Thursday, May 9, 2013


Bet you don't even know we here. Think it all shoppin' malls, P.J. Changs and goofy-golf. Well, who the hell care what you think? We like bein' invisible. We like settin' out on cool dark night talkin' to ghosts.  Legally dead folks can be mighty friendly.  Y'all jus' gotta give 'em a chance. I am Mister Edith. don't talk much. Not at all like the missus. But I got lots to say too, even if you do not know my first or last name. 

My folks been here since the beginning. Saw that 'devil' get born. The first one, I mean. And that was seventeen thirty five. Ain't been farmers. Can't grow no crops in these here woods. Lot a fish though... fresh water.... sorta kinda salt water. Some look like what you seen. Some look like what you ain't. Some got scales like copper. Some got teeth like nails. Whole lot a funny stuff get borned here. Thick trees... pines... oaks.... real old primeval type, ain't never been put in books. Dense like fur on a beaver belly. Got lot a little baby rivers in here too. Mos' got finger-eatin' snappin' turtles. Other stuff too, if you go skinny dippin'. 

Got that secret cave where the Talk-to-God man sleep... and the 'livin' grave' down below. It really a deep cave.... a hidey-hole down a long, skinny old volcanic chute. But nobody ever come back up. Ever once in a while, them Red Paint folks go crazy and have a 'throwin' 'o the bones. They say they had one a few years back. But it very horrible, so they not likely to do it any time soon. If you wanna know what it like, go read what they used to do to folks in 'the brazen bull.' Red Paint folks ain't regular 'Pineys.' They something else. They even older.... like the first Indians.  I do not know who these individuals are, but them that do say most Red Paint men favor Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the star ship Enterprise. And most of the women folk look like famed United States, Olympic  skier, Peekaboo Street. 'Cept Red Paints tend to be quiet-like and reticent. Call 'em 'Red Paints' 'cause early burials got lot a red powder throwed in. Professor types say they come from Europe. But I don't know where that is. 

My wife, Edith, comin' tonight. An' she bringin' them life-eaters in with her. They all right. Think we got some a what they call elferinos and elferinas wrigglin' through the woods already. 'Wood sprites' we call 'em.

Got a little hamlet, where we live. Not all of us. Jus' our band. It called Jubilee. Few cabins... Not made wit' logs, though... They plank built. We jus' call 'em that. Got a meetin' house, for talk-to-God stuff. Got a store for syrup and possum grease and, I don't know, all kinds a crap. One day they had 'magic beans.' But they was just dried up, human pituitary glands. Undertaker taught us that word. 

Root cellars all swept out for them life-eaters. Got tables down there. Got cots. Got quilts. Little lanterns... kind you gotta light. Old squeeze box. I cannot recollect if they like music. But I thought I'd be prepared. 

Piney kids all hepped up over it. They like life-eaters. Go wood-runnin' with 'em in the dark. Pin Head Mel all excited. Horsey Skeezix whinny all over the place. He a mostly tame, Jersey Devil kid. They not like what you see in books. More like old Greek satyrs or fauns, 'cept the fur not jus' down below. It go all over. But startin' maybe two or three inches below the navel it get real soft and short, like what a horse got. Look like they got gold skin. Some got auburn 'skin' too. Faces look wild, though. Little bit horsey, but not that much. Mane run down the spine. They mighty proud a that. Mighty proud a they tails too,

Come back tomorrow night, after they get here and settle in. I'll show you to the ghosts.

I do not know how these words appear on your screen. All I do is think 'em. 

Some other goomer mus' be tappin' 'em in...

Nitey night. I like it out here on the porch...... Shhhhh, lemme listen to the trees...
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