, but not that cool. I still had a lot to learn about people, and what better a teacher than a message board filled with snobs and trolls?

I would frequent IMDb's Sandbox, Soapbox, Music General, and eventually... the Horror board. That's where I would encounter him. He was an OG troll who recommended the gnarliest movies at the time. Stuff like Cannibal Holocaust and Evil Dead. And stuff like The Stuff.

It wasn't long after I read his posts that I fell in love. I admired him and wanted to be like him. He was a rebel who returned like genital warts, time and time again, no matter how many times they banished him. As crass as he could be, his logic seemed to impress upon me. More than I'd expect.

I wouldn't be a horror fan if it weren't for him. I wouldn't know half the shit I do about Italian horror or interpersonal dynamics if I didn't follow his lead and learn the lost art of being a troll. For some reason, he fascinated me. Then, he ghosted the internet.

He went on to live one of those "real lives" with those fabled "real people" that can be so elusive, and so the life lessons were over. That's it? I didn't know what to do with myself at that point except to actually find myself, but it's easier when you have a template to go on. He was my template.

I'd talk to his lady every now and then. I'd even tricked her into coming on the site a few times, but basically, I was happy in just knowing that he existed, capable of playing the role of a normal rational human being, but also that of a psychotic madman who suffers the same mental breakdowns as everyone else. The only difference is that when he did it, he was more entertaining.

It's a terrible feeling when the remnants of your childhood dwindle. Doors close, windows open, but why can't I open that door again? I miss what's behind that door. That era was half my life ago, but it doesn't make it any less meaningful.

I'm sure you've interacted or even met with a few people on message boards. People you were fond of. People you respected. People who have died. The Horror board has already had at least a few casualties at this point, and there's another one for the fire. Rest in Peace, Captain.