Doing Our Research

We flew to Connecticut in search of the state’s infamous Melon Heads. Understandably disturbed by our disastrous encounter in Mississippi, Glen and I decided to do our research this time. After poking around the depths of the internet, we gathered a few key details about the Melon Heads, small humanoids with disproportionately large heads – hence their name. People believe they lurk on country roads in the western corners of Connecticut. Melon Heads have been blamed for a number of local disappearances. Home to an abandoned asylum, the hills of southwestern CT are the supposed Melon Head center of North America. Of course, we had to take a look. “How scary can Melon Heads be?” That silly name made them sound like a 70s jam band. 

After long phone calls with our fathers, we purchased a new van for this leg of the journey. It was difficult to explain what happened to the first one in Florida, but Glen and I were able to talk our way through. With the last of our direct deposits, we also bought the necessary gear for our asylum stakeout: a tent, flashlights, s’mores ingredients, and bug spray. 

Into the Unknown

We spent our first night at a bed and breakfast, hoping to gather some details about the Melon Heads. Each person gave similar advice – don’t stay out after dark, stay away from the old asylum, stay off the dirt roads, and don’t go anywhere alone. Unfazed, Glen and I drove through the forest to the asylum the next morning. We were a little scared. Thankfully, Glen and I are also very brave.

Although it was still light out when we got to the asylum, the tall trees blocked out most of the sunlight. Through the pines, the large, columned buildings of the asylum were visible. Glen and I were close enough to see the broken windows and chained doors. 

A dope setup.

We parked the van on the side of a dirt road, and built a fire right away. We decided to set the tent up later. Within minutes, we were making s’mores. What better way to attract hungry Melon Heads than with the smell of roasting marshmallows? 

Getting a Closer Look

I swear, it was Glen’s idea to explore the asylum. But we’d had our fill of s’mores, so I agreed. We let the fire burn out, grabbed our new flashlights, and walked into the woods. It was dusk.

Frankly, the asylum was underwhelming. Just a bunch of overgrown shrubbery and broken windows, no shrieks tonight. All the doors were locked. We couldn’t risk climbing through the windows. We weren’t thrilled at the idea of getting scratches and possible infections. It wasn’t worth our time. So we hustled back to the campsite. 

What we were worried we might see.

A Wonderful Surprise

The walk back to the van felt a lot longer in the dark. I thought we were lost. Finally, in sight of the van, I noticed a warm light sending flickering shadows onto the side of the van. “Glen,” I whispered. “Do you see that?” Glen froze.

“Quick,” Glen answered. “Turn the flashlights off.” We stood there in the darkness, listening. Someone – or something – had gotten our fire going again. My heartrate quickened. Then, I heard something. Not voices, not the crackling of the fire, but the soft sound of a ukulele. 

“What the…” I whispered. We took a few steps forward. “Is that a bongo drum I hear?” I asked. Glen nodded. Sitting around our fire, we saw pairs of small hands in the light of the fire playing the ukulele, the tambourine, a small set of bongo drums and a harmonica. Their backs were to us, but it was easy to appreciate the size of these musicians’ heads: large, bulbous, and melon-shaped. Glen gasped. They were playing “Riptide” – Glen’s favorite. 

At this point, we had to join them. After all, they were burning our wood and eating our s’mores. We introduced ourselves. At first, they were a bit shy. Their names were Tyrone, Jeremiah, Cleatus, and Patrick. Stylish, they had long hair and wore Hawaiian shirts. Once again, Glen and I were embarrassed at our lack of hair. 

“Excuse me,” Glen asked Cleatus, the ukulele-player. “Could I try?” Cleatus nodded. Suddenly, Glen broke into his special version of “Riptide,” and the rest of the band picked it up quickly. I broke out my xylophone, and we played into the night. We didn’t want to be kidnapped.

A Happy Ending

The Melon Heads spent the night, and we had a grand old time. The next morning, we had brunch. Apparently, I was right: they actually were a 70s jam band. Unfortunately, they confessed; they were responsible for a few kidnappings in the 90s. But those days are over. It’s 2023, and it’s time for forgiveness. It’s a new day for the Melon Heads!

Later, Glen and Harms at the beach trying to fit in with our new friends.
(Visited 11 times, 1 visits today)

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.