Saturday, October 13, 2012


A few weeks ago, a careless hunter killed a little Piney girl. He shot her with steel tipped arrows. Thought she was possessed, or something, 'cause he saw her levitatin' in the moonlight. Careless hunter don't know much 'bout Piney ways.

Took a little bit, but they ketched him and threw him down a naturally formed rocky tunnel (a little, narrow, dried up ancient lava chute, actually) to a dark, noxious quagmire under where the Talk-To-God Man lives.

Oh, he scream a lot at the beginning. Try to get out, but he can't. Hole open up high in the wall a the chamber where he is. No way he gonna get to it. So he cry and he pray and he scream. 

Ain't no where to lay but the mud. Whole place full a mud. Now most time it warm in there. Think they got a little hot spring runnin' 'round down below. But every so often things change. Earth must shift and the spring jus' run off somewheres else. Mud gettin' clammy now. Hunter guy gettin colder. 

Oh, he not goin' hungry. Mud bugs takes care a that. They little bit like rolly-poly... little bit like shrimp and little bit like somethin' else... bed bug, I think. But he is startin' to shiver some. 

Lays there all balled up just like a unborn baby, 'cept tighter, like a cannon ball. Talk-To-God Man unstuff the hole when he want a hear him... when he wanna know if he still breathin'. He throw incense down. Say some prayer, or jus' listen. Talk-To-God Man like a do that late at night, 'specially when the ghosts is busy... 'specially when he get lonely. He say - You know I can't haul you out. Ain't no way to do it. You know I can't warm it up none. Ain't no way a do that either. Talk-To-God Man can smell the cold clamminess. 

Careless hunter guy listen. He float on the chill, wet crap and he listen. Don't even care if them mud-bugs crawl on him. He just lay there, eyes open and listen. Talk-To-God Man tell stories, mostly 'bout his own life, or shit what happens to other folks he knows. It is strange to think that right dead in the middle of Philadelphia, Atlantic City and New York City they got a place like this..... but they do.

It don't seem like that hunter guy gone live long. Mud too cold now. 'Sides, all that fresh water (not clean, just not briny) doin' stuff to him. It leechin' salts all outta his body. An' mud-bugs ain't to salty.

Ever see dead bastids brung up from them peat bogs? Look like somebody make a pocketbook shaped like dead hobo. All wet leather-like. All brown and shiny? Well, that what happenin' to him.

Maybe in thousand year or so folks gonna find him. They say - Hot damn! Look how good he look..... 'Cept nobody want him for no son-in-law..... They wash him 'round a little and stick him in a case... a glass case. Then they put him a dead shit zoo. I think it called a museum. Folks pays money. Folks gets  to see him. You know what they say? Everybody get famous sometime.

So if you ever poke your nose in the Pines, don't make nobody mad at you, or you might wind up famous a thousand year from now too.

I not tryin' a scare you. I jus' tellin' you how it is.

Gone be frost tonight. Gone be cold. Best wrap youself in a good blanket. Imagine what it like in the mud.....


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