Well, first of all a big thanks to both South Knox Bubba and Meryl Yourish for kindly linking to the now moldering All-Fired Axis of Weevil Scary Story Blogburst of 2002, which resulted in my having a bunch of new visitors. And I'm sure an equal number of very confused people who can't quite figure out what Possumblog is all about.

Let me tell you, friends, Possumblog is all about...all about...er, well...it's about the tingling urges of...no..ahhh...Possumblog is about fighting for the common cormorant...no, that's not it...I believe that Possumblog is the shining example of tautological...I am dedicated to perpetuating the ideals of that great American, Kathy Ireland...uh, Kirsten Dunst, NO, uh Jodi Applegate, yeah...no, wait, Possumblog is mostly about the great drama unfolding across the American landscape and especially upon the hills and vales of the great state of Alabama...aw, crap, I don't know. Wait! That's IT! Possumblog is about crap I don't know! There now.

Now that that's cleared up (along with that slightly raised red rash) I would also like to take a moment and thank the membership of the Alabama Coon Dog and Blog Writers Colloquium, aka The Axis of Weevil, who contributed their own scary stories and hopefully had some fun. Because that's what being an Axis is all about, now isn't it!?

AND BY THE WAY--THERE ARE JUST A FEW MORE BOOGERBEAR OUIJI BOARD STORIES OUT THERE!

Including the horror of...EPISCOPALIANISM!!!! I somehow neglected to see The Debutante of the Delta Entente Irene Adler's couple of bewitching tales, so here's the link. And a bit of a...ahem, taste of the unexpected:

[...] Of the stories we shouldn’t have been telling each other, I remember particularly one about a Ouija board. One girl, pale blond and long-faced — what was her name? statistically, probably Jennifer — told us about This One Time that her cousin invoked the spirit of a dead child.

Her mother had lost a sibling when she was little, and they — it’s always a they, it’s always a group of children who remember the one who led them into it — all sat around the Ouija board to see if they could call their uncle down.[...]

OwwwOOOOOOOOO! Sorry, had that one last bit of Count Floyd to get rid of.

And I got a nice mention from Dr. Reynolds for sending him a link to an online account of the Philippine Constabulary written in 1938 by a man named Vic Hurley. The particular chapter I linked was one in which the author describes the ways in which the Moro tribesmen would steel themselves for attacking infidels, along with the steps attributed to a Colonel Alexander Rogers of the 6th Cavalry to deal with them. Real life scary stories, to be sure. (By the way, I think the story in the Israel National is probably only as accurate at the one they say they referenced from the Moskovskii Komsomolets--my own opinion is that it was probably something said in reference to what others have done in the past, with a quick "we oughta try it, too" kind of comment. Hard to tell until the actual story is translated into English--to work, blogosphere! Here is an excerpt from Chapter 17:

[...] I am indebted to Captain J. A. Tiffany, Philippine Constabulary, for the following graphic account of an attack of juramentado Moros at Camp Severs.

"The camp itself was a large rectangle, completely enclosed with wire. The line of company tents were about ten feet inside the wire on each side. Inside the line of tents were the saddle racks and the picket lines of horses. The fence was seven feet high, with ten wires, making the strands about eight inches apart. Every twenty feet along the top of the fence, was a Dietz lantern with reflector to light up the high grass outside for several yards. The firing trench just inside was. banked up and ready for business. In a few seconds after an alarm by the sentries, the men could be out of their tents and ready to meet an attack. We felt secure.

"At sundown, with Captain Purington, I inspected the defenses. We agreed that the men could sleep in perfect security with four sentries posted. No Moro could get through that fence alive. Even if they made a quick mass attack, our men would split them on bayonets while they were entangled in the wire.

"I was about ready to roll in that night when I went outside the tent and sniffed the wind like a horse when a bear is in the bush. Lieutenant Crites and myself were quartered in a tent at the opposite end of the camp from our company. Something was not right. I felt it, but could see nothing. The sentries were alert on four sides. I said nothing to Crites about my uneasy feeling. Perhaps it was that I had been used to being near my men at night. In the jungles and in Lanao we Constabulary officers had been in the habit of bunking down alongside our soldiers and non-coms. Here, in an American army camp, we had army traditions to uphold.

"It was in the night that I came out of a deep sleep feeling that a shot had awakened me. Then there were two shots and a cry: 'MOROS . . . MOROS.' Then a whole barrage of shots. I reached for my riot gun. It was gone! So was Lieutenant Crites.

"Snatching my .45 from beneath my pillow, I tore aside the mosquito-net canopy and ran out of the tent. Dark figures were coming up to the fence on the run. The firing was general.

"Realizing that in my white B. V. D.'s I might be mistaken for a Moro, I jumped back into the tent for my khaki shirt, pulling it on as I ran down the company street. Eight juramentados broke from cover and charged the camp. The ten second's delay in recovering my shirt saved my life, for I would have been confronted by six of them with nothing but my .45.

"With drawn pistol I was running down the street to my command. My path lay between the picket line of cavalry horses and the row of tents. A dim figure was running just ahead of me. I supposed it was a soldier on his way to the firing trench. The night was so dark I kept butting into the saddle racks. A big cavalryman charged out of a tent just ahead of me with a riot gun. He poked the gun within a foot of the running figure ahead of me and blasted. The man swerved and stumbled on. 'My God,' I wanted to shout, 'stop shooting at our own men.' Then I brought up suddenly. Powder smoke filled my nostrils and I was looking down the barrel of that same riot gun. The big soldier was about to let go again. Some kind of a squealing voice came out of me: 'Hey . . . it's me . . . it's me'... I would never have recognized it as my voice. I ran on; there was no time for palaver. My boys were firing rapidly . . . standing up. That puzzled me. I could see the flashes. And then I heard the familiar clang of a steel blade on a gun barrel as one of my men parried a barong. The Moros were through the fence! My men were hand to hand! I saw Crites as I heard the boom of the riot gun. In the red light a Moro was charging in with barong uplifted. Crites dropped him in mid-air. [...]

UPDATE: Via Google News, I just found the following article written by Sergey Yugov of Pravda from October 26 which might be the original source for the various stories circulating. It does mention a lot of public comment that the bodies ought to be desecrated, probably more in frustration than as a real matter of policy, and it does go on to point out the following, which should be pretty obvious:

[...] As for pig skins and burial in pig’s manure, Chechen terrorists Maskhadov, Basayev and so on are hardly frightened with the theologians’ intimidations. They are always ready to provide strong arguments to make their subordinates commit acts of terrorism. And they can find any Muslim theologians which will help them inspire kamikaze for terrorism acts.

The problem of terrorism extermination is rooted deeper. The Russian council of muftis supported actions of the Russian authorities taken to settle the hostage situation in Moscow. As it is said in the council’s statement issued on the problem, “actions of the terrorists have nothing to do with the laws of our religion. These people are neither fighters for the belief, not fighters for freedom of their nation. On the contrary, they have caused much damage to their nation. They have got what they deserve; they are sure to be punished by the God for everything they have committed and for the harm they have done.”

(It may further be noted that the world is officially a really weird mixed up place, witnessed by the fact that I just quoted approvingly a story from Pravda.) Further update, the Atlanta Journal Constitution is reporting the Moskovskii Komsomolets story, and I am almost positive they have not seen an English translation of it--a commentor over at Free Republic says he read the actual article, and it doesn't say anything about the other white meat, only that the bodies would not be turned over to the relatives. Also, I just went back and looked at Little Green Footballs and found the same Pravda story was commented on last evening while I was passing out candy (or just plain passing out). Wonder if the AJ-C will ever decide to do the same sort of followup?
posted by Terry at 8:53:00 AM