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I bin called on me tale many times, but to the folks ‘round here, it’s just common sense. It’s not like none o’ em haint seen strange things a-goin’ on ‘round these parts. Hippies or “Moon Puppies,” or what’er they call theirselves these days, gather at the ol’ quarry every full moon. Maybe it’s witches. “Wiccans” they call theirselves these days. Like “witches” ain’t good ‘nuf for ‘em. Witches was plenty good ‘nuf for Grandpa ‘n Gamma. Don’t need no fancy terms to be spoutin’ off ‘n provin’ your worth. Not in these parts.
Like I said, it’s jus’ common sense. When the moon’s full, stay outta the woods. Stay in the town proper, or in a snug house with the lights on. If’n the ‘lectrical ain’t working well, light a fire and use them oil lamps. We all have ‘em. City folk call ‘em “New Age”. We know, tho. We know them oil lamps kept those bogies away fer centuries before you could just flip a switch. And that ‘lectrical stuff – it don’t work in the downpours we get. Ever’ summer ‘round Solstice the wires fail, so there ain’t no power nohow.
Ma, she taught us right, me, me brothers and sisters. On the hard nights, the ones right around Solstice times – them that she always called the Long and the Short days – she’d light a fire in the hearth and made sure she had plenty o’ kindling around. She’d put rosemary and sage ‘round the windows and doors, ‘n scatter evergeen fronds ‘round the barns. She made sure the beasts were bedded down early and locked each stall. It wouldn’ do to lose any animals – they worked fer us, fed us, and helped us with the crops every year. Our animals are kin, needin’ our protection.
When all ’a the prep work was done, we gathered in the main house for a meal, then settled down on blankets all ‘round the main room. No-one was alone those nights. We’d stay together. “There’s strength in numbers,” Ma’d always say, as she checked each door and window, scatterin’ herbs across the thresholds and sills.
The wind down the chimney would blow embers onto our blankets, burning some new holes, but we stuck together in the one room. Old Gamma, she’d start out by tellin’ us about the Old Ones - them who’d come out of their hills on certain nights, seekin’ slaves. It seemed every year or half-year someone would be missing in the area after Solstice.
I ‘member the time it was Trudy Watson’s daughter missin’. Just a youngling – maybe 12, 13 years old. Miz Watson was besides herself the next day when Trudy turned up missing – her blanket was cold and the hearth fire was scattered. She came a-runnin’ to Gamma, beggin’ for her to use her witchin’ to find her girl. We all knowed it weren’t worth the trouble, but Miz Watson was a good lady, helpin’ all in need. So we gathered into groups and went into the hills, a’ callin’ and a’l ookin’ for Beatrice. Damned fancy name – probably why she ‘tracted the wrong kind o’ attention. Lest that’s what I think. But we all gathered because we knowed it could a’ bin any of us. It weren’t more than two hours ‘til old Dan called out that he’d found her. We all gathered round Trudy who was a’shakin’ with the grief. Her girl had been pulled apart. Messy. But we knew we needed to track them hobs down this time. They had actually gone into a house to fetch the young’un, somethin’ that hadn’t happened before. If’n we didn’t teach them a lesson, none o’ us would be safe.
Thinkin’ back on it now, it seems we declared war on ‘em as had killed Trudy’s girl. The menfolk all banded together while the women comforted Trudy and made ready for the funeral. Food had to be made, ‘n herbs had to be scattered. We even called the local man o’ God to come say a few words over the corpse (and as a bye, do his blessin’ through the house as well. Me Da’ always said it never did hurt to hedge your bets.)
The old ones, Gamma and others, also came together. They cooked, and not everything they cooked was meant for food – ‘leastways, not for us’n. The food that wasn’t meant for us wasn’t cooked at the family hearth. A fire was built outside for that “stew”. We was going huntin’ that night.
After the sun set, the old ones and many o’ the other men and women gathered. It was time to take the fight to them that wuz harmin’ us. Everyone was armed with rifles and knives, and with herbs and holy water. M’Gamma always said she doubted about that holy water – that it were the intention of the persons scatterin’ the waters, not the blessin’ of the man wearing a dress. Me? I didn’t care neither way. I had my rifle and my good skinnin’ knife, and we waz in a group. No goin’ it alone.
‘Course there was those who stayed behind to keep the younglings and old ones safe. I ‘member the days when I would be a’doing that too, but now I was armed and goin’ after them that had harmed us. We gathered together and hunted high and low. We had gathered to seek, and we found them – those what had killed one of our own. We stabbed and we burned, and we got ‘em back good. Probably good enuf that they won’t bother us’n for many months. I killed one of their young ones me self; my knife had its’ black blood on it. What? Don’t think I’m big enuf, strong enuf, and mean enuf to be a’ killin’ one of them that harmed us? Well, it ain’t braggin’ if it’s truth, and them words, they’re truth. Just ask anyone from these parts.
Like I said, it’s jus’ common sense. When the moon’s full, stay outta the woods. Stay in the town proper, or in a snug house with the lights on. If’n the ‘lectrical ain’t working well, light a fire and use them oil lamps. We all have ‘em. City folk call ‘em “New Age”. We know, tho. We know them oil lamps kept those bogies away fer centuries before you could just flip a switch. And that ‘lectrical stuff – it don’t work in the downpours we get. Ever’ summer ‘round Solstice the wires fail, so there ain’t no power nohow.
Ma, she taught us right, me, me brothers and sisters. On the hard nights, the ones right around Solstice times – them that she always called the Long and the Short days – she’d light a fire in the hearth and made sure she had plenty o’ kindling around. She’d put rosemary and sage ‘round the windows and doors, ‘n scatter evergeen fronds ‘round the barns. She made sure the beasts were bedded down early and locked each stall. It wouldn’ do to lose any animals – they worked fer us, fed us, and helped us with the crops every year. Our animals are kin, needin’ our protection.
When all ’a the prep work was done, we gathered in the main house for a meal, then settled down on blankets all ‘round the main room. No-one was alone those nights. We’d stay together. “There’s strength in numbers,” Ma’d always say, as she checked each door and window, scatterin’ herbs across the thresholds and sills.
The wind down the chimney would blow embers onto our blankets, burning some new holes, but we stuck together in the one room. Old Gamma, she’d start out by tellin’ us about the Old Ones - them who’d come out of their hills on certain nights, seekin’ slaves. It seemed every year or half-year someone would be missing in the area after Solstice.
I ‘member the time it was Trudy Watson’s daughter missin’. Just a youngling – maybe 12, 13 years old. Miz Watson was besides herself the next day when Trudy turned up missing – her blanket was cold and the hearth fire was scattered. She came a-runnin’ to Gamma, beggin’ for her to use her witchin’ to find her girl. We all knowed it weren’t worth the trouble, but Miz Watson was a good lady, helpin’ all in need. So we gathered into groups and went into the hills, a’ callin’ and a’l ookin’ for Beatrice. Damned fancy name – probably why she ‘tracted the wrong kind o’ attention. Lest that’s what I think. But we all gathered because we knowed it could a’ bin any of us. It weren’t more than two hours ‘til old Dan called out that he’d found her. We all gathered round Trudy who was a’shakin’ with the grief. Her girl had been pulled apart. Messy. But we knew we needed to track them hobs down this time. They had actually gone into a house to fetch the young’un, somethin’ that hadn’t happened before. If’n we didn’t teach them a lesson, none o’ us would be safe.
Thinkin’ back on it now, it seems we declared war on ‘em as had killed Trudy’s girl. The menfolk all banded together while the women comforted Trudy and made ready for the funeral. Food had to be made, ‘n herbs had to be scattered. We even called the local man o’ God to come say a few words over the corpse (and as a bye, do his blessin’ through the house as well. Me Da’ always said it never did hurt to hedge your bets.)
The old ones, Gamma and others, also came together. They cooked, and not everything they cooked was meant for food – ‘leastways, not for us’n. The food that wasn’t meant for us wasn’t cooked at the family hearth. A fire was built outside for that “stew”. We was going huntin’ that night.
After the sun set, the old ones and many o’ the other men and women gathered. It was time to take the fight to them that wuz harmin’ us. Everyone was armed with rifles and knives, and with herbs and holy water. M’Gamma always said she doubted about that holy water – that it were the intention of the persons scatterin’ the waters, not the blessin’ of the man wearing a dress. Me? I didn’t care neither way. I had my rifle and my good skinnin’ knife, and we waz in a group. No goin’ it alone.
‘Course there was those who stayed behind to keep the younglings and old ones safe. I ‘member the days when I would be a’doing that too, but now I was armed and goin’ after them that had harmed us. We gathered together and hunted high and low. We had gathered to seek, and we found them – those what had killed one of our own. We stabbed and we burned, and we got ‘em back good. Probably good enuf that they won’t bother us’n for many months. I killed one of their young ones me self; my knife had its’ black blood on it. What? Don’t think I’m big enuf, strong enuf, and mean enuf to be a’ killin’ one of them that harmed us? Well, it ain’t braggin’ if it’s truth, and them words, they’re truth. Just ask anyone from these parts.
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