This is Edith, the Piney witchy-woman talking. The vampires are in a stupor. They get that way sometimes. Oh, they move around and say stuff and go outside and all, but nothing much happens. Plus, Jonathon gets all holy-roller when Pentecost approaches. Jews count the days, just like Advent, til the Great Assembly at Sinai. But I ain't talkin' 'bout that tonight. Jonathon does enough of that. I got a scary story to tell you. Not so much a story. this thing is real...
THE TALKING COFFINS OF THE PINES~~~
Nobody knows when it started. This is just a recount of an early episode.... One year winter came early. Not that there were blizzards. None of that. But the ground froze up and icy blasts cleansed the land. And them what know say night time come early... 'bout ten minutes before it rightly should, though nobody knows why.
Mrs. Onger live deep in the pines. Ain't no road. Ain't no town. Ain't no nothin'. She got a cabin... a root cellar and a shed. Once had a dog, but dumb dog got a leg and a head ripped off one night and Mrs. Onger never did find out how or why. She buried what was left.
Next night the snow comes. Not a lot, just enough to gild the dead, hard ground. She make herself a squirrel meat supper with roasted chestnuts and all. Throws in a few cranberries. Everybody in The Pines got berries. Ain't no lights in that cabin, 'cept what come from the hearth. So she sits and she rocks and she reads from an old, thirty five year old Sears & Roebucks catalog. Knows it all by heart. Which oven makes the best chicken. What man-shorts provide the best support and what dog food ain't got too much pig lips in it. Then she piss in an old, crackled. porcelain pot and goes to bed. Bed in a little room toward the back. If she leave the door open a little bit of orange glow left in the hearth follows her into the sleepin' place. She says some prayer and drifts off.
Now they got no 'hours' this far back in The Pines. Don't need 'em. Hardly got no 'years' either. But sometime later, front door start bangin' like something tryin' a get in. She bar the door every night, but still room for a little bangin'. Old woman go - What that!? Who there?!.... No answer... Few heartbeats later bangin' get louder... She think maybe it a bear, 'cause they got bear 'round there. Only ain't no bear noises. Then she hear a thud. One a the metal cleats holdin' up the thick wood bar come lose. Half a heartbeat later, bar crash down too. Old woman raise quilt up to her eyes and look. She can see it all (just barely) right through bedroom door. Look like an old grandfather clock or a skinny wardrobe tryin' a shoulder its way through the door. Finally door go BOOM and smash open, lettin' in a bit a moonlight. She see it not no grandfather clock or wardrobe breakin' in. It a coffin... an old, rough, standin' up, wood coffin... An' it comin' right at her. Scrape along floor a little. Then rest a little. Then scrape some more. Old lady whimper. She go - Save me! Save me! Save me!.... An' she a mostly nice old lady, so you know this ain't right.
Cold wind blow in. Place freezin'. Twenty five heart beats later, walking-coffin right by her bed. She whisper - Please, Lord, I dreamin'... But voice from inside that strange dead box go - No you ain't... Not a loud voice. Jus' a little one. But that only make it worse..
Then, for a long time it jus' quiet. She think she hear breathin' inside, but that just her. Hard to say what coffin doin' 'cause it so dark. But she know it there... right by the bed. Smell grave dirt on it an' everything.
Little bit later, quilt act like it don't want a stay on bed and cover her no more... Something yankin' it off. Old lady, in a real quiet voice. go - No. No. No.... But whatever pullin' that quilt don't care, 'cause it on the floor.
That when the dead-box begin to groan. Not loud, but she can hear it. Sometime it sound like it laughin'...
Old lady jus' shiver... from fear... from cold... from everything...
Keep prayin' that she die...
But this old lady not that lucky...
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