Getting some blog mileage outta this Halloween deal...

I have just sent the following message to each of the members of the mighty and fearsome Axis of Weevil, in order to bring to bear their prodigious writing skills to a topic of interest to us all--hopefully the effect will be to fill up some empty space here on Possumblog while simultaneously providing an opportunity for the talented writers of the Alabama Stump Pulling and Blogging Association to strut their vowels and consonants.

Anyway, here goes:

Good afternoon, fellow travelers—

WHEREAS it is late October, when all the frightening, creepy, scary things come out (such as haints, goomers, boogerbears, and politicians), and

WHEREAS this fine State of Alabama, and indeed all of those surrounding it, are all eat up with wild, otherworldly tales of particularly peculiar, gruesome, and terrifying natures, and

WHEREAS we all, being in some odd way connected to the great and wonderful assemblage of counties and municipalities which make up the State of Alabama, and

WHEREAS we have become further associated together by the alchemy of time and circumstance to form the blogospheric alliance known as the Axis of Weevil, and

WHEREAS any goodly Axis worthy of its name does occasionally take it upon itself to work in concert to produce trouble and woe, and

WHEREAS I thought it might be fun, and

WHEREAS it helps fill up space on my blog,

THEREFORE, let it be RESOLVED, that all of we’uns should take the opportunity presented by our association and by the fortunate and auspicious time of year to produce

THE ALL-FIRED AXIS OF WEEVIL SCARY STORY BLOGBURST OF 2002,

in which each member of the Alabama Society for the Preservation of Mendaciousness agrees to post at least one heeby-jeeby story of brushes with paranormality, inexplicable occurrences, pure D evil, disembodied voices, woodland critters, or other such foolish trash.

We are all greatly aware of the debt we owe to Kathryn Tucker Windham, but for the sake of originality and in the great tradition of Southern storytellers, we seek stories of mayhem and fright of your own personal experience (or failing any dalliances with the undead—just make something up.)

SO THEN, minions of Weevilosity, who is up to the challenge?

Cheerfully yours,
Terry Oglesby

I have several such stories, all of which must be prefaced by my saying that I do NOT believe in spooks, witches, ghosts, goblins, poltergeists, elves, orcs, or Don Siegelman. I think ghost stories are mostly foolish claptrap surrounded by a goodly dollop of irrationality. However, having said that, nothing makes the prickles go up the backbone by a tightly told tale of run-ins with the forces of ol' Scratch.

The first I have is one told me by a college friend. I never gave much credence to him, mainly because he was (and still is) very...ahem, "flighty." He always reminded me of Dana Carvey doing "Lyle, The Effeminate Heterosexual"--always hyper, running around, yacking about flowers and pants and tops and soap operas. Anyway, one year he asked a few of us to go to his folk's house in Demopolis for Christmas on the River, which is pretty much what it sounds like--boats with lights and a rolling party on shore. His folks were super nice, and lived in a big 1870s house right on the Tombigbee that they had restored. (Cue spooky music)

Now, as I said, my friend was a frenetic sort of grown-up kid, and I always thought he was wound just a bit too tight (his tour of their house included him playing on the piano every time he walked past it and showing us his little brother's pictures in his clog-dancin' outfit--Clogging? Clogging!? Jiminety) but as the day wound down he finally got over his Red Dye 40/sugar/adrenaline overdose and began to calm down to normal people levels. At this level, he was finally calm enough to allow that he didn't like sleeping in the house.

It seems one day he was doing his normal be-bop all over the house and came prancing downstairs and found a dollar on one of the steps. Which was, to him, just like FINDING A DOLLAR ON THE STEP!! WOO-HOO! Lots of silly jumping, I'm sure. Anyway, he shoved it in his pocket and went on about his business that day. (Which I'm sure included him talking 90 miles and hour and various hops, skips, and plies.)

He went out that night (on a date--WITH A GIRL!) and came back in the house and started bopping back up the steps when he stopped where he found his dollar bill--who knows, maybe he thought there might be another--and then he says he heard a very quiet voice.

"I want..my...dollar."

Needless to say he freaked out and went screaming up the steps and woke everyone up.

Again, I think one of his big brothers (both of whom played football at Alabama--go figure) was probably messing with him, but I still get sort of a weird feeling when it's late and quiet and I'm coming up the steps at night.

Anyway, that's one of mine--I'll post some more in the coming days--be on the lookout for those from fellow Axis of Weevil members.
posted by Terry at 3:39:00 PM