Marty Dean, MD Has Died

While commanding the little red corvette steering wheel, Crystal Lake listened to the sounds, gracing the Paskoniu Pond recreation resort region airwaves, "such a beautiful day, great to be alive," the enthusiastic talent expressed, until a blaring breaking news account interrupted someone's musical presentation.

"Earlier today well renowned author Marty Dean, MD shockingly passed away, while publishing several children's books about dinosaurs, he worked as a charismatic cooky academic department head, teaching a course on doing it your way. A lonely child at birth, Dr. Dean, is survived by no family members; and the batty bachelor of the arts will be remembered all over the world, when readers reflect upon his societal contributions."

Coming to a complete stop, Crystal Lake found a scenic drive parking space, peering out she could see the picturesque boating paradise and pondered the name Marty Dean, MD.

When Crystal Lake's maturing years were transitioning from preadolescents to teenagers, the young child, found herself one spring Friday afternoon stretcher wheeled, fighting consciousness into the operating theater where sharp objects occupied the prop table. Never understanding whether her physical ailment was under the neurology or orthopedic umbrella, Crystal Lake lowered her guard imitating a fan club fickle trust crush scene, allowing anybody's opinion to be heard.

Flanked by his university students, her surgeon calmed Crystal Lake's nerves, making them tranquil, ripple less, "you are going to be all right." Then another voice whose photographic facial images claimed magazine cover credibility, added a more majestic message, "rest in peace my princess".

Hearing those words "rest in peace, my princess" haunted Crystal Lake's mental health and following the couple hour procedure she took an interest in gothic story telling dispensing soap opera romantic comedy terrorism. Due to all the incisions that were performed, fashionable outfits shrouded the health care fallout that never took away Crystal Lake's innocent smile by hiding the stitched-up past, featuring disfigured personal areas.  

Residing along the one lane lightly used paved roadway, a restaurant overlooking the fantasy. "Jerry Stone's Hard Clam Hideaway," where little necks are delightfully devoured, had the best early bird specials, and Crystal Lake motorized her engine, quickly visiting the establishment.

 Flipping keys, still showing enthusiastic personality traits, Crystal Lake felt the Absinthe Rockefeller Oysters vibe, still needing enough pearls for a magical necklace.

"Crystal Lake a half or dozen tonight?" Greeted, Jerry Stone.

"Jerry, you know, my usual, a baker's dozen," Crystal Lake requested.

"Of course," Jerry Stone agreed, "thirteen is a lucky number"

"Especially, when pearl searching," Crystal Lake smiled watching Jerry Stone disappear, "did you hear? Dr. Marty Dean died today,"

"He did," Jerry Stone reentered the scene, "I remember the body cast killer book he wrote."

"Yeah, Jerry, I played the patient in the movie version,"

"The Plaster Disaster Monster," Jerry Stone remembered as Crystal Lake investigated the complementary oyster.

"Look at what I found," Crystal Lake exclaimed.

"You can add it to your collection," Jerry Stone suggested.

"i will," Crystal Lake accepted the idea.

"Your such an inspiration, Crystal Lake,"

"I might have died and come back to life," Crystal Lake paused, "but"

"But all you have to do is hit the rewind button," Jerry Stone finished the sentence.

Nightfall besieged the skies, replacing bright sunshine when Crystal Lake arrived home. Opening the screen door, the successful slasher horror movie siren carefully maneuvered into the cabin situated atop the majestic hill.

Fatigue stricken Crystal Lake grabbed a long neck bottle, strangling the refrigerated buzzing contents before collapsing, using deck porch chairs as a landing area. Turning the radio on, she took a swig, "you are enjoying the Shaun and Cuttingham Show, and tonight we have been reminiscing about author Dr. Marty Dean who was found dead in his one room laboratory earlier today."

"Found dead in his laboratory studio?" Crystal Lake sipped, staring her cell phone down,

"Give us a call with any Dr. Marty Dean memories,"

Picking up the modern communication device Crystal Lake dialed the rural radio station,

"Hello, Shaun and Cuttingham, this is Crystal Lake who lives at the hilltop summit, last house on the right,"

"The Crystal Lake," Shaun interjected, "who starred in 'The Plaster Disaster Monster' Movie?"

"And other medical school maniac menace mellow dramas," Cuttingham continued.

"That's the one,"

"Did you study with Dr. Marty Dean?' 'As a college student?"

"Getting one credit for the archeological dig footage," Cuttingham wondered.

"Actually, I was his patient," Crystal Lake rekindled, "he wished me pleasant dreams, once."

"You must have many Dr. Marty Dean recollections," commented Shaun.

"Actually," and Crystal Lake started spinning.

Dr. Dean opened his office door, and nothing was there, despite a strange sensation of something microscopic sneaking around the corner. Returning to his research equipment, the well-known published writer studied the petri dish and saw a frightening reality.

"Crystal Lake," he saw her seductive selling points.

"Yes, Dr. Dean, that microscopic giant did take my good-looking body but not my clean-cut headshot image."

Realizing his whole life was a facade, and all Dr. Marty Dean's successes were connected to one innocent patient, traumatic guilt invaded his heart, setting off a ticking time bomb.

"And Crystal Lake, when did this happen?" Shaun dug deeper.

"A few hours ago," Crystal Lake replied, making everyone laugh.

When the conversation concluded, Crystal Lake raised her barley beer remains, peered out to the placid water body and declared, "here is to Posthumous author Dr. Marty Dean, welcome to the other side."