Sunday, January 24, 2016

A STRANGE LITTLE HOUSE GUEST UTTERS MYSTERIOUS WORDS... 1/24/16

We took in three homeless people during the storm. Two, we knew... the lady with the little girl who dumpster dives in the alley behind the corner with the Dunkin Donuts. Jonathon often leaves fat wallets there for her to find. Don't worry. He watches. He knows. She always finds them. The third was a guy who sleeps in the loggia fronting the Main Library on The Parkway.

Edith set them up in the basement. The rooms are finished off... storage... laundry... a little den... a sewing room... a wine room. The sofa in the den opens up, so the lady with the little girl slept there. The guy from the library got a roll out cot in the wine room, which worked out great, because he is a wino. Jonathon opened a bottle of Mosel for him. Edith gave him a nice big tuna hoagie and a pack of TastyKake chocolate cup cakes.. The other two got heaping plates of rigatoni and meatballs from upstairs. Edith does cook for me (Billy) and her, you know. There's also a tiled bath down there. The lady with the little girl went first.... Then the ghost boy, who always haunts down there and the little girl watch kiddie shows on sprout. Jonathon introduced them all, so nobody felt funny, or was scared. The lady said ghosts don't bother her, because all her favorite relatives were dead. She asked the boy if he ever came across her Uncle Scooter, but he said - no. The wino leafed through some gourmet/wine magazines and went to bed.

Doctor Franklin was supposed to come over, but with the blizzard and all he couldn't. He wanted to discuss the 'talking in tongues' children. Said he found a reference to similar occurrence in eighteenth century Denmark and seventeenth century Mexico. The Danish children were called 'the potato boys' since they roamed the potato fields in the moonlight quietly singing hymns in an unknown tongue and no one died during the three months this went on. In Mexico, it was a little girl, grandchild to an Aztec lord. She'd walk up to people in the Zocalo, never make eye contact and recite what sounded like a poem in some mysterious language.... if it was a language. Who could tell?

Vampires, being paranormal beings aren't surprised by all this. Jonathon says such children show up all the time, but usually just one or two. What we have now appears to be the beginning of an epidemic.

He sits in the library reading an old volume of Henry James... The Turn Of The Screw, I believe. Now when I say 'library' I mean the small, cozy, traditional room with the bay window fronting the street. There's a larger more formal space upstairs, but everyone from the little ghost boy on up prefers the one with the bay window. It's like a special cocoon. Jonathon liked Henry James. Few did ghost stories as well. The house was quiet. Sarah and Edith were already upstairs. I am too, only not sleeping because I have to channel this. Jonathon 'sends' it to me. He's not conscious he's doing it. Just lets me feel his thoughts and I type, up in my room, under the dormers, just below where the ghoul, Johnny Jump Up once prowled.... When downstairs, someone knocks on the library door.... a quiet, small sound... Jonathon whispers - Yes?.... The door opens and the little girl enters wearing the long, flannel gown Edith laid out on the sofa bed. Her chin high. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Jonathon didn't say a word. He just watched. The girl moved to the middle of the snug chamber and stood there in the light from a small table lamp (vampires prefer it dim). He knew what was coming. Every molecule in the room seemed to jump. Then she spoke in a low throaty voice. The vampire couldn't understand what she said. At first he thought it might be some dialect from The Caucuses, or Old Persian. But only at first. He picked up a pen lying on the side table and wrote her words phonetically on the last page of his book, till she was done. For a while she remained there, her eyes closed. Then she shook with strong, silent laughter. He blacked out. When he woke she was gone.

The only way he knew it wasn't a dream was by the little piece of blue, flannel fuzz sticking to his pants.

He picked it off, studied it, closed the light and went to bed. The little ghost boy, standing by the foot of the stairs watched him go up.

<more next time>

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