Everything seemed to spin for a moment and “Patch” and I sat there on the ground shaking our heads.
Then from the other side of the door, we heard the loudest cackling we had ever heard. You’d think someone had started up a tickle factory right in “Patch’s” kitchen. The door flew open and inside we could see “Patch’s” older brother, “Mudcat” rolling on the floor, red-faced with tears streaming down his face. He was the source of all the wild laughter.
“Mudcat” Evans was an older brother to “Patch”, people called him “Mudcat” because he had to farm a piece of ground that was flat and often held water, so “Mudcat” spent a lot of time in the mud and his complexion bore a continual ruddy appearance. Also because he wore a mustache that had a bare spot right in the middle of his upper lip, but grew thick on the sides, that resembled the whiskers on a catfish.
“Mudcat” was full of mischief and liked to pour that mischief in generous helpings onto his vulnerable little brother.
“Mudcat” was in attendance at school that day (being about sixteen) and had seen the effect that Dillweed Cloves’ story had had on “Patch”. So when he got home and found that he had caught a baby raccoon in one of his rabbit traps, he hatched a wicked plan.
“Mudcat” – knowing his brothers penchant for baby raccoons – had tied and tangled the coon up in butcher’s twine as bait to hold the boy’s attention. Then on a steep incline above, he placed an old wooden barrel he had found in the woods – probably left behind by moonshiners. He had soaked the barrel in kerosene and waited for his brother’s return. When the boys freed the coon from the strings, he struck a match and fired off the barrel and gave it a kick to roll it down the hill.
The ”fireball” the boys had envisioned as the Christmas Ghost, was that very barrel rolling down Snagbottom Pass.
Over and over, “Mudcat” haw-hawed as he railed on the boys for their cowardice – “yew screamed like a little ole’ gal!” hew would say as he told the story over and over.
By now night had fully set in and I began to realize that - fresh on the heels of this shocking event – I was going to have to make that walk back again to my own home through those dark woods.
“Patch’s” Pa – noticed my discomfort and volunteered his two sons – “Patch” and “Mudcat” to walk me home. I deeply admired him for that and I looked at “Mudcat” to see if that news had removed his grin, but he smiled evermore as if he was quite satisfied.
But first Mr. Evans had an errand for us. The General Store in Slightville had sent three baskets of apples to be given to the children along Snagbottom Pass for Christmas. When he was in town earlier that day the store’s owner had asked him to see that the apples got to the community church down the Pass a ways. There Preacher Weems would take them and hand them out at the Christmas Eve service.
Mrs. Evans handed us each a piece of streaked meat and a cold biscuit; Mr. Evans gave us one lantern and we headed out.
We quickly finished off our biscuits and we had not traveled far before “Mudcat” started acting strangely: he kept stepping away from the light of the lantern and making bird calls up in the woods.
It wasn’t long before we realized the reason for all this strange activity. “Mudcat” had another trick up his sleeve. Knowing that he and “Patch” would have to take the apples to Preacher Weems, he had dispatched a couple of his buddies to go up the ridge about a mile. There they had tied a long rope to a tall oak tree and took the other end of the rope up the ridge to a point higher than the tree. Then the boys attached a bucket of fresh, red-hot coals from the stove to that rope.
The plan was that on “Mudcat’s” signal, they were to fire off a shotgun and then swing that bucket down the Pass. He figured it would be enough to send his little brother into fits.
It happened just as they planned only “Patch” and me were not taken in by the trick. The shotgun startled us only a little and then we watched as the fiery coals rained down through the Pass and exploded into a small fireworks display when the bucket smashed into that old oak tree.
We clapped with glee as if we had seen a good musical show.
“Mudcat” was a little put off by our reception and muttered something about us not being so brave if the real Christmas Ghost came trotting through.
Suddenly we heard a horrendous scream.
“Patch” and me looked at “Mudcat” – he was visibly shaken and obviously did not know what the scream was all about.
We heard it again. It was a long, mournful bellowing that unsettled us right down to our socks.
Way up the ridge, we could see a faint flickering light passing through the trees across the mountain; then we heard another ruckus and saw more flickering lights passing across the mountain in the other direction.
“Mudcat” gulped and I thought I saw sweat glistening on his partly bare top lip.
“Patch” gulped and covered one eye.
The scream continued its screeching call – it was moving in the direction of the first light we saw.
From far off to our left, the scream and the light made a turn and started coming down the Pass in our direction. There was a loud crash and the sound of a cat whose tail had been suddenly stomped!
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