In My Room…

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Her Icy Charms

I will sense her presence in my room tonight,

Though I will never feel her warmth.

Like exploitations of the recent past,

My memories distort her image.

To grope for her in darkness

When she cannot be felt

After feeling her in darkness

When I could not feel

Is tantamount to taking trips

To towns where once you lived

Without stopping.

I will walk with her to the grave this morning

Before Phoebus warms the earth

And sears her icy charm.

His chariot, whose heat and radiance

Gives life to undeservers,

Destroys hope of life for two cursed souls

That once could live as one

And now must form their union –

Protected by darkness – clothed in chill.

Our love was never blessed by God,

Nor was it blessed by Satan.

Venus screamed when first she saw us,

For I am blind and she is a ghost…

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John Thomas McElheny – October 30, 1968

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Copyright 2015, Real Spooks – John Thomas McElheny

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The Only Thing Mac Could Never Explain…

The Marshallville Chronicles…

(Vingette from “119,  in remembrance of J. T. ‘Mac’ McElheny, Sr. of Marshallville, GA)
…  As a young man growing up in Monticello, Georgia, in the 1930s, Tom’s father, ‘Mac’ often worked after school and on the weekends. Sometimes it was near dark when he started his trek to the outskirts of town, and the shortest route was by way of woods, through a large erosion gully near his parents’ farm. It had tall clay embankments bounded by low undergrowth.
Mac’s friendly collie, “Laddie” was usually there to greet him along the way, and would often lie in ambush on the embankment waiting for Mac to walk by so he could playfully jump down on top of him. It was part of a little game they both enjoyed. The other part was to race to the farmhouse once they reached the backyard gate.
REAL SPOOKS © 2012

Moonlit Gully

One bright, moon-lit evening, Mac spotted a white shape running through the undergrowth just above him on the ledge. It looked very much like the underside of his dog as it paced him, so he pretended to ignore it by walking straight ahead, and kept his eye on it all the same.  He was planning to spot it before it jumped, so he could grab it, but soon found he was having to quicken his steps just to keep up with it.

“Hey, boy!” Mac whistled. He was hungry and tired and ready to get home. “Come on now! I see ya!”

He slowed his pace, but the shape continued to move, almost as if it were ‘scooting or gliding’  like a mechanical ‘rabbit’ on a dog track. It made no cries or sounds.

“That’s odd,” Mac thought, and he stopped.

Several yards up, the silent shape also stopped as if it were waiting on him. Mac watched as it slowly turned a seemingly mechanical body his way, and for an instant, two gleaming eyes peering from the strangely perched head, locked dead-on with his. Then, they blinked.

Just as Mac was beginning to think he’d imagined this, he felt something cold and wet on his hand. Startled, he looked down, and there, behind him, was Laddie, licking vigorously and wagging his tail.

Mac yelled and took off running down the gully, and didn’t look back. He and the collie reached the gate together, but Mac beat the dog to the house.

In coming years, Tom’s father would tell this story many times, always prefacing it with the same, “That was the only thing I ever saw that I couldn’t explain,” and he meant it.  He never encountered the strange ‘shape’ again, though he passed through the gully a thousand times and always looked for it.  But he also made a point to entice Laddie down from the embankment early on, to make damn sure the faithful collie accompanied him the rest of the way home.

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Copyright 2012 – 2018, Real Spooks – Cynthia Farr Kinkel

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I Saw It On My Wall…

The Marshallville Chronicles…

(Vingette from “119, by John Thomas McElheny and Cynthia Farr Kinkel, told in remembrance of Marian Y. Clay McElheny of Marshallville, GA.)

  * * *      First United Methodist Church of Marshallville     Tom’s mother, Marian, walked into his room in the wee hours one Sunday morning, woke him and told him that fellow church member Graham Bell was dead.

       Tom sat up in bed. “When did it happen?”

     “At five o’clock this morning,” his mother replied.

     Tom blinked his eyes and stared at the clock. “Mama, it’s only three-thirty.”

     But Marian was convinced, so he humored her. “Why don’t you call him, and tell him whatever he’s planning to do at five o’clock, not to do it.”

     Marian shook her head. “Whatever is going to happen can’t be prevented.

     “Well, how do you know?” Tom protested.

     Her tone was resigned. “I saw it on my wall.”

     She requested that Tom get up and learn the Douglas Sunday School lesson for the men’s class that Graham Bell was supposed to teach. She instructed him to walk into the Sunday school room and say, “I’m your substitute teacher today.” 

Graham Bell's Watch - Real Spooks

     Tom was to teach the lesson, then, go down to the choir room, put on Graham Bell’s robe, rehearse the anthem, process with the choir and sit in his spot, so that Graham wouldn’t be missed. After the service, he was to tell Pastor Emitt Davis that Graham had died, and was to also insist that Pastor Emitt go over to the house to verify the event. 

     A goodly representation of First Methodist folks were sent directly to the Bell’s house. They found Graham in the bathroom. He’d had a massive heart attack and had fallen into the tub, hitting his wrist watch on the side, stopping it at exactly five a.m.

 * * * 

     Helen Johnson was one of Marian’s best friends. She had returned to Marshallville, to her parents’ house across the street, after the death of her sister Irene, to become guardian of Irene’s three children, Clara, Ricky and Albert. Eventually, Helen also cared for her parents, Miss Ethyl and Mr. A.N. in their declining years.

     One afternoon, Helen checked into the hospital to have some medical tests done. She was accompanied by her sister, Lucy Clair.

     That night, Marian came into Tom’s room and roused him. “Wake up,” she whispered. “Come look at this.”

     Tom followed her to the bedroom where his father was still sleeping. His hearing aid lay on the bedside table.

Marians Bedroom with Helens Flowers      “Isn’t it beautiful?” Marian quietly exclaimed.

     Tom had no idea what she meant.

     “Look at that beautiful field of flowers!” she sighed, and she began pointing to them as if there were many.  

   Tom was perplexed. “All I see is what I know in the dark to be a celery green paint job.”

     But Marian insisted. “Helen Johnson! Don’t you see her,… there? She’s picking flowers.”

    Tom laughed softly. “Well, that’s nice, Mama.” He didn’t see.

      Marian shook her head. “No, it’s not nice.” Her smile faded. “She’s dead! Helen’s dead.”

     The next morning, Lucy Clair came to the house in tears, and rang the doorbell.

     “She’s gone, Marian,” she sobbed. She held out her hand.“She wanted you to have these.”

     There was nothing there, but Marian replied, “Thank you, I’ll put them in water,” and she invited Lucy Clair into the kitchen for coffee.

     The woman proceeded to tell Marian that during the night in the hospital room, Helen suddenly sat up in bed, and started crawling around. She was pointing and reaching out into thin air.

     “Aren’t these beautiful?” she kept asking.

     Lucy Clair said that when she inquired about what was beautiful, Helen replied, “These flowers. See?– I’m picking them for Marian. She will love them.”

     A moment later, Helen handed Lucy Clair the invisible bouquet, and with a radiant smile, lay down on her bed, and died.

* * * 

       Dolly Rock was a native of Marshallville, She resided in the first house on the road heading toward Tom Town directly in back of Miss Ethyl’s across the street. She’d once worked for Tom’s grandmother, Inez, and for neighbor, Omie Crowe, and Marian knew her well.

     It was Christmas break one year when Dolly’s grandchildren had come for a visit that Marian awoke one night to see an inverted orange ‘half-moon’ glowing brightly above a ‘horizon line’ on her wall. When the vision returned the second night, Marian roused Mac. Their spirited conversation was enough to wake Tom from sleep in the middle bedroom. Marian also said she heard children screaming. 

Marians Bedroom with occupants and half-moon      On the third night, Marian was sleeping soundly, when Mac was awakened to see a glowing orange reflection on the wall, and he called out to Tom.

     “Come see this, Buck! Look! Here’s her half-moon!” He pointed out the window at what appeared to be a raging fire a few streets over toward Tom Town. 

     “We better look out for the children,” Tom gasped. “Mama said she heard ’em.”

     Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mac opened the front door to frightened screams. “Dolly’s house is on fire! Her house is on fire!” By now, Marian was awake, as were other family members, and many in the rest of the tiny neighborhood. The fire, which an investigation later proved had been electrical, burned the wooden to the ground. Thankfully, no one was hurt.      

     When Dolly’s grandchildren reported that not only had “Miss Marian’s” household anticipated their arrival, but that Marian had foreseen the tragedy, rumors spread quickly. Numerous versions of the story circulated town that winter. Some marveled at how such things were possible, while others scoffed, but one thing was certain. The mind’s eye vision of the fiery glow on his mother’s wall was burned into Tom’s psyche forever.

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Copyright 2013 – 2018, Real Spooks – Cynthia Farr Kinkel

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Signals

REAL SPOOKS © 2012

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It’s not the creaking of the floor

That signals they are here

Those faint elusive fingertaps

That prey upon our fear.

It’s not the crawling palp of flesh

That tingles up the spine

And makes us walk into a wall

Or cover heads and whine.

It’s more the sudden heart in throat

That harkens our aware

And causes us to stop dead still

To contemplate and stare

And trembling legs like rubber bands

That fail us when we walk

And frantic waving baby arms

That fly out when we talk

That tell us when the spooks are near

And spur us on to look

At things we might perhaps to fear

That live within a book.

But life is not a cavalcade

Of vignettes marching by,

And all that we can hope to do

Is sit, and wonder why.

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Copyright 2012, Real Spooks – John Thomas McElheny

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She Folded Time

Folded Time

The Marshallville Chronicles…

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She folded time like a lacy linen napkin
And then snapped the creases out before
Draping it over my lap to catch the flood
Of memories and tabled dreams that my
Heart in my mouth could no more contain
And that cascaded in red rivulets
From between pouted lips now too soft
To dam the flow that had been held
Prisoner behind my still clenched teeth.
The memories splashed onto my lap
Making ripples in the newly formed
Puddle of unfolded time.
We held our breaths and played
Unabashedly in our puddle child.
I opened my mouth to rejoice and
Drowned us in a frozen tide
Of fiery emotion.

She folded time like the traveler she was
And then jetted across the empty room
Of our togetherness
Fast enough to vacuum the dust of life
Swirling just high enough off the floor
That it could not be stepped upon
But taken back as it had been given
When it was the dust of death
And the firmament from whence she came
Screaming like the Banshee she wasn’t
And threatening to yet return
On the day when I folded time
And she was real.
She folded time in a bare room.
She flew in the heaving of the drapes.
Again, she was never here.

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Copyright 2012, Real Spooks – John Thomas McElheny

Allusive, Aloof…

Real Spooks, © 2012 cynthiakinkel

Real Spooks & Specters…

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They ‘travel’ along side us, and haunt the primal recesses of our thoughts and memories.

Often they seem to be mere figments of our imaginations, but only the fact that they make an occasional appearance when we least expect them allows us to relegate them to the land of the ‘supernatural,’ or the ‘supernormal,’…  and there is a difference. 

The reason for that difference and where to draw the line, is the real question, rather than the reality of the existence of the invisible verses the veracity of the observable. In the world of human experience, these perceptions most certainly overlap – the spiritual with the physical, the physiological with the psychological, and so forth. 

The fact that such entities exist and we detect them does not necessarily mean they’ve appeared just for us, any more than a passing bird flies overhead just for us,… unless, of course,… it does. 

Thanks for reading.

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Real Spooks, Copyright 2012 – Cynthia Kinkel & Tom McElheny

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