Wednesday 11 February 2009

I aint fraid of no ghosts!


Fitting easily into our routine, twice every week we take the Technohermit a hot meal and make sure he has what he needs to get through the week.
Currently this entails walking in the dark along a narrow track, mostly uphill, along past the Ghost House and up to his humble abode. Weather permitting this a quick trip in Rene the everso useful 4x4 in all his surround sound airconditioned leather seated safety shelled goodness.
As weather is definitely not permitting wheeled vehicles to pass through the mud and slush its down to Shank's pony with the magnificent seven in full cry as company, a much slower and far more exposed journey.
The worst part of the trip is not getting wet and muddy, nor is it listening to the hermits account of his bunions, the threat from lions, werewolves and zombies, no, its walking past the Ghost house. Twice.
The second time is always worst, having to comply with the don't look back part of the tale is hard work. Especially for me.
Tonight the hermit was on form, eagerly waiting for his home cooked chicken casserole. As I handed it over we had our usual chat about his bunions, the space station (he is after all a technohermit) and how folks living in towns have it easy. Well compared to squatting on a windy hillside I expect they do, but I knew what he meant, central heating, taps and shops, luxuries like that.
After a rambling conversation about how badgers get into ant hills he stopped and looked at Faith the Gordon Setter playing in the snow. This then led to him telling me that he had met someone who had seen a big black dog or puma on the hill. I listened intently as he described how it has frightened this man from ever venturing onto the hill again. I explained about the walkers who had got confused recently up by Rock HQ thinking Ebony was a black panther and not a harmless sheep, this is assuming a sheep hellbent on getting into your sandwich box is classified as harmless. He shook his head, no, this was some time before we lived at Rock HQ. Over three years ago. He went on to describe the exact spot some miles away where the black beast was seen.
I decided to impress him with my local knowledge and rambled on about the hound of the baskervilles being written based on the black dog of the hill and how in fact that was a legend about a wicked Baron who was killed and manifested as a vicious black dog roaming the hill in search of mortal souls.
When I finished it seemed darker and the wind was driving the rain hard into our faces. I thanked him for bringing up the subject of ghosts as I still had to walk back. He grinned at me and jerked a stubby thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the ghost house "O'course that uns haunted" chuckling rather too enthusiastically for my liking.
"Great, cheers mate, I have to walk past that place in a minute."
He looked back down the hill continuing "Some old woman dressed in white is supposed to come floating out the door or summat."
Fantastic, and me without my running shoes. "You ever seen her Keith?" my voice seemed a pitch higher than I remembered.
"No! No, I ain't never seen her, my missuses mother did though." He seemed to sense my rising fear, "Ah don't worry, there ain't no such thing as ghosts man, shes probably moved on by now any road"
"I don't think they pack their bags and leave do they?" I asked this new authority on the spirit world.
"No, when your dead your gone, ain't no ghosts, don't worry."
"Thanks"
"No. They're DEMONS!" he shouted and with that bombshell left me to my long walk back.
I cant remember at which point my brisk walk back turned into a fast jog.
I didn't look back.

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