31 October 2019
970
R. Linda:
Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
wing of bat and tongue of dog,
by pricking of thumbs something wicked
this way comes . . .
I swore I wouldn't let Weasil get me into any more strange situations, but alas, I failed yet again! He hasn't been around all fall, not a word was heard, until last week. He fired an email at me informing me, not telling me, that WE were going to get reservations for the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River next Halloween. Complete with overnight stay in THE HOUSE, seance, walk through the rooms where IT happened, etc.
After me stay at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, you'd think the Borden house would be a piece of cake. Well, no, no it is not. I fired back with a resounding NO! He wrote me back a terse, "Wellie, if dattie be da way ya feel." But he found something else for me to do this Halloween season, yes he did. The young whippersnapper booked me in a haunted tour, refreshments in the solarium and then a walk to its own graveyard all scheduled for the night of the Harvest Moon, Sunday, 13 October.
Only he didn't tell me any of that, instead, he told me I "owed" him an evening in the mountains since I missed his Bar Harbor bash. This was news to me, I owe the Weasil nothing. He further wrote he'd be picking me "arse" up Sunday twilight and be ready, I'd be back in the early morning hours, and it was only one evening so really how could "ya refuse?"
970
R. Linda:
Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
wing of bat and tongue of dog,
by pricking of thumbs something wicked
this way comes . . .
I swore I wouldn't let Weasil get me into any more strange situations, but alas, I failed yet again! He hasn't been around all fall, not a word was heard, until last week. He fired an email at me informing me, not telling me, that WE were going to get reservations for the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River next Halloween. Complete with overnight stay in THE HOUSE, seance, walk through the rooms where IT happened, etc.
After me stay at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, you'd think the Borden house would be a piece of cake. Well, no, no it is not. I fired back with a resounding NO! He wrote me back a terse, "Wellie, if dattie be da way ya feel." But he found something else for me to do this Halloween season, yes he did. The young whippersnapper booked me in a haunted tour, refreshments in the solarium and then a walk to its own graveyard all scheduled for the night of the Harvest Moon, Sunday, 13 October.
Only he didn't tell me any of that, instead, he told me I "owed" him an evening in the mountains since I missed his Bar Harbor bash. This was news to me, I owe the Weasil nothing. He further wrote he'd be picking me "arse" up Sunday twilight and be ready, I'd be back in the early morning hours, and it was only one evening so really how could "ya refuse?"
He seems to forget I have a wife and kiddos and just can't up and go wherever he pleases I should.
I knew he'd keep at me so I caved. I know what you're thinking and don't say it. I be perfectly aware of my shortcomings when it comes to mind games with the Weasil.
So Sunday it had been windy and gloomy the entire day. I was in a half-decent mood by the time the hearse arrived. Yes, there was a black hearse parked out me door and in it was a man dressed like an Edwardian undertaker (the driver) and inside was the Weasil, skeleton topped walking stick, top hat and all. I told him emphatically I was not going anywhere in that thing. After much cajoling and me wife saying, "Get that thing out of my driveway!" I was shoved in and off we went. I realised there was a casket in the back of the thing and tried my damnest to open the door to get out but the "undertaker" had locked me in!
On either side of an old-fashioned coffin (a skinny Dracula affair) were seats. There I was on one side, the Weasil on the other. There were cup holders attached to the casket! He had two bottles of Vampire red wine and vampire glasses which he poured us both.
"Not funny, none of this," I said with a sweep of my hand.
He did not care and poo-pooed my protests. I found out we were going north but he would not say where just that we were on our way to a lovely evening of scares and "funnzies." We drank a bottle and a half of the wine by the time we got to where we were going, which to this day I am still not sure where that was exactly. I was sure we had crossed the border into Vermont, but it could have been Maine for all I know. I don't think we were in New Hampshire either. If we were in NH we took Robin Hood's way to get where we were going, I can tell ya that much.
The hearse climbed up, ever upward into the mountains and I could see that ghostly mist as we travelled slowly up a gravel drive, the harvest moon rising in the background, the tyres crunching the stones making me feel like we were driving over old bones. All we needed was the howling of a wolf and the scene would be complete.
In the not-far distance, I could see THIS moving along with the car.
It was a floating pumpkin, and as I squinted me eyes, I could just make out a hand and part of an arm. It was a horseman, the hooves quiet on the grass as we slowed down to a crawl so we could get the desired effect.
We pulled up to an old Victorian home it looked. It was painted grey so all that really showed in the darkness was the moonlight on the windows. The topmost floors were bathed in moonlight lending an ominous look to the place and the reflecting glass making for the illusion something wicked was inhabiting the attic. Vaguely it looked like an old woman was standing back from the window but I couldn't quite be sure my eyes weren't playing tricks.
The place was all boarded up and looked like a condemned mess. I voiced this to the Weasil who told me it was safe inside, not to worry. When he says stuff like that I WORRY.
The undertaker let us out and we were greeted by a woman in, for all intents and purposes, a costume that looked very much like Lizzie Borden! I knew we were not at THAT house, but still, the damn Weasil was going to make me pay. She ushered us inside by a side door to a large hallway that was out of 1892, the year of the Borden murders. The woman said her name was Amelia, and she was pleasant and smiling but looked a lot like Lizzie Borden, the only thing missing was an axe. She told us tea was ready in the solarium and the "others" were gathered, so we should join her.
I didn't want to have tea, but Weasil's grip on my arm propelled me forward into a sitting room where five other people were already seated in old-fashioned armchairs, doilies everywhere, I felt like I was in grandma's house, and I WAS but spookier!
Once we were seated I noticed the five others were in period costumes, all Borden-esque, all introduced with old-fashioned names like Elijah, Jeremiah, Chloe, Alice, and Theodore. Amelia said this as we took our seats, "On Halloween spread mischief and fear, for Halloween comes but once a year . . ."
I looked around with a nervous smile at the soft nervous giggles coming from the five.
"That is what my grandmother would tell me and my sister Kate. Back then in the late 1800s we didn't dress up, no, my grandmother who raised us, did not believe Halloween was for dressing up and for treats. No, it was for a night of tricks . . . mischief.
"One Halloween we did put on black dresses, all three of us, and we went to the cemetery where one of our old neighbours had recently been interned. The grave was fresh and the flowers had all withered. They looked so forlorn so we went to the edges of the wood and picked nettles and whatever we could find and left a "pretty bouquet" where the dead flowers had been. Of course, not many think nettles appropriate, but it was late October there were no summer flowers left." She looked at us like what could one do?
I wondered where she was going with this when tea arrived with small orange and black iced cakes. The server was a wizened little old white-haired woman wearing a lace cap and black Victorian dress. She served the tea without a word and then the tea cakes that were in the shape of coffins. I declined one and sat sipping me tea wondering what was coming.
"We as a family," our hostess continued, "would often go to the graveyard on All Hallows Eve to lay nettles on the newest dearly departed. You might ask why we'd do this when there was no relationship to the freshly buried corpse." She smiled at us each one and then broke out in an unexpected laugh. "We did it because it was necessary!"
The five looked on with shocked expressions while I looked at Weasil short of rolling my eyes.
She held up a finger as if she needed silence which there was plenty of.
"The necessary," she pointed to the ceiling and lowered her voice, "is because of Abigail. Shhh." She said transferring the pointed index finger to her lips. "She's in the attic you know," she said in a whisper.
No, I didn't know and I didn't care to know and what I did know was I wanted out of there like right NOW!
"Whoz Abby-Gail?" Weasil ventured to ask. I elbowed him but he had already got the question out.
"Why Abigail Bartlett, the wife of the train magnet Weston Bartlett, built this house for her he did. Weston passed away when he was accidentally struck by a fast train." Our hostess said that like we should know. "Abigail was never the same after that. She swore she'd seen Weston's ghost walking the old family cemetery on All Hallows Eve, the same day he was killed. She said he was looking to find his way home." Long pause here. "And every year he tries and his faithful Abigail looks out from the attic window to try to guide him. You see she is tied to this house and he, well, he was in pieces from the train, so it is hard for him to walk in a straight line from the family plot to this house."
Okay so digest that why don't I? Was that said for a laugh? Because no one did.
"Every year," she continued, "we have tea at this hour just like Abigail had when the awful and terrific news was given her of Weston's demise. And every year we try to guide Weston home since Abigail cannot. We are of the living and we can go to the graveyard and walk him back to his beloved Abbey."
Oh no, we can't or more distinctly, oh no I won't. And he's in pieces so no, no, I don't think so. Be me luck to get his arse.
"So let us begin." She said taking Weasil's hand on her right and one of the five on her left. We all held hands in a circle, teacups discarded and quietly removed by the "old maid" who replaced the tea things with a bouquet of nettles.
Looking ceiling-ward our hostess said in a loud voice, "It is the time Abigail, all of us in this circle, in your lovely home, are of one mind and that is to bring Weston HOME this night!" And her head dropped to her chest and all was silent and spooky. Did I mention the room was basically dreadfully dark? Lit by a few candelabra here and there with a huge diamond pane window at our hostess's back where the moon filtered through and the tree branches made evil-looking fingers in the glass.
Suddenly our hostess Amelia jumped up breaking the circle, picked up the nettle bouquet and in a low hoarse voice said, "Follow me!" And of course, as stupid is stupid does and out the side door we went and trekked through the front yard and down the small hill to the family graveyard. For joy! NOT. I tried lagging back, but one of the five caught my arm and putting her wrinkled finger in the air pointed behind me at the attic window. I nearly jumped out of me skin for there framed in the moon's reflective light was the old maid standing behind a skeleton woman with white hair whose sunken eyes were red rays staring down at me. The woman put her hand in mine and looked at me with true fear in her eyes as she shivered with fright, leading me down to a small plot not because she wanted me to go, but for protection, I thought. We walked to where tombstones and crosses were planted in the ground behind short wrought iron fencing, the gate off its hinges probably for many years and creaking in the light wind.
There I was shoved inside the fencing and noticed the mist and fog floating, the moon still racing to its zenith. Weasil was on the other side of me, almost salivating at the mystery and scary setting. I wanted none of it, but suddenly the old bird who had dragged me inside the cemetery took a sharp intake of breath and someone else did as well. I looked at the oldster and she was staring straight ahead and her old bony hand pointed to something in the distance and I could see a trainmen's light coming towards us. Then I heard it, the groaning and the uneven shuffling and I strained me eyes to see what was coming our way.
There was a scream from another of the five and she stepped back holding onto the man next to her as he put his arms around her for protection. Amelia dropped the nettles and stood shocked still looking into the misty darkness as the light came towards us. Oh, this couldn't be good I thought to meself. I thought these people were part of an act but they were all genuinely affected by what was happening around us and THAT in itself made me aware of the chill up me spine, and felt the hair standing on me head and arms as the "thing" moved and groaned ever closer.
"Be GONE thou of wicked spirit, for thee are NOT Weston!" Our hostess finally got the guts to shout out and suddenly the light, the phantom, disappeared. Yes, R. Linda, just like that. It was gone. How did she do that or how did that happen? It was too quick and unnatural. I looked at Weasil who was bug-eyed staring at where the apparition had been. That gave me pause for nothing phases the young whippersnapper, EVER.
"I'm getting a little anxious," I whispered to Weasil.
"Then maybe ya shouldie meditate." Was his smart guy quip. Always helpful in a pinch isn't he?
It was then that I noticed a light behind us at the same time everyone else did and we all turned in unison to see a lantern light and a woman in white standing behind us. I for one, never saw or heard her, nor did I see the light until everyone else did.
"Hell'o" the ghostly woman said, "please let me introduce myself, I am Margaret Butler Bartlett, I died in 1796 and this is where I reside." She swooped a hand encompassing the entire graveyard. "I must tell you Weston will not be joining you because he's mine . . . all six pieces of him." This last said with a heavy sigh. "I have all these years tried to put him together but I can't." This said with a lot of regret. "I am sorry you have failed AGAIN, but maybe next year." This last said with a regretful smile followed by an evil chuckle. "Let my lantern light your way out." This said with a sweep of her hand toward the broken gate. She stood at its lip as we filed passed, a mournful smile for each of us.
When I got up to her she said, "And you sir, you're a long lanky one," and she winked at me. As I passed her she grabbed me arm. She looked at me like she was going to devour me and I pulled away quickly. She did the same with Weasil, only she said to him, "Spider, spider, apple cider," and giggled as she let him go.
"What was that about?" I asked him as we started back to the house.
"Likie I knoz but I couldie do wit some HARD cider bouts now."
THAT remark coming from Weasil, well that's a first. And yeah well me too on the hard cider and a few martinis and whiskeys straight up would all help with the frazzled nerves. How about a vat of Jameson?
Once back at the manse, we were given hot mulled apple cider as we gathered our thoughts together. Everyone was chattering nervously and excitedly. "Did you see THAT?" "Oh, my good gracious that figure with half a head . . . " "That was real, I know it!" and more such statements which didn't help me nerves any. The discussion was so disjointed and filled with declarations of fear that we got ready to leave. Thank goodness it wasn't an overnight stay. I could just imagine the Weasil out wandering the grounds looking for Weston's disembodied ghost, or worse ghostly Margaret.
We got into the hearse (which this time I had no reservations about because I wanted to be gone from there ASAP), and Mr. W poured more of the vampire wine (of which I was grateful, it would do more for me nerves than mulled cider).
"Dat wuz a strangie affair," he said sipping his wine. "I wonder how dey got dat ghosty ta float in the air nextie ta da tombie stone."
"Indeed," was all I could say sipping my wine.
"I dint see or hear any mechanicals so I hast ta wonder . . . iffin datty dere wuz fer real."
Ever helpful he be. I wondered the same thing because I didn't hear anything mechanical, nor did I see any wires and it was dark but with the moon, it wasn't that dark. Everyone with us had the same reaction of fear and they all stepped back in unison when the torso wavered in the air. Our hostess too, seemed distressed and her voice betrayed a genuine fear. Hum.
Since then I've been haunted by the graveyard. I can't get it out of me mind. I've tried to figure out how it was all done, you know smoke and mirrors, but can't come up with a plausible explanation. Weasil has been back there during the day to see what might have been done but told me he couldn't find a thing. No footprints in the dirt, the nettles were still sprayed all over the ground, no wires or hooks, nothing that would indicate anything mechanical, or human that might have perpetrated the fearsome antics. Now he wants me to go back up there at night to see if it would happen again. Like that's gonna happen!
I swear right here and now, I be done with Weasil's Halloween trips. Done, done, done! I suggested he take Wolfie or even better the Captain with him next time, if there is one. Share the experience right? Just as long as it isn't with me.
Gabe
Copyright © 2019 All rights reserved
I knew he'd keep at me so I caved. I know what you're thinking and don't say it. I be perfectly aware of my shortcomings when it comes to mind games with the Weasil.
So Sunday it had been windy and gloomy the entire day. I was in a half-decent mood by the time the hearse arrived. Yes, there was a black hearse parked out me door and in it was a man dressed like an Edwardian undertaker (the driver) and inside was the Weasil, skeleton topped walking stick, top hat and all. I told him emphatically I was not going anywhere in that thing. After much cajoling and me wife saying, "Get that thing out of my driveway!" I was shoved in and off we went. I realised there was a casket in the back of the thing and tried my damnest to open the door to get out but the "undertaker" had locked me in!
On either side of an old-fashioned coffin (a skinny Dracula affair) were seats. There I was on one side, the Weasil on the other. There were cup holders attached to the casket! He had two bottles of Vampire red wine and vampire glasses which he poured us both.
 |
| Perfect for the occasion |
He did not care and poo-pooed my protests. I found out we were going north but he would not say where just that we were on our way to a lovely evening of scares and "funnzies." We drank a bottle and a half of the wine by the time we got to where we were going, which to this day I am still not sure where that was exactly. I was sure we had crossed the border into Vermont, but it could have been Maine for all I know. I don't think we were in New Hampshire either. If we were in NH we took Robin Hood's way to get where we were going, I can tell ya that much.
The hearse climbed up, ever upward into the mountains and I could see that ghostly mist as we travelled slowly up a gravel drive, the harvest moon rising in the background, the tyres crunching the stones making me feel like we were driving over old bones. All we needed was the howling of a wolf and the scene would be complete.
 |
| Dark and creepy |
 |
| Moving through the darkness as if floating in the air, a lit jack-o'lantern gives one a spooky feeling it does |
It was a floating pumpkin, and as I squinted me eyes, I could just make out a hand and part of an arm. It was a horseman, the hooves quiet on the grass as we slowed down to a crawl so we could get the desired effect.
We pulled up to an old Victorian home it looked. It was painted grey so all that really showed in the darkness was the moonlight on the windows. The topmost floors were bathed in moonlight lending an ominous look to the place and the reflecting glass making for the illusion something wicked was inhabiting the attic. Vaguely it looked like an old woman was standing back from the window but I couldn't quite be sure my eyes weren't playing tricks.
 |
| Thought I saw someone in that upper window |
The undertaker let us out and we were greeted by a woman in, for all intents and purposes, a costume that looked very much like Lizzie Borden! I knew we were not at THAT house, but still, the damn Weasil was going to make me pay. She ushered us inside by a side door to a large hallway that was out of 1892, the year of the Borden murders. The woman said her name was Amelia, and she was pleasant and smiling but looked a lot like Lizzie Borden, the only thing missing was an axe. She told us tea was ready in the solarium and the "others" were gathered, so we should join her.
I didn't want to have tea, but Weasil's grip on my arm propelled me forward into a sitting room where five other people were already seated in old-fashioned armchairs, doilies everywhere, I felt like I was in grandma's house, and I WAS but spookier!
Once we were seated I noticed the five others were in period costumes, all Borden-esque, all introduced with old-fashioned names like Elijah, Jeremiah, Chloe, Alice, and Theodore. Amelia said this as we took our seats, "On Halloween spread mischief and fear, for Halloween comes but once a year . . ."
I looked around with a nervous smile at the soft nervous giggles coming from the five.
"That is what my grandmother would tell me and my sister Kate. Back then in the late 1800s we didn't dress up, no, my grandmother who raised us, did not believe Halloween was for dressing up and for treats. No, it was for a night of tricks . . . mischief.
"One Halloween we did put on black dresses, all three of us, and we went to the cemetery where one of our old neighbours had recently been interned. The grave was fresh and the flowers had all withered. They looked so forlorn so we went to the edges of the wood and picked nettles and whatever we could find and left a "pretty bouquet" where the dead flowers had been. Of course, not many think nettles appropriate, but it was late October there were no summer flowers left." She looked at us like what could one do?
I wondered where she was going with this when tea arrived with small orange and black iced cakes. The server was a wizened little old white-haired woman wearing a lace cap and black Victorian dress. She served the tea without a word and then the tea cakes that were in the shape of coffins. I declined one and sat sipping me tea wondering what was coming.
"We as a family," our hostess continued, "would often go to the graveyard on All Hallows Eve to lay nettles on the newest dearly departed. You might ask why we'd do this when there was no relationship to the freshly buried corpse." She smiled at us each one and then broke out in an unexpected laugh. "We did it because it was necessary!"
The five looked on with shocked expressions while I looked at Weasil short of rolling my eyes.
She held up a finger as if she needed silence which there was plenty of.
"The necessary," she pointed to the ceiling and lowered her voice, "is because of Abigail. Shhh." She said transferring the pointed index finger to her lips. "She's in the attic you know," she said in a whisper.
No, I didn't know and I didn't care to know and what I did know was I wanted out of there like right NOW!
"Whoz Abby-Gail?" Weasil ventured to ask. I elbowed him but he had already got the question out.
"Why Abigail Bartlett, the wife of the train magnet Weston Bartlett, built this house for her he did. Weston passed away when he was accidentally struck by a fast train." Our hostess said that like we should know. "Abigail was never the same after that. She swore she'd seen Weston's ghost walking the old family cemetery on All Hallows Eve, the same day he was killed. She said he was looking to find his way home." Long pause here. "And every year he tries and his faithful Abigail looks out from the attic window to try to guide him. You see she is tied to this house and he, well, he was in pieces from the train, so it is hard for him to walk in a straight line from the family plot to this house."
Okay so digest that why don't I? Was that said for a laugh? Because no one did.
"Every year," she continued, "we have tea at this hour just like Abigail had when the awful and terrific news was given her of Weston's demise. And every year we try to guide Weston home since Abigail cannot. We are of the living and we can go to the graveyard and walk him back to his beloved Abbey."
Oh no, we can't or more distinctly, oh no I won't. And he's in pieces so no, no, I don't think so. Be me luck to get his arse.
"So let us begin." She said taking Weasil's hand on her right and one of the five on her left. We all held hands in a circle, teacups discarded and quietly removed by the "old maid" who replaced the tea things with a bouquet of nettles.
Looking ceiling-ward our hostess said in a loud voice, "It is the time Abigail, all of us in this circle, in your lovely home, are of one mind and that is to bring Weston HOME this night!" And her head dropped to her chest and all was silent and spooky. Did I mention the room was basically dreadfully dark? Lit by a few candelabra here and there with a huge diamond pane window at our hostess's back where the moon filtered through and the tree branches made evil-looking fingers in the glass.
Suddenly our hostess Amelia jumped up breaking the circle, picked up the nettle bouquet and in a low hoarse voice said, "Follow me!" And of course, as stupid is stupid does and out the side door we went and trekked through the front yard and down the small hill to the family graveyard. For joy! NOT. I tried lagging back, but one of the five caught my arm and putting her wrinkled finger in the air pointed behind me at the attic window. I nearly jumped out of me skin for there framed in the moon's reflective light was the old maid standing behind a skeleton woman with white hair whose sunken eyes were red rays staring down at me. The woman put her hand in mine and looked at me with true fear in her eyes as she shivered with fright, leading me down to a small plot not because she wanted me to go, but for protection, I thought. We walked to where tombstones and crosses were planted in the ground behind short wrought iron fencing, the gate off its hinges probably for many years and creaking in the light wind.
 |
| Swirling mist, moonlight, creepy people . . . it doesn't get more Weasil than that. |
There I was shoved inside the fencing and noticed the mist and fog floating, the moon still racing to its zenith. Weasil was on the other side of me, almost salivating at the mystery and scary setting. I wanted none of it, but suddenly the old bird who had dragged me inside the cemetery took a sharp intake of breath and someone else did as well. I looked at the oldster and she was staring straight ahead and her old bony hand pointed to something in the distance and I could see a trainmen's light coming towards us. Then I heard it, the groaning and the uneven shuffling and I strained me eyes to see what was coming our way.
There was a scream from another of the five and she stepped back holding onto the man next to her as he put his arms around her for protection. Amelia dropped the nettles and stood shocked still looking into the misty darkness as the light came towards us. Oh, this couldn't be good I thought to meself. I thought these people were part of an act but they were all genuinely affected by what was happening around us and THAT in itself made me aware of the chill up me spine, and felt the hair standing on me head and arms as the "thing" moved and groaned ever closer.
 |
| Notice the thing on the right it was disembodied and the lantern on the left seemed to float in the air. It had no legs and the head only went to the ears - it was a horror |
"I'm getting a little anxious," I whispered to Weasil.
"Then maybe ya shouldie meditate." Was his smart guy quip. Always helpful in a pinch isn't he?
It was then that I noticed a light behind us at the same time everyone else did and we all turned in unison to see a lantern light and a woman in white standing behind us. I for one, never saw or heard her, nor did I see the light until everyone else did.
"Hell'o" the ghostly woman said, "please let me introduce myself, I am Margaret Butler Bartlett, I died in 1796 and this is where I reside." She swooped a hand encompassing the entire graveyard. "I must tell you Weston will not be joining you because he's mine . . . all six pieces of him." This last said with a heavy sigh. "I have all these years tried to put him together but I can't." This said with a lot of regret. "I am sorry you have failed AGAIN, but maybe next year." This last said with a regretful smile followed by an evil chuckle. "Let my lantern light your way out." This said with a sweep of her hand toward the broken gate. She stood at its lip as we filed passed, a mournful smile for each of us.
 |
| Margaret Butler Bartlett |
"What was that about?" I asked him as we started back to the house.
"Likie I knoz but I couldie do wit some HARD cider bouts now."
THAT remark coming from Weasil, well that's a first. And yeah well me too on the hard cider and a few martinis and whiskeys straight up would all help with the frazzled nerves. How about a vat of Jameson?
Once back at the manse, we were given hot mulled apple cider as we gathered our thoughts together. Everyone was chattering nervously and excitedly. "Did you see THAT?" "Oh, my good gracious that figure with half a head . . . " "That was real, I know it!" and more such statements which didn't help me nerves any. The discussion was so disjointed and filled with declarations of fear that we got ready to leave. Thank goodness it wasn't an overnight stay. I could just imagine the Weasil out wandering the grounds looking for Weston's disembodied ghost, or worse ghostly Margaret.
We got into the hearse (which this time I had no reservations about because I wanted to be gone from there ASAP), and Mr. W poured more of the vampire wine (of which I was grateful, it would do more for me nerves than mulled cider).
"Dat wuz a strangie affair," he said sipping his wine. "I wonder how dey got dat ghosty ta float in the air nextie ta da tombie stone."
"Indeed," was all I could say sipping my wine.
"I dint see or hear any mechanicals so I hast ta wonder . . . iffin datty dere wuz fer real."
Ever helpful he be. I wondered the same thing because I didn't hear anything mechanical, nor did I see any wires and it was dark but with the moon, it wasn't that dark. Everyone with us had the same reaction of fear and they all stepped back in unison when the torso wavered in the air. Our hostess too, seemed distressed and her voice betrayed a genuine fear. Hum.
Since then I've been haunted by the graveyard. I can't get it out of me mind. I've tried to figure out how it was all done, you know smoke and mirrors, but can't come up with a plausible explanation. Weasil has been back there during the day to see what might have been done but told me he couldn't find a thing. No footprints in the dirt, the nettles were still sprayed all over the ground, no wires or hooks, nothing that would indicate anything mechanical, or human that might have perpetrated the fearsome antics. Now he wants me to go back up there at night to see if it would happen again. Like that's gonna happen!
I swear right here and now, I be done with Weasil's Halloween trips. Done, done, done! I suggested he take Wolfie or even better the Captain with him next time, if there is one. Share the experience right? Just as long as it isn't with me.
 |
| Happy Halloween R. Linda! |
Copyright © 2019 All rights reserved
4 comments:
the something wicked your way comes is weasil! you need to put your foot down and tell him no to anything he comes up with. happy halloween gabe!
Interesting. Only I don't trust Weasil isn't behind all of that. Neat jack o'lantern. Did you base the face on Margaret Butler Barrlett? I see a resemblance, LOL.
Um . . . you were had by Weasil . . . again!
It was fun to read two stories back to back and then comment after digesting the twists and turns of your rather interesting life. Full moon, Halloween, goblins, all make for things to happen that don't really. Or maybe they do. Ha!
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