It is just a clump of old wives’ tales retold every year at this time – born of the dark and dank October nights in this creepy old town – nothing to concern oneself with. It’s just a spooky old factory after all.
The old folks ‘round these parts cherish the quiet solitude. They don’t mind being a hundred miles off the main highway, but it can be danged hard to find your way home, even for the locals once the sun sets over those brooding mountains.
Those wives’ tales be danged; we are all just plain blessed with our good fortune. Life out here may not be too gratifying, but we are just plum happy that there’s plenty of work at the old factory on the outskirts of town when we need some dough. No need to wander far or worry about a lack of work … no siree!
Odd thing about those weird old codgers who run that factory … they always seem to harp on and on about the old days and how easy it used to be to find good help. Hard to understand. We see the steady stream of bums and stragglers wandering into town, always directed to that factory when they need money to eat. But come to think of it, we don’t often see them leave that old dismal factory.
We reckon those vagrants most likely handle the undesirable work inside; us townsfolk just end up working on the factory outskirts … loadin’ trucks with barrels of something green and awful smelly.
Our womenfolk and most of the young’uns just make up their yarns and give that old place a wide berth – their silly stories become kinda creepy come nightime. And they made up this dumb name for the old factory … like, what was it? Oh yeah … Fear Factory.
Is that disturbing and childish or what? Fear Factory. Couple of my buddies and I plan to sneak on in and do some investigatin’ after dark tonight – put this malarky to bed. How ‘bout you join us?
Fear Factory … ‘Hogwash’ I say!