I love Halloween, no matter what it is called. When I was a kid it was the best day (night) of the year and when I got married, it was on Halloween.
Some years ago son number 4, the only one still living at home, decided to do a small Halloween decoration and hung a man from the oak tree in the front yard. I thought that was neat, so did a scarecrow sitting in a chair holding a pumpkin. As he inherited my insane gene....I mean since he inherited my Halloween decorating gene, he had made the hanging man look a little too real.
The next year I bought dozens of yards of gauze to make a platoon of ghosts in the yard, including a huge, ten foot tall ghost which I had draped over a PVC pipe armature and clamped between some pieces of wood. Since the ghost was darned heavy and had a tendency to topple over, I ended up putting one fork from a forklift, on top of the wood. (We had a spare fork hanging around, not sure how or why.) Suitably secured, the ghost would still move back and forth in the wind, often looking as if it was trying to grab the viewer. Sweeeeeeet.
The same year I remembered the school desk we had used when I homeschooled number four son. We made another ghost and plunked it in the desk, titling it "Ghoul Skool." But that wasn't enough. My insanity, er....creative juices were flowing.
A quick trip to the fabric store and I came home (lighter by a bit of cash) with foam to make bodies, red satin to make the Devil, a cute cauldron they had at Wal Mart, a devilish mask and some glow sticks, poster board and other stuff. The Devil display was put in the side yard with a tombstone saying "This space reserved for..." Insert your favorite baddie here, I refrain from doing so at this time for fear of reprisal. Posterboard flames were quickly cut and painted and on Halloween we put glow sticks in the cauldron and candles all over the yard.
Tombstones were made with polystyrene insulation, cut into tombstone shapes and inscribed with amusing epitaphs. (I'll do them in another post.) The husband person was kept busy cutting long pieces of wire from coat hangers since my hands were too wimpy to do it. Each tombstone had a candle in a candle holder in front of it for Halloween and the trees were filled with ghosts. It was great! Son number four thought it was enough, so did his father.
Ha, what would they know? I was caught in the throes of inspiration. As soon as Halloween was over I went crazy with making Halloween displays. Since I have always liked using papier mache, most of the things I made over that year were in that medium. My hands were rarely out of the stuff and the poor husband person was run ragged by going here and there for people's newspapers. Thankfully the boss of bosses (aka He Who Is To Be Obeyed) took the Wallstreet Babbler, or whatever it is called and since it is a big paper, it was great because I finally had enough paper to papier mache the yard. All 2 acres of it.
I made a UFO to hang from the tree and little aliens to go with it. I made a monster (pink, about 4' tall), sitting on its haunches on top of the test well, a fishing pole hanging from his claws and a human skeleton hanging from the end. I made a troll (also 4' tall, but green and purple this time) and talked the husband person into making a troll booth.
Then I had The Idea to make a huge dinosaur (the Bitemyrumpasarus) in two parts. The first part would be the head, going out the right side of the driveway (or left, whichever perspective you were looking from). The tail end would come out of the other side. I made the armature out of chicken wire and the legs from number 10 cans. It wasn't too long before I discovered the armature was much too puny so had to stuff it with a lot of paper, cloth scraps and whatever else was at hand. The Bitemyrumpasarus weighed a lot by the time I put a couple dozen layers of papier mache and a few coats of polyurethane on it. It was kind of cutsie, I'm afraid, with her (yes, her), purple eyelashes cut out of aluminum cans, big eyeballs and purple skin with tasteful green and pink splotches.
But it wasn't Halloween yet, just August when I finished the Biteme's scales and paint job and I still had a bunch of my favorite papier mache paste made of wallpaper paste and glue. I decided a haunted tree would be perfect and out came the chicken wire and a quarter sheet of heavy plywood for the base. After putting on several layers of papier mache, I realized the haunted tree looked more like a tube of chicken wire covered in paper and less like the menacing haunted tree I wanted. So I cut out a large space for the mouth, already knowing how I wanted it. Unfortunately I had not calculated on the weight of the papier mache and the tree started leaning forward, the mouth collapsing. So I had to add interior supports and propped it up in the living room (that's where the TV and DVD player were) with the broom and mop. (Clever me, I had an excuse to not mop OR sweep.) It turned out well, though really rather heavy. The limb arms were just the touch, as was the Spanish moss and fake spider web. My friend Shelly had the clever idea of putting her then 4 year old daughter inside on Halloween, with the little sprite saying "Saaaaaaaaaaaave meeeeeeeeeeee" when people came by.
Anyway, back to the other stuff I made. After the tree I had The Idea. What would be scarier than a 5 foot tall alien, gray and with huge bulgey eyes, spooky hands reaching out to grab you? Well, it would scare the crap out of me, I can assure you of that. It was the easiest to make of all the things. A large balloon was the perfect armature for the head, the eyes were large plastic Easter eggish things (about 5 inches across), seperated in two, the body armature of PVC plumbing pipe and fittings with foam rubber over the body and a robe of cheap silver lame covering the body. He was great!
But it still wasn't Halloween, so the tree and alien stood in the living room. The cats decided the tree was a great place for sleeping and climbing. Some discovered how to sleep on the top of the tree, which was open. Don't ask me how they did it, they're cats, they can do what they want.
Son number 4, his wife and baby hadn't been over since I started the dinosaur (which was in the storage building after having proven to be a little large for the living room), so he didn't know about the spooky tree and frightening gray alien.
He has the occasional bad headache and had left his migraine medicine here, so at the first throb of one, about 2:00 AM in the middle of the night, he drove over here to get his medicine. Now everyone (ok, everyone who's honest) is afraid of something and Stephen REALLY does not like aliens. He won't even watch UFO shows. So he walked into the front door without turning the lights on so he wouldn't wake us us and several things happened at once. The light of the full moon shone through the window, throwing the haunted tree and alien into frankly ominous shadows, a couple thousand cats came pouring out of the tree and into the hallway and Stephen saw The Alien.
We were woken as he slammed into our bedroom, the doorknob impaling itself into the wall. "What the HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? THAT'S NOT FUNNY, DAMNIT!"
His dad actually woke, "Huh? What? Stephen?"
I was already getting out of bed, trying really very hard to not pee my jammies or laugh at our kid. Since I was obviously handling it, the husband went back to sleep. So did the cats once they were sure the screaming human who was foaming at the mouth wasn't a threat.
Stephen was livid. "What the bleep did you think you were doing, Mother?" Oh shat, I was in deep fertilizer. He never, ever calls me mother unless he's really perturbed or pissed. Perturbation was obviously not the problem, so the problem was pissedness.
I tried to defuse the bomb - I mean situation. "Did you like the tree?"
He wasn't defused or amused. "No, I don't mean the blanking tree!"
Dumb blond mommy mode wasn't working, "Ah, you saw the alien?"
He had gone from definitely not defused or amused to really pissed off. "Yes I saw the blanking blanking bleeping blanking blanked, will be blanked, was blanked, will always be blinking bleeping blaping blanking blanked alien. What the............did you, how, what....." About then he was sputtering and black with rage. (His Welsh heritage, I guess, though it could be our AmInd, either way he was too far gone for me to be considering our genealogy.)
Since I didn't have any horse tranquilizer or a cattle prod handy it took a while to get him settled down with a slug of his brother's booze in some hot cocoa. I had to throw a sheet over the alien while he was there but it didn't help since it then just looked like an alien ghost.
The good news was that the scare cured his migraine and showed me that I didn't need to tweek the scariness of either display. They were just right.
Thinking of it - and I'm not certain there is enough time left to make it for this Halloween - a 7 foot tall werewolf with claws extended would be a neat thing to make. Stephen doesn't mind werewolves.
At least I don't think so.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Animals, Damnimals, Amminals
The husband person decided some time ago that it would be better to store the bags of cat and dog chow on the front porch rather than having them in the living room (dog chow) and in the kitchen(cat chow). I agreed with the provision that we'd get large, food grade plastic containers ASAWCAI) (as soon as we can afford it). Hence, the bags sat, opened, on the front porch.
I had the delightful duty of trotting outside, usually in my pajamas since those are pretty much the only clothing I own, and freeze my ...er...nose off whilst scooping 40 cups of cat chow and 16 of dog chow into large bowls, then carrying them back inside. At first I would glare at the Husband Person as he sat, warm and comfortable in front of the television but after the first 10 years he had become immune to my glares, so that never worked. After a while I stopped glaring and would occasionally ask him to get the food for me as I cleaned the kitchen and sorted out the leftovers into bowls for the cats and bowls for the dogs. (More on how to do that later.) Since he is also totally deaf when I ask him to do something while he's watching the idiot box...sorry, television...I usually would end up getting it myself which is what he intended in the beginning.
As for the process of dividing the leftovers into bowls for cats and bowls for dogs, I had to be very fast because the cats would swoop in, scarf down all the goodies and swoop back out. I swear cats have the ability to teleport. I am certain that they also can tell the difference between cans of corn getting opened and cans of cat food, although it really doesn't matter to them as they like corn and virtually every other human food with the exceptions of raw onion and lettuce.
Back to the hauling of cat and dog chow. One night, one beastly COLD night, I went outside to fill the cat bowl. As I scooped into the bag, my hand came into contact with fur.
"DAMNIT, I thought, not too originally or nicely, some damn (add expletives of your choice here) person has dumped another blank cat here and I bet it's pregnant. (They are all pregnant, even the males.)
I calmed down and put the empty cat food bowl and scoop on the porch. The cats watched from the kitchen windows and three were hanging from the windows in the doors. Pookie (I'll tell you about her another time) was sitting in the window with her eyes glowing red and her head turning around. I changed my voice from screaming to the tone of voice known as "poor, frightened kitty" speak which is supposedly good for keeping the little angels (right) from slicing and dicing me with their eighteen claws of death and destruction.
"It's OK, baby, no one is going to hurt you." I tried picking up the little thing, noticing that the fur was a bit rough and getting angry at the person who supposedly dumped the cat because a rough fur usually means poor nutrition and care. Damn, it was a hefty sucker, maybe it wasn't totally malnourished. It's little legs started throwing cat food all over the place as I finally dislodged it from the bag of food.
HOLY CRAP IT'S A POSSUM! I screeched and dropped the possum who quickly dove into the bag of cat food, digging for the bottom. I ran back inside the house, minus the cat food bowl, much to the cats' collective disgust. I ran past the dogs, past the cats and into the bathroom where I scrubbed my hands, used about a half bottle of hand sanitizer, washed my hands again as I screamed in agony since I just put alcohol on my hands which always have cat scratches covering them (hey, YOU try pilling a cat, giving a couple dozen cats their booster shots or bathing them and let me see what YOUR hands look like), so I washed them again. For good measure I stripped off my pajamas, ran to the garage totally ass naked, praying no one was out front to get blinded by my body. (Not a pretty sight, honey.). Put on new jammies, ran back through the kitchen and into the living room, followed by a couple dozen hopeful cats, to wake the husband.
The husband person didn't even look up from the television, which is normal, since he was asleep, which is also normal. I woke him up, wanting to share the news.
Him: "Snargle. Huh? What? Is it time for bed?"
Me: "There's a huge possum in the bag of cat chow!"
Him: "OK."
Me: "You don't understand. There Is A Huge Possum In The Bag Of Cat Chow." I carefully enunciated each word.
Him: "OK."
Me, going to the first look which is about 3 looks from The Look, AKA duck for cover: "Go do something."
Him: "Sigh. What do you want me to do."
Me, going straight to The Look, bypassing the other looks and not collecting $200, "DO SOMETHING." (Which can rightly be interpreted as "Damned if I know, just do something, do anything, just get out of your chair and DO.")
Him, sighing again and dislodging his cats (Akira the Second, CassPurr the Second, Callista, Linus and Mamma Katz). He walked out the door and returned with a bag of cat chow. Before I could screech and hang from the ceiling fan I noticed it was an unopened bag of cat chow.
The cats were eventually fed but the possum's bag of cat chow was put out front for its dining pleasure. Knowing how I am, I have refrained from naming the possum.
Pogo is awfully cute though as he (or she, I didn't ask) nibbles cat chow. Oh crap. I named it.
I'm so screwed, but I will be darned if I bring it in the house and let it sleep with us.
I think.
I had the delightful duty of trotting outside, usually in my pajamas since those are pretty much the only clothing I own, and freeze my ...er...nose off whilst scooping 40 cups of cat chow and 16 of dog chow into large bowls, then carrying them back inside. At first I would glare at the Husband Person as he sat, warm and comfortable in front of the television but after the first 10 years he had become immune to my glares, so that never worked. After a while I stopped glaring and would occasionally ask him to get the food for me as I cleaned the kitchen and sorted out the leftovers into bowls for the cats and bowls for the dogs. (More on how to do that later.) Since he is also totally deaf when I ask him to do something while he's watching the idiot box...sorry, television...I usually would end up getting it myself which is what he intended in the beginning.
As for the process of dividing the leftovers into bowls for cats and bowls for dogs, I had to be very fast because the cats would swoop in, scarf down all the goodies and swoop back out. I swear cats have the ability to teleport. I am certain that they also can tell the difference between cans of corn getting opened and cans of cat food, although it really doesn't matter to them as they like corn and virtually every other human food with the exceptions of raw onion and lettuce.
Back to the hauling of cat and dog chow. One night, one beastly COLD night, I went outside to fill the cat bowl. As I scooped into the bag, my hand came into contact with fur.
"DAMNIT, I thought, not too originally or nicely, some damn (add expletives of your choice here) person has dumped another blank cat here and I bet it's pregnant. (They are all pregnant, even the males.)
I calmed down and put the empty cat food bowl and scoop on the porch. The cats watched from the kitchen windows and three were hanging from the windows in the doors. Pookie (I'll tell you about her another time) was sitting in the window with her eyes glowing red and her head turning around. I changed my voice from screaming to the tone of voice known as "poor, frightened kitty" speak which is supposedly good for keeping the little angels (right) from slicing and dicing me with their eighteen claws of death and destruction.
"It's OK, baby, no one is going to hurt you." I tried picking up the little thing, noticing that the fur was a bit rough and getting angry at the person who supposedly dumped the cat because a rough fur usually means poor nutrition and care. Damn, it was a hefty sucker, maybe it wasn't totally malnourished. It's little legs started throwing cat food all over the place as I finally dislodged it from the bag of food.
HOLY CRAP IT'S A POSSUM! I screeched and dropped the possum who quickly dove into the bag of cat food, digging for the bottom. I ran back inside the house, minus the cat food bowl, much to the cats' collective disgust. I ran past the dogs, past the cats and into the bathroom where I scrubbed my hands, used about a half bottle of hand sanitizer, washed my hands again as I screamed in agony since I just put alcohol on my hands which always have cat scratches covering them (hey, YOU try pilling a cat, giving a couple dozen cats their booster shots or bathing them and let me see what YOUR hands look like), so I washed them again. For good measure I stripped off my pajamas, ran to the garage totally ass naked, praying no one was out front to get blinded by my body. (Not a pretty sight, honey.). Put on new jammies, ran back through the kitchen and into the living room, followed by a couple dozen hopeful cats, to wake the husband.
The husband person didn't even look up from the television, which is normal, since he was asleep, which is also normal. I woke him up, wanting to share the news.
Him: "Snargle. Huh? What? Is it time for bed?"
Me: "There's a huge possum in the bag of cat chow!"
Him: "OK."
Me: "You don't understand. There Is A Huge Possum In The Bag Of Cat Chow." I carefully enunciated each word.
Him: "OK."
Me, going to the first look which is about 3 looks from The Look, AKA duck for cover: "Go do something."
Him: "Sigh. What do you want me to do."
Me, going straight to The Look, bypassing the other looks and not collecting $200, "DO SOMETHING." (Which can rightly be interpreted as "Damned if I know, just do something, do anything, just get out of your chair and DO.")
Him, sighing again and dislodging his cats (Akira the Second, CassPurr the Second, Callista, Linus and Mamma Katz). He walked out the door and returned with a bag of cat chow. Before I could screech and hang from the ceiling fan I noticed it was an unopened bag of cat chow.
The cats were eventually fed but the possum's bag of cat chow was put out front for its dining pleasure. Knowing how I am, I have refrained from naming the possum.
Pogo is awfully cute though as he (or she, I didn't ask) nibbles cat chow. Oh crap. I named it.
I'm so screwed, but I will be darned if I bring it in the house and let it sleep with us.
I think.
To understand this you'll probably need to understand that we live in South Western Georgia (in the USA), and are vegetarians of long standing. Carl is my husband person and is the most laid back person I have ever known. Nothing frazzles him. We also have run a no kill animal (cat mostly) sanctuary from our itty bitty home for over 20 years now. (Current population about 2 dozen, plus 3 large dogs.)
One of Carl's duties is to keep the 100 plus acres of the boss's land mowed and tidied up, including around the pond. He was working on it Sunday (when he wasn't working here trying to put a wall in that was taken out during the last tornado), and came back home (we're in front of the boss's land) to cool off and get a drink.
Here's how it went.
Carl "Well, Mr. P has a new pet."
Me "That's nice. Another dog?" (Mr. P is not a cat person.)
Carl. "No, an 8 foot alligator. It's out next to the pond."
Me "A WHAT?"
Carl "It's OK, I didn't touch it, just tried picking up its tail. I thought it was a log."
Me "DON'T DO THAT! THAT THING WILL EAT YOU!"
Carl "Now Dear, it won't eat me."
Me "Listen to me. Do Not Go Near The Alligator."
Carl "I have to finish mowing around the pond."
Me, totally fed up "Blank blank invective, DON'T. And call the Boss and tell him about the gator before Tom (Boss's wonderful German Shepherd) gets eaten."
Day One, "Dear, did you tell the boss about the gator." Answer no, too busy. (normal for him)
Day Two see above
Day Three also see above
Day Four Rode my wheelchair down the stairs out front and plunked my butt in the boss's driveway, waiting for his wife to come down. Told her about gator. Listened as she went ballistic, watched as she hauled ass back up the road to make the dog stay inside till she got home from work. I could hear her screaming for the dog from a half mile away.
Last night (of day four) Carl came home. He said Darlene (wife of boss, aka She Who Is To Be Obeyed) called him and her first words were "What's this about a (expletives deleted so your tender eyes won't be offended) alligator in my yard? Why didn't you (blanking) tell me?"
So Carl called DNR (Department of Natural Resources) and they are supposed to be sending out a gator wrangler today to remove the boss's new pet and take him back to the animal preserve on the Marine Base next door. Knowing well how long it usually takes DNR to get off their tan uniform encased backsides, find the truck keys, get the necessary animal capture tools (duct tape and a really long snare pole), diet soda, candy bar, cigarettes , Cd's or 8 track tapes, whichever, and figure out how to get out here (they'll end up here so I can show them where to go, which will be better than what Darlene would say); they'll probably show up next month or so. By that time, Carl and He Who Is To Be Obeyed (except in the case of SHE Who Is To Be Obeyed) will get together, wrangle the gator into submission and tape the poor critter's mouth shut, along with his legs. I'm not sure what they will do to contain the thrashing tail. Son number 4 will undoubtedly be dragooned into assisting which means my precious daughter in love will raise her dulcet voice into a screech and we'll hear a few more choice bleeps and blanks whilst he does the man thing and assists in the Great Gator Wrassle.
When Carl came home last night he had two whole chickens from the grocery store. (Yuk) I looked at him like he was nuts.. The animals licked their collective doggy and kitty chops, awaiting the treat which was rightly theirs because there isn't a snowball's chance in Miami that I'm serving that to us. However the chickens weren't for the dogs, nor were they for the cats. They were not for the families we help out. They were for the alligator.
He did agree to stay in the truck and just toss the chickens to the alligator. We discussed the merits of just leaving the chickens in their nice if dripping plastic baggies or removing them and letting the gore act as a sauce to entice the poor gator to eat his dinner. Carl opted for gore, as he was afraid the plastic might hurt the aligator. I opted for laying down with a glass of ginger ale to settle my stomach. The cats opted for waiting till I was out of the kitchen so they could remove the gory plastic chicken bags and lick them clean. (Despite me washing the things before discarding them.) For good measure they removed everything else from the garbage bag and the "For The Compost" bucket and spread all of the gore, coffee grounds, egg shells, apple cores, orange peels, potato peels and whatever else all over the kitchen floor. Later I was told that the poor thing (the alligator, now known as Captain Hook) enjoyed the chickens and didn't complain about the lack of biscuits, cole slaw and baked beans which should have accompanied the chicken dinner.
And some folks think it is boring living out in the country.
Hugs, Jeanne in GA
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Herrien Series: Ran'ya by Jeanne Buckhalter
Odd things happen sometimes. I wrote the following back in the late 1980's. Around 2000, I met a gentleman online in one of the many places online and we discussed writing. We exchanged short stories and consequently both of us were rather shocked, since his story was about a gifted person, a Seer named Ranya and mine was about the birth and childhood about a gifted person to become a Seer, named Ran'ya. We decided to produce the trilogy together, our ideas and writing styles meshing somewhat well together. This is Ran'ya's story.
Somewhere, somewhen in time and space there exists a world not unlike ours but at the same time, very unlike this one. I have spoken with these folk, eaten meals with them, loved with them, cried, and rejoiced. I have seen their past, their present, and their future, all within the confines of my room. If it is simpler for you to think I am insane, then do so. If you prefer thinking this tale only my imagination, then please, feel free.
For I know the truth. They exist. Or they will, in time.
Ran’ya likes to say she was born at a very early age, laughing as she does so, for she was born a full two moons early. This is her story.
Sha’reen was playing in her special garden just in sight of her mother’s larger one filled with a mixture of fruits and vegetables for the body and flowers for the immortal soul, as her mother liked to say. Her garden was one of rounded pieces of colored smooth glass and shells found on the beach of the fresh water sea and twigs with snippets of her mother’s home spun and colored thread, woven from the pod plants and the long hair goats kept away from the garden by a high wooden fence. Sha’reen’s garden was not a small patch of dirt under the long leafed tree, but mountains and hills covered in beautiful flowers, inhabited by flower people of all colors, blues and reds, golden and green, rich purples and pale violets. She would play there for hours, whispering to the flower folk of the sister she would have soon, a special sister for her to love.
Mara, the mother of Sha’reen, bent over double, a sharp pain lancing through her belly as her waters broke to drain into the garden, giving the plants feeding. She leaned heavily on her hoe as she closed her eyes against pain and fear. As the pang of birth passed she called quietly to Sha’reen, not wanting to frighten her youngling, but needing her help. “Sha’reen my dearling, mother needs you to get father. Tell him I need the Healer and Seer. Run quickly precious, and tell father to hurry.” Mara smiled at Sha’reen, not realizing the child of only four turnings saw her mother’s pain and fear on her face. “Hurry now my precious, go get Father.”
Sha’reen dropped her flower folk in the dirt, trampling on the flower mountain in her haste to get her father, leaving them there in the dust, wondering what happened to their world. She ran faster than ever before, baby-chubby legs stretching out to eat up the distance between home and father’s store in the tiny town in which they lived. Swiftly Sha’reen ran past the goats in their pen, watching her move with goatly disinterest, past the cow in her byre, past the chickens clucking as the rude child disturbed their constant search for food.
As Sha’reen ran faster than ever her russet hair escaping her usually neatly tended braids, her little apron so like her mother’s billowing out behind her, she called for her father, sending her voice to alarm the birds in the trees, setting her father’s favorite cat to scurrying for the top beam of the store. Her feet clattered on the wooden raised walkway, startling the grandsires as they recounted stories to each other they had told so long that each knew the other’s lives by heart.
Ca’lan stopped his little daughter, swinging her up in his arms, laughing to see her running so fast. “Here now my little maiden, it isn’t time for the noon meal, why come you like this. Where is mother?” Seeing her frightened face he held her close against his suddenly thudding heart. “What is the matter Sha’reen, where is mother?”
Finally in her father’s arms Sha’reen relaxed and began sobbing, “Mother hurts. She said Sha’reen go get father and tell father to get the Healer and Seer. Mother said ‘tell father to hurry.’ Sha’reen ran fast Father, now will Father get the Healer and Seer for mother?”
Ca’lan closed his eyes in pain, understanding what was happening, trying to keep his fear from his little daughter, controlling his breathing, trying to slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He opened his eyes, nut brown like his daughters and smiled. “I will get them now. You stay here with Bab and the grandsires like a good girl.” He nodded at the store helper, Bab, knowing the grandsires heard every word, especially the unspoken ones, and knew that they would care for his youngling, bringing her home when it was time.
The eldest yet spryest of the grandsires was already better than half way to the home of the Seer and Guide on the edge of town, so Ca’lan ran to pound on the door of the healer. The healer’s wife, alerted to the urgent need, by his calling of the Healer’s name had the door open, standing there drying her hands wet from the dishes, in her apron, worry showing on her face as she recognized her dearest friend’s life partner. “Ca’lan what is it. Is it Sha’reen? Has she fallen? What is it? Mara?” Gundra turned away, calling her life partner Na’tan from the little laboratory where he prepared simple medicaments and potions. “Na’tan, hurry! There is need. Ca’lan is here.”
Na’tan took one look at Ca’lan, speaking only one word “Mara?” At Ca’lan’s nod he turned back to the laboratory to gather his bag and stock of medicaments.
Ca’lan swallowed hard, turning to the Healer’s wife, “Gundra will you keep Sha’reen until… well until she can come home again? She is over with Bab and the grandsires right now.” Gundra nodded, already out of the door to gather Sha’reen against her ample bosom, promising her freshly baked cakes.
Sha’reen sensed something very wrong, even at four turnings and a half, whimpering against Gundra’s body, smelling the sweet cakes on her apron, and feeling the worry in the tension in her arms. “Hush, hush dearling. Mother will be fine. You are going to stay here with me until Father comes to take you back home again. We will have a wonderful time. You can help me ice the cakes and make cha for Na’tan when he comes home. Everything will be all right, Sha’reen, truly.” Sha’reen read in her face the fear behind Gundra’s calm words and cried all the harder.
“She will be fine, Ca’lan, go to Mara now. I will take good care of her.” Gundra swung Sha’reen up in her arms easily, cradling her to her body, snuggling her close. “Look at you, your hair all over the place and tear stains on your pretty face. We don’t want you frightening your good mother now, do we? Let’s go in and get cleaned up for her. Is this the apron she made you last eight day? It looks just like hers, doesn’t it? We have new kittens, did you know that? Four of them. Let’s get cleaned up then you can go see them.” Gundra chattered as adults do when they are trying hard to keep children from seeing their upset and fear, and failing as adults always do, children being more observant than they think.
Ca’lan and Na’tan strode up the hill to where Mara waited holding onto the doorframe, her face shining with sweat as yet another pain tore through her. “Gods no,” Ca’lan whispered, taking his beloved into his arms. “It is too soon. Na’tan do something please.”
Picking her up as easily as he would have their daughter, Ca’lan bore his lady to their bed, sweeping the lovely embroidered coverlet back to lay her down, his heart weeping as he saw the next pain knotting in her belly, heard the soft moan escaping her lips. He looked up into Na’tan’s eyes, “Please Healer, do something. It is too soon. Make the birth stop.”
Na’tan shook his head slowly. “It is too late for that now, Ca’lan. All I can do is make her comfortable until…”
Ca’lan put his head down on the bed next to his beloved and wept, his hand protectively on her belly as if he could hold the child within by his will and love alone. Mara panted with the pains, fighting the labor, fighting to keep the child within, but knowing that her birth was inevitable…and the babe’s death from too early a birthing. Na’tan’s voice was gentle “Ca’lan, go for the priest. It won’t be much longer.”
From the door where she stood as proudly as a queen, the village Seer answered. “There is no need for the parting prayers yet. She will live.” P’aralda swept into the room, her thin hand on the arm of her Guide, her thin shawl fluttering in the breeze of her passing. Her smile was as a blessing on the little mother laboring on the bed, easing the pain of the father, and giving hope to the Healer who hated loosing a life. The grandsire lurking outside the home smiled, turning to carry the news to the town, panting as he labored down the hill on stiff knees.
The news spread more swiftly than one of the King’s finest steeds, the joyous news that the Seer had said the child would live bringing happiness to all, so close was the town in caring and love of each. For ten turnings had Ca’lan and Mara been partnered and childless, seemingly condemned to living without children to delight their lives when Sha’reen had been born, then another four turnings before once again Mara was filled. There was not a family in the small village that was not making something special for the child, each wanting to have a small part in sharing the happiness of the family.
Bab shut the door of the store, not locking it, for there was no lock on the door; neither Ca’lan nor his father before him, nor his father’s father seeing the necessity to distrust neighbors. As they had each said in turn, “If someone has such need as to break into the store, I would rather keep him as a friend and fill his arms with what he needs than to have my friend and neighbor loose his self regard.” She scurried up the hill, not wanting to intrude, but like the others, wanting to see for herself the birth of this special child.
Gundra heard the footsteps on the wooden walkway and went to the door with a heavy heart, certain that she was to be given word that the child had passed on, when she heard excited talking, saw her neighbors, baskets and cold lanterns in hand, rushing up the hill. The grandsire came to a wheezing, creaking halt and let her know that the Seer had promised the child to live and Gundra, so filled with joy pressed his frail body to her so admired bosom, giving him, as he later told the other grandsires “More woman than I have held in my arms in over twenty turnings!”
She laughed as she washed Sha’reen’s face yet again, quickly putting the plate of sweet cakes in a basket, the cha yet unmade, and for some strange reason, a pot of hot sweet relish, which she and Mara would laugh about for some years to come. “Hurry my little love; let’s go welcome your sister!” Lightly as a bird she ran up the hill, child and basket in her arms, barely noticing the ground she sped over, not seeing the cow lowing in her byre, the goats watching still with goatly disinterest, nor hearing the clucking hens irritable with the disruption of their search for seed and grubs.
The yard had taken on an air of merriment and celebration. Some had gone into the kitchen and brought out the freshly scrubbed table and benches, others had made swings to put their own babes in while the town waited the birth.
Food soon appeared almost magically on the table, another was made from boards from the barn and more food. Jellies and cakes and hams, a great roasted haunch of bison, roasted, fried, boiled hens and little light dumplings swimming in broth, vegetables fresh from the garden all red and yellow and green in great bowls and plates of blue and white and yellow and green and crimson, all ready for the celebration.
The vintner rolled a large cask of wine up the hill, puffing and huffing, patting his sweating red cheeks, fat and ripe as twin apples after the exertion. Pies showed on the table, and little quick foods, fruits and the sweets mothers always had hidden away for special treats for their loved children.
Gundra handed the basket to the vintner’s wife with an excited smile and little hug, whispering “Keep an eye on Sha’reen for me, would you?” before tripping into the house to be with her friend.
All the day the town quietly kept watch, hushing the children when they got too noisy, rocking the babes in their swing cradles, eating, and quietly sharing the day. From inside could occasionally be heard a low moan from Mara as her body worked to release the child. The Seer, P’ralda, came out once for a glass of sweet cider and a small cake, smiling so sweetly that the young man who served her almost fell at her knees. She spoke as ever, with a musical voice, which sent delight through those near, “She is very impatient to be born, is little Ran’ya”
A delighted gasp went through the crowd, “Ran’ya, did you hear, her name is Ran’ya!” Sha’reen, playing with her flower people, having remade her mountain and replanted her flowers, whispered to them, “My sister’s name is Ran’ya.”
The Seer smiled again and handed cup and plate back to the blushing youngling and stopped at the door. “Did I forget to tell you? She will be a Seer.” Hushed silence fell over the townsfolk, the babes in their swing cradles not making a sound, even the crickets forgetting to rub their legs together in song as the town absorbed the news. Sha’reen was the only one who was not surprised, as she told her flower people, for her sister had been speaking with her for ever so long.
Just as dusk fell and the cold lanterns were lit where they swayed on the boughs of the trees in the yard, just at that moment when the world takes one last sip of sunlight and sighs softly the sound of a tiny baby came from the house, gathering strength as she yelled. As one, the town sighed and came to life again. The vintner opened the cask and handed cups around as fast as he could. The town waited for Ca’lan to come to the door, holding their cups, the children stuffing sweets and cakes into their mouths as fast as they could while their parents were waiting the new father.
Ca’lan and the Seer P’ralda came to the door, P’ralda holding a tiny baby wrapped in her own shawl, a tiny babe, looking almost like a doll but a doll with rapidly beating fists, and face screwed up in a yowl of outrage at being taken from her mother’s arms. Sha’reen ran to her sister and father, some in the group trying to hold her back, she dodging them easily as she came to her sister. P’ralda knelt in the grass at the door and let Sha’reen see her sister. Ran’ya stopped crying, her unfocused newborn eyes somehow locking on her sisters, a tiny fist finding her sister’s finger. Sha’reen kissed her sister gently, laughing happily. “I have a sister!”
The little boys of the town looked at the tiny thing to make all the uproar, shrugging, when you have seen one girl you have seen them all, they thought at the time, but the food and sweets were good enough reason for standing in line to shake the hand of the father politely and congratulate him and the little mother on the birth.
Outlanders looking in on this town would perhaps have been astounded that an entire town gather together to celebrate the birth, albeit very early, of a child, even one marked as Seer from before birth, but the folk of Fair Crossing were close. It was a good place for a child to be born, a good place for a grandsire or grandmam to spend final years, wrapped in the rich caring and loving hearts of Fair Crossing folk. Perhaps Ran’ya’s memories are recalled through the roseate tints of childhood, but all things considered, it was a good place filled with good people.
Ran’ya prospered and grew on her mother’s warm milk and later good plain foods in abundance, grown in their own garden, baked, roasted, prepared by her mother’s loving hands. Later she would laughingly recall that her parents spoiled her terribly, but never so terribly as did her sister and the rest of Fair Crossing. Unspoken was the thought which always followed that one…that her family and folk of the town knew from her birth that she would not blossom to young womanhood in their midst, but would have to leave when her Gifts emerged, to go to the School of Seers and Guides called Herrien. It was natural that she would be the cosseted and cherished darling of town and family.
Unfortunately, being the cosseted and cherished darling was not enough to prevent Ran’ya from contacting every sickness that went around the village. From the head sniffles to the more serious sickness, if it was in the air, her family could be virtually certain that it would find home in Ran’ya’s body. This propensity to sickness did not make her a weakling, moving from one sickness to another, but built in her a natural will to fight what she could not change, for she chose to not meekly endure.
Having finally discovered the secret behind having children after the ten turnings without, Ca’lan and Mara went on to produce a child a turning till her eighth birth celebration. S’van and Isme were the twin son and daughter born in the year of festival following Ran’ya’s birth then Kelar who would be their final son, and who would join Ran’ya at the school to be trained as a guide some years hence, but that is another story, as Ran’ya has reminded me.
***
Somewhere, somewhen in time and space there exists a world not unlike ours but at the same time, very unlike this one. I have spoken with these folk, eaten meals with them, loved with them, cried, and rejoiced. I have seen their past, their present, and their future, all within the confines of my room. If it is simpler for you to think I am insane, then do so. If you prefer thinking this tale only my imagination, then please, feel free.
For I know the truth. They exist. Or they will, in time.
Ran’ya likes to say she was born at a very early age, laughing as she does so, for she was born a full two moons early. This is her story.
Sha’reen was playing in her special garden just in sight of her mother’s larger one filled with a mixture of fruits and vegetables for the body and flowers for the immortal soul, as her mother liked to say. Her garden was one of rounded pieces of colored smooth glass and shells found on the beach of the fresh water sea and twigs with snippets of her mother’s home spun and colored thread, woven from the pod plants and the long hair goats kept away from the garden by a high wooden fence. Sha’reen’s garden was not a small patch of dirt under the long leafed tree, but mountains and hills covered in beautiful flowers, inhabited by flower people of all colors, blues and reds, golden and green, rich purples and pale violets. She would play there for hours, whispering to the flower folk of the sister she would have soon, a special sister for her to love.
Mara, the mother of Sha’reen, bent over double, a sharp pain lancing through her belly as her waters broke to drain into the garden, giving the plants feeding. She leaned heavily on her hoe as she closed her eyes against pain and fear. As the pang of birth passed she called quietly to Sha’reen, not wanting to frighten her youngling, but needing her help. “Sha’reen my dearling, mother needs you to get father. Tell him I need the Healer and Seer. Run quickly precious, and tell father to hurry.” Mara smiled at Sha’reen, not realizing the child of only four turnings saw her mother’s pain and fear on her face. “Hurry now my precious, go get Father.”
Sha’reen dropped her flower folk in the dirt, trampling on the flower mountain in her haste to get her father, leaving them there in the dust, wondering what happened to their world. She ran faster than ever before, baby-chubby legs stretching out to eat up the distance between home and father’s store in the tiny town in which they lived. Swiftly Sha’reen ran past the goats in their pen, watching her move with goatly disinterest, past the cow in her byre, past the chickens clucking as the rude child disturbed their constant search for food.
As Sha’reen ran faster than ever her russet hair escaping her usually neatly tended braids, her little apron so like her mother’s billowing out behind her, she called for her father, sending her voice to alarm the birds in the trees, setting her father’s favorite cat to scurrying for the top beam of the store. Her feet clattered on the wooden raised walkway, startling the grandsires as they recounted stories to each other they had told so long that each knew the other’s lives by heart.
Ca’lan stopped his little daughter, swinging her up in his arms, laughing to see her running so fast. “Here now my little maiden, it isn’t time for the noon meal, why come you like this. Where is mother?” Seeing her frightened face he held her close against his suddenly thudding heart. “What is the matter Sha’reen, where is mother?”
Finally in her father’s arms Sha’reen relaxed and began sobbing, “Mother hurts. She said Sha’reen go get father and tell father to get the Healer and Seer. Mother said ‘tell father to hurry.’ Sha’reen ran fast Father, now will Father get the Healer and Seer for mother?”
Ca’lan closed his eyes in pain, understanding what was happening, trying to keep his fear from his little daughter, controlling his breathing, trying to slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He opened his eyes, nut brown like his daughters and smiled. “I will get them now. You stay here with Bab and the grandsires like a good girl.” He nodded at the store helper, Bab, knowing the grandsires heard every word, especially the unspoken ones, and knew that they would care for his youngling, bringing her home when it was time.
The eldest yet spryest of the grandsires was already better than half way to the home of the Seer and Guide on the edge of town, so Ca’lan ran to pound on the door of the healer. The healer’s wife, alerted to the urgent need, by his calling of the Healer’s name had the door open, standing there drying her hands wet from the dishes, in her apron, worry showing on her face as she recognized her dearest friend’s life partner. “Ca’lan what is it. Is it Sha’reen? Has she fallen? What is it? Mara?” Gundra turned away, calling her life partner Na’tan from the little laboratory where he prepared simple medicaments and potions. “Na’tan, hurry! There is need. Ca’lan is here.”
Na’tan took one look at Ca’lan, speaking only one word “Mara?” At Ca’lan’s nod he turned back to the laboratory to gather his bag and stock of medicaments.
Ca’lan swallowed hard, turning to the Healer’s wife, “Gundra will you keep Sha’reen until… well until she can come home again? She is over with Bab and the grandsires right now.” Gundra nodded, already out of the door to gather Sha’reen against her ample bosom, promising her freshly baked cakes.
Sha’reen sensed something very wrong, even at four turnings and a half, whimpering against Gundra’s body, smelling the sweet cakes on her apron, and feeling the worry in the tension in her arms. “Hush, hush dearling. Mother will be fine. You are going to stay here with me until Father comes to take you back home again. We will have a wonderful time. You can help me ice the cakes and make cha for Na’tan when he comes home. Everything will be all right, Sha’reen, truly.” Sha’reen read in her face the fear behind Gundra’s calm words and cried all the harder.
“She will be fine, Ca’lan, go to Mara now. I will take good care of her.” Gundra swung Sha’reen up in her arms easily, cradling her to her body, snuggling her close. “Look at you, your hair all over the place and tear stains on your pretty face. We don’t want you frightening your good mother now, do we? Let’s go in and get cleaned up for her. Is this the apron she made you last eight day? It looks just like hers, doesn’t it? We have new kittens, did you know that? Four of them. Let’s get cleaned up then you can go see them.” Gundra chattered as adults do when they are trying hard to keep children from seeing their upset and fear, and failing as adults always do, children being more observant than they think.
Ca’lan and Na’tan strode up the hill to where Mara waited holding onto the doorframe, her face shining with sweat as yet another pain tore through her. “Gods no,” Ca’lan whispered, taking his beloved into his arms. “It is too soon. Na’tan do something please.”
Picking her up as easily as he would have their daughter, Ca’lan bore his lady to their bed, sweeping the lovely embroidered coverlet back to lay her down, his heart weeping as he saw the next pain knotting in her belly, heard the soft moan escaping her lips. He looked up into Na’tan’s eyes, “Please Healer, do something. It is too soon. Make the birth stop.”
Na’tan shook his head slowly. “It is too late for that now, Ca’lan. All I can do is make her comfortable until…”
Ca’lan put his head down on the bed next to his beloved and wept, his hand protectively on her belly as if he could hold the child within by his will and love alone. Mara panted with the pains, fighting the labor, fighting to keep the child within, but knowing that her birth was inevitable…and the babe’s death from too early a birthing. Na’tan’s voice was gentle “Ca’lan, go for the priest. It won’t be much longer.”
From the door where she stood as proudly as a queen, the village Seer answered. “There is no need for the parting prayers yet. She will live.” P’aralda swept into the room, her thin hand on the arm of her Guide, her thin shawl fluttering in the breeze of her passing. Her smile was as a blessing on the little mother laboring on the bed, easing the pain of the father, and giving hope to the Healer who hated loosing a life. The grandsire lurking outside the home smiled, turning to carry the news to the town, panting as he labored down the hill on stiff knees.
The news spread more swiftly than one of the King’s finest steeds, the joyous news that the Seer had said the child would live bringing happiness to all, so close was the town in caring and love of each. For ten turnings had Ca’lan and Mara been partnered and childless, seemingly condemned to living without children to delight their lives when Sha’reen had been born, then another four turnings before once again Mara was filled. There was not a family in the small village that was not making something special for the child, each wanting to have a small part in sharing the happiness of the family.
Bab shut the door of the store, not locking it, for there was no lock on the door; neither Ca’lan nor his father before him, nor his father’s father seeing the necessity to distrust neighbors. As they had each said in turn, “If someone has such need as to break into the store, I would rather keep him as a friend and fill his arms with what he needs than to have my friend and neighbor loose his self regard.” She scurried up the hill, not wanting to intrude, but like the others, wanting to see for herself the birth of this special child.
Gundra heard the footsteps on the wooden walkway and went to the door with a heavy heart, certain that she was to be given word that the child had passed on, when she heard excited talking, saw her neighbors, baskets and cold lanterns in hand, rushing up the hill. The grandsire came to a wheezing, creaking halt and let her know that the Seer had promised the child to live and Gundra, so filled with joy pressed his frail body to her so admired bosom, giving him, as he later told the other grandsires “More woman than I have held in my arms in over twenty turnings!”
She laughed as she washed Sha’reen’s face yet again, quickly putting the plate of sweet cakes in a basket, the cha yet unmade, and for some strange reason, a pot of hot sweet relish, which she and Mara would laugh about for some years to come. “Hurry my little love; let’s go welcome your sister!” Lightly as a bird she ran up the hill, child and basket in her arms, barely noticing the ground she sped over, not seeing the cow lowing in her byre, the goats watching still with goatly disinterest, nor hearing the clucking hens irritable with the disruption of their search for seed and grubs.
The yard had taken on an air of merriment and celebration. Some had gone into the kitchen and brought out the freshly scrubbed table and benches, others had made swings to put their own babes in while the town waited the birth.
Food soon appeared almost magically on the table, another was made from boards from the barn and more food. Jellies and cakes and hams, a great roasted haunch of bison, roasted, fried, boiled hens and little light dumplings swimming in broth, vegetables fresh from the garden all red and yellow and green in great bowls and plates of blue and white and yellow and green and crimson, all ready for the celebration.
The vintner rolled a large cask of wine up the hill, puffing and huffing, patting his sweating red cheeks, fat and ripe as twin apples after the exertion. Pies showed on the table, and little quick foods, fruits and the sweets mothers always had hidden away for special treats for their loved children.
Gundra handed the basket to the vintner’s wife with an excited smile and little hug, whispering “Keep an eye on Sha’reen for me, would you?” before tripping into the house to be with her friend.
All the day the town quietly kept watch, hushing the children when they got too noisy, rocking the babes in their swing cradles, eating, and quietly sharing the day. From inside could occasionally be heard a low moan from Mara as her body worked to release the child. The Seer, P’ralda, came out once for a glass of sweet cider and a small cake, smiling so sweetly that the young man who served her almost fell at her knees. She spoke as ever, with a musical voice, which sent delight through those near, “She is very impatient to be born, is little Ran’ya”
A delighted gasp went through the crowd, “Ran’ya, did you hear, her name is Ran’ya!” Sha’reen, playing with her flower people, having remade her mountain and replanted her flowers, whispered to them, “My sister’s name is Ran’ya.”
The Seer smiled again and handed cup and plate back to the blushing youngling and stopped at the door. “Did I forget to tell you? She will be a Seer.” Hushed silence fell over the townsfolk, the babes in their swing cradles not making a sound, even the crickets forgetting to rub their legs together in song as the town absorbed the news. Sha’reen was the only one who was not surprised, as she told her flower people, for her sister had been speaking with her for ever so long.
Just as dusk fell and the cold lanterns were lit where they swayed on the boughs of the trees in the yard, just at that moment when the world takes one last sip of sunlight and sighs softly the sound of a tiny baby came from the house, gathering strength as she yelled. As one, the town sighed and came to life again. The vintner opened the cask and handed cups around as fast as he could. The town waited for Ca’lan to come to the door, holding their cups, the children stuffing sweets and cakes into their mouths as fast as they could while their parents were waiting the new father.
Ca’lan and the Seer P’ralda came to the door, P’ralda holding a tiny baby wrapped in her own shawl, a tiny babe, looking almost like a doll but a doll with rapidly beating fists, and face screwed up in a yowl of outrage at being taken from her mother’s arms. Sha’reen ran to her sister and father, some in the group trying to hold her back, she dodging them easily as she came to her sister. P’ralda knelt in the grass at the door and let Sha’reen see her sister. Ran’ya stopped crying, her unfocused newborn eyes somehow locking on her sisters, a tiny fist finding her sister’s finger. Sha’reen kissed her sister gently, laughing happily. “I have a sister!”
The little boys of the town looked at the tiny thing to make all the uproar, shrugging, when you have seen one girl you have seen them all, they thought at the time, but the food and sweets were good enough reason for standing in line to shake the hand of the father politely and congratulate him and the little mother on the birth.
Outlanders looking in on this town would perhaps have been astounded that an entire town gather together to celebrate the birth, albeit very early, of a child, even one marked as Seer from before birth, but the folk of Fair Crossing were close. It was a good place for a child to be born, a good place for a grandsire or grandmam to spend final years, wrapped in the rich caring and loving hearts of Fair Crossing folk. Perhaps Ran’ya’s memories are recalled through the roseate tints of childhood, but all things considered, it was a good place filled with good people.
Ran’ya prospered and grew on her mother’s warm milk and later good plain foods in abundance, grown in their own garden, baked, roasted, prepared by her mother’s loving hands. Later she would laughingly recall that her parents spoiled her terribly, but never so terribly as did her sister and the rest of Fair Crossing. Unspoken was the thought which always followed that one…that her family and folk of the town knew from her birth that she would not blossom to young womanhood in their midst, but would have to leave when her Gifts emerged, to go to the School of Seers and Guides called Herrien. It was natural that she would be the cosseted and cherished darling of town and family.
Unfortunately, being the cosseted and cherished darling was not enough to prevent Ran’ya from contacting every sickness that went around the village. From the head sniffles to the more serious sickness, if it was in the air, her family could be virtually certain that it would find home in Ran’ya’s body. This propensity to sickness did not make her a weakling, moving from one sickness to another, but built in her a natural will to fight what she could not change, for she chose to not meekly endure.
Having finally discovered the secret behind having children after the ten turnings without, Ca’lan and Mara went on to produce a child a turning till her eighth birth celebration. S’van and Isme were the twin son and daughter born in the year of festival following Ran’ya’s birth then Kelar who would be their final son, and who would join Ran’ya at the school to be trained as a guide some years hence, but that is another story, as Ran’ya has reminded me.
Sometimes in the Night They Come a short nightmare by Jean Buckhalter (1980-1990, about)
Sometimes in the Night They Come
a short nightmare by Jean Buckhalter (1980-1990, about)
Sometimes in the night they come and carry me to that place I fear. Sometimes in the day, my old memories, my old fears come back to haunt me and I run crying to my mother. She dries my tears and comforts me, and it is better then.
My old memories, which they try to tell me are just bad dreams; I have learned to keep to myself. Some know, for others who have shared my memories and given me theirs to keep have been taken in the night as well. My old fears which the old one tries to take away with the touch of his long, cold fingers on my forehead, I have learned to hide in my other self, my true self.
I am writing this to tell others, even those who have never been taken in the night, or whose own memories are so deeply hidden that they will not fill them with fear in the day, what I and others have learned. For we have learned the secret. We have learned the secret of how to let them take our bodies and do what they will to them without fear, for we have learned how to pour our true selves into our other bodies, bodies which they cannot touch or even sense. Others must know of this. Everyone must be ready.
They came for me in the night again many months ago. The one who was doing things to my body did not care about my fear or the pain he was causing me and the old one who takes pain and fear away was not there. I was held fast to the table and the pain was so great that I wished there was a way I could leave the body and suddenly I was floating free over the table, over the body and the one who was doing things to it with strange instruments. At first I was afraid that he would see me and force me back, but even when I passed my other "hand" in front of the creature's eyes, he did not react.
I explored this strange place where they had taken me and saw others of my own kind on other tables with other creatures doing strange, hurtful things to them. My little brother was in another room; crying and asking for mommy to make the bad men go away. I found that I could enter his thoughts and showed him the way to step out of his body. He clung to me, which was strange at first, as our other bodies had no substance, but his presence brought me a sense of calm and I comforted him as well.
Together we joined with the others in that place. All but one, that is, for when I entered the room where another was being experimented on, the old gray who takes pain and fear away sensed me. I do not understand clearly exactly how I knew this, I just did, so I immediately withdrew and watched from where he could not sense me.
The others and I and my brother spoke together and compared what we had learned. My teacher was one of the first I taught, and she has helped me write this. Before the awakening, some may have found my writing strange for a child of my years, but one of the others who are taken in the night explained it by saying something about a group mind. You will understand soon. You will be changed as the rest of us have been.
Over the past sixteen months or so, ever since the night I learned how to leave my body and taught the others, we have done some experiments of our own. The first thing we learned was how to hide our other selves from the old grays. We discovered how to enter the thoughts of the others, those creatures which come for us in the night. We have learned their secrets and have brought them back to the day. Others are learning how to use those secrets and some day we will go to the place those creatures came from, and we'll show them what we have learned and we'll use the knowledge they gave us without knowing. Then they will know fear; they will know pain.
We do not enter just the minds and memories of those others, we enter the minds of our own kind as well, waking them and teaching them. Everyone is responsible for waking as many of our own people as they can every night as our bodies sleep. We are united, asleep and awake and everyone stands ready. Soon the entire world will have been awakened. One of our people has used the computer he works with at NASA to estimate that we will have wakened everyone within three months.
Sometime they will come for one of us in the night, but this time we'll be ready. Oh, yes, we'll be ready.
a short nightmare by Jean Buckhalter (1980-1990, about)
Sometimes in the night they come and carry me to that place I fear. Sometimes in the day, my old memories, my old fears come back to haunt me and I run crying to my mother. She dries my tears and comforts me, and it is better then.
My old memories, which they try to tell me are just bad dreams; I have learned to keep to myself. Some know, for others who have shared my memories and given me theirs to keep have been taken in the night as well. My old fears which the old one tries to take away with the touch of his long, cold fingers on my forehead, I have learned to hide in my other self, my true self.
I am writing this to tell others, even those who have never been taken in the night, or whose own memories are so deeply hidden that they will not fill them with fear in the day, what I and others have learned. For we have learned the secret. We have learned the secret of how to let them take our bodies and do what they will to them without fear, for we have learned how to pour our true selves into our other bodies, bodies which they cannot touch or even sense. Others must know of this. Everyone must be ready.
They came for me in the night again many months ago. The one who was doing things to my body did not care about my fear or the pain he was causing me and the old one who takes pain and fear away was not there. I was held fast to the table and the pain was so great that I wished there was a way I could leave the body and suddenly I was floating free over the table, over the body and the one who was doing things to it with strange instruments. At first I was afraid that he would see me and force me back, but even when I passed my other "hand" in front of the creature's eyes, he did not react.
I explored this strange place where they had taken me and saw others of my own kind on other tables with other creatures doing strange, hurtful things to them. My little brother was in another room; crying and asking for mommy to make the bad men go away. I found that I could enter his thoughts and showed him the way to step out of his body. He clung to me, which was strange at first, as our other bodies had no substance, but his presence brought me a sense of calm and I comforted him as well.
Together we joined with the others in that place. All but one, that is, for when I entered the room where another was being experimented on, the old gray who takes pain and fear away sensed me. I do not understand clearly exactly how I knew this, I just did, so I immediately withdrew and watched from where he could not sense me.
The others and I and my brother spoke together and compared what we had learned. My teacher was one of the first I taught, and she has helped me write this. Before the awakening, some may have found my writing strange for a child of my years, but one of the others who are taken in the night explained it by saying something about a group mind. You will understand soon. You will be changed as the rest of us have been.
Over the past sixteen months or so, ever since the night I learned how to leave my body and taught the others, we have done some experiments of our own. The first thing we learned was how to hide our other selves from the old grays. We discovered how to enter the thoughts of the others, those creatures which come for us in the night. We have learned their secrets and have brought them back to the day. Others are learning how to use those secrets and some day we will go to the place those creatures came from, and we'll show them what we have learned and we'll use the knowledge they gave us without knowing. Then they will know fear; they will know pain.
We do not enter just the minds and memories of those others, we enter the minds of our own kind as well, waking them and teaching them. Everyone is responsible for waking as many of our own people as they can every night as our bodies sleep. We are united, asleep and awake and everyone stands ready. Soon the entire world will have been awakened. One of our people has used the computer he works with at NASA to estimate that we will have wakened everyone within three months.
Sometime they will come for one of us in the night, but this time we'll be ready. Oh, yes, we'll be ready.
It's A Perfect Life - another nightmare of the End Times by Jean Buckhalter
Note: I have nightmares at times and turn them into stories. A group of them fit around the End times. I have written a book filled with these short nightmares, but doubt I'll pursue publication, hence it is here to possibly give a chill or make you think.
It's A Perfect Life
a short nightmare by Jean Buckhalter
Sarah Miller’s home was as perfect as her life. On the perfectly polished dining table, buffet and sideboard the exquisitely arranged flowers gently perfumed the air while adding the proper ambiance for the festivities ahead. Sarah walked through the dining room into the kitchen where her kitchen staff was busy putting the final touches on her bon voyage party.
The crystal shone in the sunlight. The champagne chilling to the proper temperature in the temperature controlled wine cooler would be transferred to the waiting solid silver ice buckets.
Several gleaming silver trays held the finest Beluga caviar, buttered rounds of toast, chopped egg, and the requisite wooden spoon for the caviar. Other trays held all manner of appetizers and canapés. Money was no object, for this was a party to remember for the rest of her life.
Sarah nodded her approval to the kitchen staff and swept out of the kitchen. It was time to ready herself for her guests. Her personal masseuse awaited her in her suite. After an invigorating massage, Sarah took a long, luxuriant bath, glorying in the scent of the expensive perfume her personal maid had lavishly poured into the water. Drying herself on thick toweling, she slipped into the dressing gown held by her maid.
Seated at her vanity, the hairdresser arranged Sarah's hair in a most becoming and fashionable style. Sarah peered at the arrangement from every angle, nodding her approval and dismissal to the hairdresser.
Applying her make-up with a careful touch, she turned to her eldest daughter who watched from her mother's bed. "Not so bad for a fifty year old, do you think?"
Her daughter stubbed out the cigarette she was smoking with impatient fingers. "Oh mother, you know you're fifty seven, why don’t you admit it? I don't know why you're going through all this nonsense of a party. I attended Marion Kline's bon voyage party last month and hers was much more in keeping with the times. Austerity is in, don't you know?"
"Pooh. It’s my party and I was promised that it would be exactly as I wanted it to be. What time is your sister arriving? You did remind her to leave those children at home, didn’t you? I saw them yesterday and we already exchanged bon voyages, so there isn’t any need for those little monsters to ruin my perfect party." Her voice was muffled as she slipped into the dress for her party. "Honestly, I don't know how two such intelligent people as your sister and her husband produced two of the most impossible children I have ever known."
She preened before the mirror, examining her gown from all angles. Diamond and platinum ear rings were put in her ears and she reveled in the sight of the matching ring, bracelet and necklace glittering on her person. "These are rather nice, aren’t they? I’d like to leave them to you, but you know how it is. Oh, well, at least you don't have to share my engagement set with your sister, she’ll get your grandmother's jewelry instead."
Leanne shrugged and answered her mother’s question. "I told her several times. Honestly mother, I don't know why you worry so much about her. She has an excellent job at the depository and her husband is well thought of at the U.N. She always manages to land on her feet one way or another. I don't see why you had to give her Grandmother Mayer's jewelry. She's got plenty of her own, you know, and all I have is that pathetic string of pearls Daddy gave me for graduation. Not all of us have money, you know."
"Really, how you do go on and on about your poverty, it’s really quite boring. As if that matters today. Now look at me; have I ever looked better?" Sarah turned around to swirl her designer gown around still shapely ankles.
Leanne sighed in exasperation. "No, Mother, you've never looked better."
Kissing the air, her mother swept out of the room to greet her guests who had just started to arrive. Left to herself, Leanne looked around her mother’s perfectly appointed room. She checked her hair in the mirror, grimacing at the gray hairs which had started appearing at her temples. "But I won't be poor forever." She murmured.
Never had there been such a bon voyage party. Later the florist would report that several records for floral tributes had been broken. The champagne flowed freely and pounds of expensive caviar and other dainties were consumed by Sarah's guests. People she hadn’t seen for decades showed up as well as chance acquaintances. As the old saying goes, a good time was had by all.
At the height of the party, Sarah tapped on the delicate crystal champagne flute in her hand in order to gain the attention of her guests. "Well, my dearest darlings, it’s time for the big send off! I love you all madly, and want you to enjoy the rest of the party while I get ready, but save a glass for me!" Her words were slightly slurred with the amount of alcohol she had consumed. One on each side of their mother, the daughters helped her up the lovely curved staircase. At the top, Sarah turned and blew an exaggerated kiss to her guests.
Once they had helped their mother to the dressing room, Patti, her younger daughter, started crying. "Don't be such a baby. Do you want to ruin things for Mother?" Leanne thrust a wad of tissue into her sister's hand, hoping to repair the damage before their mother returned from her dressing room.
Sarah entered the room wearing a glorious golden gown, exquisite in its simplicity. Her hands shook slightly as she repaired her make up and touched up her lovely hair style.
Patti flew to her side and knelt by her mother's chair. "Don’t go, mother; I’ll have Brian fix it all somehow. Stay with us, won't you?"
"Don’t go, are you crazy or something? The arrangements were all made months ago. If mother was to back out now, well just think of all the trouble it would cause." Her sister scornfully answered while leaning over their mother to check her own make up.
Looking between both of her daughters faces, Sarah seemed to see something for the first time. A discrete knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "It's time for your trip, Madam." The maid’s voice came softly through the door.
Sarah Miller gave herself a shake and tremulously smiled at her daughters. "Come on, girls. It's time! Pull yourself together, Patti. Honestly, the big deal you make over something so trivial." A final look at the mirror, a final adjustment to the diamond and platinum jewels, a finishing dab of expensive scent and Sarah swept out of the room.
Behind her, Leanne gave a last look to the luxurious room and nodded while Patti wept softly into a tissue.
As she reached the lower landing, Sarah’s guests stood and applauded wildly. Her golden gown of tissue lame was appreciated by her guests as she regally swept to a throne-like chair set up in the very center of the great room. She embraced her guests one by one, being careful to not disarrange her perfect tresses or muss her exquisite make up, then her daughters. "Wish me Bon Voyage, darlings!" She caroled then drained a goblet of fine champagne served at the perfect temperature in an beautiful crystal flute handed to her on a silver tray by the waiting caterer.
The crowd chanted "Through the teeth and over the gums, look out Hell, here she comes!" laughing uproariously at the ancient chant with its new twist. Sarah tried to give a laugh for her guests, but was overcome by sheer terror. Alert to the signs of panic which would ruin business, the caterer standing nearby quickly shot a needle into Sarah neck which paralyzed her immediately and sped the action of the poison she had just imbibed. So adept was he, none of the guests noticed. The waiting maid caught the lovely crystal flute before it could fall to the thick pile carpeting, and carried it to the waiting caterer's apprentice.
Four of the apprentices lifted the throne of departure and silently carried it from the room. Patti had already left, escorted quickly and unobtrusively from the room so she would not spoil her mother’s bon voyage. A swiftly administered tranquilizer quieted her and a waiting aide drove her to her home.
Behind her, the party went on for three more hours, when her mother’s Perfect Year expired. The guests were driven to their homes and the house and its contents inventoried. All things in order, Leanne signed a receipt and accepted a small case of her mother's personal effects.
At the Perfect Year Catering Office, the incinerator was ready to receive the mortal remains of Sarah Miller. Her golden gown was carefully slipped from her still form. The attendant noted with satisfaction that there was no damage to the gown. "Good,” she thought "We can use this again."
The astronomically expensive jewelry was stripped from Sarah’s stiffening body and handed to the waiting attendant. A clerk in the background checked the jewelry off the inventory. The watching Security Officer accepted the jewelery case with a nod, leaving the room. Then the mortal remains of Sarah Miller were slid into the incinerator with less formality than the day's garbage.
As Leanne drove off, she debated just how she would spend her own Perfect Year. Of course, it wouldn't be for a while yet, but still, the thought was tempting. The country house her mother used was lovely, but she preferred something a bit more upscale, possibly a penthouse suite in New York City, and a chalet in Switzerland, and. . .
It's A Perfect Life
a short nightmare by Jean Buckhalter
Sarah Miller’s home was as perfect as her life. On the perfectly polished dining table, buffet and sideboard the exquisitely arranged flowers gently perfumed the air while adding the proper ambiance for the festivities ahead. Sarah walked through the dining room into the kitchen where her kitchen staff was busy putting the final touches on her bon voyage party.
The crystal shone in the sunlight. The champagne chilling to the proper temperature in the temperature controlled wine cooler would be transferred to the waiting solid silver ice buckets.
Several gleaming silver trays held the finest Beluga caviar, buttered rounds of toast, chopped egg, and the requisite wooden spoon for the caviar. Other trays held all manner of appetizers and canapés. Money was no object, for this was a party to remember for the rest of her life.
Sarah nodded her approval to the kitchen staff and swept out of the kitchen. It was time to ready herself for her guests. Her personal masseuse awaited her in her suite. After an invigorating massage, Sarah took a long, luxuriant bath, glorying in the scent of the expensive perfume her personal maid had lavishly poured into the water. Drying herself on thick toweling, she slipped into the dressing gown held by her maid.
Seated at her vanity, the hairdresser arranged Sarah's hair in a most becoming and fashionable style. Sarah peered at the arrangement from every angle, nodding her approval and dismissal to the hairdresser.
Applying her make-up with a careful touch, she turned to her eldest daughter who watched from her mother's bed. "Not so bad for a fifty year old, do you think?"
Her daughter stubbed out the cigarette she was smoking with impatient fingers. "Oh mother, you know you're fifty seven, why don’t you admit it? I don't know why you're going through all this nonsense of a party. I attended Marion Kline's bon voyage party last month and hers was much more in keeping with the times. Austerity is in, don't you know?"
"Pooh. It’s my party and I was promised that it would be exactly as I wanted it to be. What time is your sister arriving? You did remind her to leave those children at home, didn’t you? I saw them yesterday and we already exchanged bon voyages, so there isn’t any need for those little monsters to ruin my perfect party." Her voice was muffled as she slipped into the dress for her party. "Honestly, I don't know how two such intelligent people as your sister and her husband produced two of the most impossible children I have ever known."
She preened before the mirror, examining her gown from all angles. Diamond and platinum ear rings were put in her ears and she reveled in the sight of the matching ring, bracelet and necklace glittering on her person. "These are rather nice, aren’t they? I’d like to leave them to you, but you know how it is. Oh, well, at least you don't have to share my engagement set with your sister, she’ll get your grandmother's jewelry instead."
Leanne shrugged and answered her mother’s question. "I told her several times. Honestly mother, I don't know why you worry so much about her. She has an excellent job at the depository and her husband is well thought of at the U.N. She always manages to land on her feet one way or another. I don't see why you had to give her Grandmother Mayer's jewelry. She's got plenty of her own, you know, and all I have is that pathetic string of pearls Daddy gave me for graduation. Not all of us have money, you know."
"Really, how you do go on and on about your poverty, it’s really quite boring. As if that matters today. Now look at me; have I ever looked better?" Sarah turned around to swirl her designer gown around still shapely ankles.
Leanne sighed in exasperation. "No, Mother, you've never looked better."
Kissing the air, her mother swept out of the room to greet her guests who had just started to arrive. Left to herself, Leanne looked around her mother’s perfectly appointed room. She checked her hair in the mirror, grimacing at the gray hairs which had started appearing at her temples. "But I won't be poor forever." She murmured.
Never had there been such a bon voyage party. Later the florist would report that several records for floral tributes had been broken. The champagne flowed freely and pounds of expensive caviar and other dainties were consumed by Sarah's guests. People she hadn’t seen for decades showed up as well as chance acquaintances. As the old saying goes, a good time was had by all.
At the height of the party, Sarah tapped on the delicate crystal champagne flute in her hand in order to gain the attention of her guests. "Well, my dearest darlings, it’s time for the big send off! I love you all madly, and want you to enjoy the rest of the party while I get ready, but save a glass for me!" Her words were slightly slurred with the amount of alcohol she had consumed. One on each side of their mother, the daughters helped her up the lovely curved staircase. At the top, Sarah turned and blew an exaggerated kiss to her guests.
Once they had helped their mother to the dressing room, Patti, her younger daughter, started crying. "Don't be such a baby. Do you want to ruin things for Mother?" Leanne thrust a wad of tissue into her sister's hand, hoping to repair the damage before their mother returned from her dressing room.
Sarah entered the room wearing a glorious golden gown, exquisite in its simplicity. Her hands shook slightly as she repaired her make up and touched up her lovely hair style.
Patti flew to her side and knelt by her mother's chair. "Don’t go, mother; I’ll have Brian fix it all somehow. Stay with us, won't you?"
"Don’t go, are you crazy or something? The arrangements were all made months ago. If mother was to back out now, well just think of all the trouble it would cause." Her sister scornfully answered while leaning over their mother to check her own make up.
Looking between both of her daughters faces, Sarah seemed to see something for the first time. A discrete knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "It's time for your trip, Madam." The maid’s voice came softly through the door.
Sarah Miller gave herself a shake and tremulously smiled at her daughters. "Come on, girls. It's time! Pull yourself together, Patti. Honestly, the big deal you make over something so trivial." A final look at the mirror, a final adjustment to the diamond and platinum jewels, a finishing dab of expensive scent and Sarah swept out of the room.
Behind her, Leanne gave a last look to the luxurious room and nodded while Patti wept softly into a tissue.
As she reached the lower landing, Sarah’s guests stood and applauded wildly. Her golden gown of tissue lame was appreciated by her guests as she regally swept to a throne-like chair set up in the very center of the great room. She embraced her guests one by one, being careful to not disarrange her perfect tresses or muss her exquisite make up, then her daughters. "Wish me Bon Voyage, darlings!" She caroled then drained a goblet of fine champagne served at the perfect temperature in an beautiful crystal flute handed to her on a silver tray by the waiting caterer.
The crowd chanted "Through the teeth and over the gums, look out Hell, here she comes!" laughing uproariously at the ancient chant with its new twist. Sarah tried to give a laugh for her guests, but was overcome by sheer terror. Alert to the signs of panic which would ruin business, the caterer standing nearby quickly shot a needle into Sarah neck which paralyzed her immediately and sped the action of the poison she had just imbibed. So adept was he, none of the guests noticed. The waiting maid caught the lovely crystal flute before it could fall to the thick pile carpeting, and carried it to the waiting caterer's apprentice.
Four of the apprentices lifted the throne of departure and silently carried it from the room. Patti had already left, escorted quickly and unobtrusively from the room so she would not spoil her mother’s bon voyage. A swiftly administered tranquilizer quieted her and a waiting aide drove her to her home.
Behind her, the party went on for three more hours, when her mother’s Perfect Year expired. The guests were driven to their homes and the house and its contents inventoried. All things in order, Leanne signed a receipt and accepted a small case of her mother's personal effects.
At the Perfect Year Catering Office, the incinerator was ready to receive the mortal remains of Sarah Miller. Her golden gown was carefully slipped from her still form. The attendant noted with satisfaction that there was no damage to the gown. "Good,” she thought "We can use this again."
The astronomically expensive jewelry was stripped from Sarah’s stiffening body and handed to the waiting attendant. A clerk in the background checked the jewelry off the inventory. The watching Security Officer accepted the jewelery case with a nod, leaving the room. Then the mortal remains of Sarah Miller were slid into the incinerator with less formality than the day's garbage.
As Leanne drove off, she debated just how she would spend her own Perfect Year. Of course, it wouldn't be for a while yet, but still, the thought was tempting. The country house her mother used was lovely, but she preferred something a bit more upscale, possibly a penthouse suite in New York City, and a chalet in Switzerland, and. . .
Shopping For Supper: a short nightmare of the end times
Shopping For Supper
a short nightmare of the end times
by Jean Buckhalter
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Ezekiel 5:17 "So will I send upon you famine and evil beasts, and they shall bereave thee; and pestilence and blood shall pass through thee; and I will bring the sword upon thee. I, the Lord, have spoken."
*****************************************************************
He barely looked like a man; certainly nothing like the Fortune 500 executive he once had been. Long, rank tangles of hair hung about his head in sharp contrast to the beautifully groomed style he once sported. An air of rancid, rotting flesh hung around him like the scent of a corpse dead three days in the sun. Flies buzzed around him mercilessly, laying their eggs in the open sores that covered his body. Maggots crawled around in the boils, cleaning out the noisome contents. His quarry lie ahead. Huge and fat, sleek fur gleaming in the sunlight, the animal would fill the hole gnawing in his guts for many a day. He approached from downwind with great stealth learned from months of hunting.
The animal looked up from where he was grooming his fur while seated on a chunk of concrete. Lifting his nose to the wind, he tested the air for food or foe. Nothing scented, the animal continued grooming the fur on his fat belly. A noise from the rubble nearby, and the head lifted again. All motion ceased as the animal prepared to run at the first hint of danger.
The hunter froze where he was. He grasped the small pitchfork more tightly in his hand. The pain was excruciating. The open sores on his hands cracked and bled, making his grip more difficult. The animal relaxed and he crept closer.
The animal lay down on the slab of concrete to better clean his hindquarters. The hunter’s mouth watered at the thought of something to eat. The blood would slake the thirst, which roared through his body like a fire. Closer he crept. He raised the pitchfork, ready to impale the food when an incautious step caused small pebbles to shift and alert his prey. Alarmed, the rodent scurried off to hide from the hunter.
The hunter shook his fist at the sky and screamed unintelligible epithets. In front of him, a random shaft of sunlight slipped through the overcast sky, lighting a stained glass window lying in the rubble. Perhaps the rat would have appreciated the sight of the sun turning the stained glass into glowing, liquid beauty or the ironic twist of fate which had left this delicate work of art untouched through the destructive power of the earthquakes, but the rat wasn't there. Furiously the hunter kicked at the glass, which remained unbroken. He grabbed a chunk of rubble and smashed it down on the brilliant glass over and over, ranting and screaming blasphemous oaths at God. Once the beauty of the stained glass had been reduced to shards, the hunter stood and shook his fist at God, cursing His holy name and decrying the day he was born before continuing the hunt.
Unseen in the ruins, the rat watched the hunter, smelling the stench of the rotting flesh like a connoisseur of fine wine. Alerting his pack mates, they followed the hunter with greater stealth than he had shown. Before long the food would lie down and sleep and they could feast. They were patient; they could wait. The pack would eat well for many days.
*****************************************************************
Revelation 16:10 "And the fifth angel poured out his bowl upon the throne of the beast, and his kingdom was full of darkness; and they gnawed their tongues for pain. And blasphemed the God of heaven because of their pains and their sores, and repented not their deeds."
*****************************************************************
a short nightmare of the end times
by Jean Buckhalter
*****************************************************************
Ezekiel 5:17 "So will I send upon you famine and evil beasts, and they shall bereave thee; and pestilence and blood shall pass through thee; and I will bring the sword upon thee. I, the Lord, have spoken."
*****************************************************************
He barely looked like a man; certainly nothing like the Fortune 500 executive he once had been. Long, rank tangles of hair hung about his head in sharp contrast to the beautifully groomed style he once sported. An air of rancid, rotting flesh hung around him like the scent of a corpse dead three days in the sun. Flies buzzed around him mercilessly, laying their eggs in the open sores that covered his body. Maggots crawled around in the boils, cleaning out the noisome contents. His quarry lie ahead. Huge and fat, sleek fur gleaming in the sunlight, the animal would fill the hole gnawing in his guts for many a day. He approached from downwind with great stealth learned from months of hunting.
The animal looked up from where he was grooming his fur while seated on a chunk of concrete. Lifting his nose to the wind, he tested the air for food or foe. Nothing scented, the animal continued grooming the fur on his fat belly. A noise from the rubble nearby, and the head lifted again. All motion ceased as the animal prepared to run at the first hint of danger.
The hunter froze where he was. He grasped the small pitchfork more tightly in his hand. The pain was excruciating. The open sores on his hands cracked and bled, making his grip more difficult. The animal relaxed and he crept closer.
The animal lay down on the slab of concrete to better clean his hindquarters. The hunter’s mouth watered at the thought of something to eat. The blood would slake the thirst, which roared through his body like a fire. Closer he crept. He raised the pitchfork, ready to impale the food when an incautious step caused small pebbles to shift and alert his prey. Alarmed, the rodent scurried off to hide from the hunter.
The hunter shook his fist at the sky and screamed unintelligible epithets. In front of him, a random shaft of sunlight slipped through the overcast sky, lighting a stained glass window lying in the rubble. Perhaps the rat would have appreciated the sight of the sun turning the stained glass into glowing, liquid beauty or the ironic twist of fate which had left this delicate work of art untouched through the destructive power of the earthquakes, but the rat wasn't there. Furiously the hunter kicked at the glass, which remained unbroken. He grabbed a chunk of rubble and smashed it down on the brilliant glass over and over, ranting and screaming blasphemous oaths at God. Once the beauty of the stained glass had been reduced to shards, the hunter stood and shook his fist at God, cursing His holy name and decrying the day he was born before continuing the hunt.
Unseen in the ruins, the rat watched the hunter, smelling the stench of the rotting flesh like a connoisseur of fine wine. Alerting his pack mates, they followed the hunter with greater stealth than he had shown. Before long the food would lie down and sleep and they could feast. They were patient; they could wait. The pack would eat well for many days.
*****************************************************************
Revelation 16:10 "And the fifth angel poured out his bowl upon the throne of the beast, and his kingdom was full of darkness; and they gnawed their tongues for pain. And blasphemed the God of heaven because of their pains and their sores, and repented not their deeds."
*****************************************************************
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