We all stayed with the Preacher and his wife that night and heard a retelling of the true Christmas story.
Later, we boys and Dillweed bedded down on the floor in the warm glow of the wood heater.
Ever since that Christmas, things have been a little different for me. I stopped worrying about superstitions and scary stories. Instead I just remember the angel’s words to the shepherds.
“Do not be afraid, for I bring you glad tidings of great joy which shall be unto all people!”
Even now, when I hear a certain Christmas Carol, it reminds me of that night and how the Christmas story taught me to live free of fear’s chains; the song goes . . .
God rest you merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay;
Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day ….
O tidings of comfort and joy….
The End
Showing posts with label The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass. Show all posts
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Part 6
Realizing that our time may be short before the Ghost made another pass up the ridge – we scrambled, dragging “Mudcat” who was still carrying on incoherently.
We arrived at Preacher and Mrs. Weems little room in the back of the community church about ten minutes later. “Patch and I were out of breath from having dragged his big brother most of the way. So as we caught our breath, “Mudcat” began to tell our tale:
“Bee dank bee daw duh kissmuddose! Bee dank bee daw duh kissmuddose! EE dried doh keebee!...”
Preacher Weems looked befuddled.
“Patch” and I set in to telling him the story in English.
When we finished, the Preacher looked at us sadly.
“Fear takes on a life of its own, boys. When you deal in fear, your mind will provide the evidence of what you are afraid of” he said.
We looked at each other. We thought he would want to contact the Slightville Newspaper to tell our story. Instead he was talking gibberish about fear.
“You don’t believe we saw the Christmas Ghost?!” I asked.
“Son, I believe you think you saw it. When you get all wrapped up in fear, your imagination runs away with you” the Preacher countered.
“-Oh and I duess dis busted lip I dot dust happened aye!?” added “Mudcat” the swelling beginning to diminish.
“If you are afraid of something, your mind makes it become bigger and scarier than it really is!”
Mrs. Weems entered the room with some hot cocoa and some dry blankets.
“Boys,” Preacher Weems began again, “yours is the second story I have heard about this so-called Christmas Ghost tonight. And tomorrow the whole mountainside will likely be buzzing with these tales. That’s why I aim to put a stop to this here and now!”
“Did you boys ever hear of Charles Dickens?”
We stared blankly.
“-Ever hear of ‘A Christmas Carol’?”
More blank stares.
“What about you Dillweed?” and with that, Preacher Weems turned to the door where we saw none other than Dillweed Cloves entering from the other room.
Dillweed looked awful – more awful than usual. He looked like he had seen a ghost. He looked like he had been beaten up by a ghost!
Dillweed joined us as the Preacher continued.
“Dillweed, that story you tell about the Christmas Ghost: what is the man’s name – his full name?”
Dillweed replied “Ben – Ben Rooge. Oh his full name… lessee it’s EBONY …. um … something like a Bible name…. um Xer.. Xerx-that’s it! EBONY- Xerx-Rooge!”
The Preacher corrected him, “Not Ebony Xerx Rooge – it’s Ebenezer Scrooge. He’s the character in Charles Dickens’ classic ‘A Christmas Carol’ and the point of that story is not the ghosts; it’s a story about redemption!”
“That story didn’t occur around here – it was in England. Someone heard that story long ago and retold and it became a legend around here. But it simply isn’t true.”
“Folks around here are so quick to believe every little scary tale or superstition that they lose touch with the beauty of things like art and literature. Instead they quickly turn them into something foreboding and fearful.”
You boys are just like most folks along this Pass who live in more chains that Scrooge or his partner ever had – that’s what fear does to people – it ties them up. It’s like running around in the dark.
The old Prophet said ‘the people that lived in darkness – have seen a great Light!’ when he foretold about the first Christmas.
The angels came to those shepherds on a lonely hillside, in the dark and the shepherds were so afraid . . . but the angel said ‘fear not, for I bring you good news!”
Christmas is not about ghosts – it’s about good news! God’s gift to us; His only Son came as a Baby to live like us and then die for our sins and rise again.
Isn’t that a better story for Christmas time?”
“Patch” spoke up “Yeah, but what about the Ghost – we saw him!”
“That’s what fear does “Patch”, it makes you see things that aren’t there and causes you to miss things that are there. The Christmas story’s message is “do not be afraid’” Preacher Weems continued “you didn’t see the Christmas Ghost – you saw . . . Dillweed.”
Dillweed hung his head sheepishly.
Not five minutes before the boys had burst into the Preachers quarters, Dillweed had arrived with a similar story of seeing the Christmas Ghost.
Dillweed had been coming down the Pass late in the evening when he heard all the commotion with “Mudcat’s” caper and the blazing barrel. Dillweed only heard the screams and saw the blazing fireball rolling down the mountain.
Too scared to move, Dillweed huddled down beside a tree, afraid to approach the path of the Christmas Ghost. It happened that the tree he was hiding beside was the same tree that “Mudcat’s” buddies had tied the rope and bucket of coals to. The rain of fire and the exploding bucket was all Dillweed could stand and in a panic he had grabbed his lantern and took off across the mountain crying for dear life.
When “Mudcat’s” friends heard Dillweed, they got scared and took off. Their cries frightened Dillweed even further and he got confused. He ran right into a bed sheet Mrs. Garrett had left hanging on the clothesline.
Then Mrs. Garrett mistook him for a prowler and clubbed him with a stick of stove wood.
It was that bed sheet with Dillweed and his lantern inside that the boys thought was the Christmas Ghost with its eerie glow.
The boys looked at each other and smiled in disbelief.
“Mudcat” piped up: “Dat dost was Dillbeed duh whole tibe!”
“You said it!” Dillweed added.
We arrived at Preacher and Mrs. Weems little room in the back of the community church about ten minutes later. “Patch and I were out of breath from having dragged his big brother most of the way. So as we caught our breath, “Mudcat” began to tell our tale:
“Bee dank bee daw duh kissmuddose! Bee dank bee daw duh kissmuddose! EE dried doh keebee!...”
Preacher Weems looked befuddled.
“Patch” and I set in to telling him the story in English.
When we finished, the Preacher looked at us sadly.
“Fear takes on a life of its own, boys. When you deal in fear, your mind will provide the evidence of what you are afraid of” he said.
We looked at each other. We thought he would want to contact the Slightville Newspaper to tell our story. Instead he was talking gibberish about fear.
“You don’t believe we saw the Christmas Ghost?!” I asked.
“Son, I believe you think you saw it. When you get all wrapped up in fear, your imagination runs away with you” the Preacher countered.
“-Oh and I duess dis busted lip I dot dust happened aye!?” added “Mudcat” the swelling beginning to diminish.
“If you are afraid of something, your mind makes it become bigger and scarier than it really is!”
Mrs. Weems entered the room with some hot cocoa and some dry blankets.
“Boys,” Preacher Weems began again, “yours is the second story I have heard about this so-called Christmas Ghost tonight. And tomorrow the whole mountainside will likely be buzzing with these tales. That’s why I aim to put a stop to this here and now!”
“Did you boys ever hear of Charles Dickens?”
We stared blankly.
“-Ever hear of ‘A Christmas Carol’?”
More blank stares.
“What about you Dillweed?” and with that, Preacher Weems turned to the door where we saw none other than Dillweed Cloves entering from the other room.
Dillweed looked awful – more awful than usual. He looked like he had seen a ghost. He looked like he had been beaten up by a ghost!
Dillweed joined us as the Preacher continued.
“Dillweed, that story you tell about the Christmas Ghost: what is the man’s name – his full name?”
Dillweed replied “Ben – Ben Rooge. Oh his full name… lessee it’s EBONY …. um … something like a Bible name…. um Xer.. Xerx-that’s it! EBONY- Xerx-Rooge!”
The Preacher corrected him, “Not Ebony Xerx Rooge – it’s Ebenezer Scrooge. He’s the character in Charles Dickens’ classic ‘A Christmas Carol’ and the point of that story is not the ghosts; it’s a story about redemption!”
“That story didn’t occur around here – it was in England. Someone heard that story long ago and retold and it became a legend around here. But it simply isn’t true.”
“Folks around here are so quick to believe every little scary tale or superstition that they lose touch with the beauty of things like art and literature. Instead they quickly turn them into something foreboding and fearful.”
You boys are just like most folks along this Pass who live in more chains that Scrooge or his partner ever had – that’s what fear does to people – it ties them up. It’s like running around in the dark.
The old Prophet said ‘the people that lived in darkness – have seen a great Light!’ when he foretold about the first Christmas.
The angels came to those shepherds on a lonely hillside, in the dark and the shepherds were so afraid . . . but the angel said ‘fear not, for I bring you good news!”
Christmas is not about ghosts – it’s about good news! God’s gift to us; His only Son came as a Baby to live like us and then die for our sins and rise again.
Isn’t that a better story for Christmas time?”
“Patch” spoke up “Yeah, but what about the Ghost – we saw him!”
“That’s what fear does “Patch”, it makes you see things that aren’t there and causes you to miss things that are there. The Christmas story’s message is “do not be afraid’” Preacher Weems continued “you didn’t see the Christmas Ghost – you saw . . . Dillweed.”
Dillweed hung his head sheepishly.
Not five minutes before the boys had burst into the Preachers quarters, Dillweed had arrived with a similar story of seeing the Christmas Ghost.
Dillweed had been coming down the Pass late in the evening when he heard all the commotion with “Mudcat’s” caper and the blazing barrel. Dillweed only heard the screams and saw the blazing fireball rolling down the mountain.
Too scared to move, Dillweed huddled down beside a tree, afraid to approach the path of the Christmas Ghost. It happened that the tree he was hiding beside was the same tree that “Mudcat’s” buddies had tied the rope and bucket of coals to. The rain of fire and the exploding bucket was all Dillweed could stand and in a panic he had grabbed his lantern and took off across the mountain crying for dear life.
When “Mudcat’s” friends heard Dillweed, they got scared and took off. Their cries frightened Dillweed even further and he got confused. He ran right into a bed sheet Mrs. Garrett had left hanging on the clothesline.
Then Mrs. Garrett mistook him for a prowler and clubbed him with a stick of stove wood.
It was that bed sheet with Dillweed and his lantern inside that the boys thought was the Christmas Ghost with its eerie glow.
The boys looked at each other and smiled in disbelief.
“Mudcat” piped up: “Dat dost was Dillbeed duh whole tibe!”
“You said it!” Dillweed added.
The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Part 5
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!
The sound was coming from old Mrs. Garrett’s house. We heard another shriek – probably Mrs. Garrett. That was followed by a dancing light and the mournful cry moving ever closer to us.
That’s when it came into view! By the time we saw it, it was too late to run.
I don’t know how to describe the apparition. At times it had a human shape but then it would undulate and change to a round shape and then back to a human form.
In the lantern light, I could see that all of “Mudcat’s” color had drained from his face.
The visage seemed to float and fly about three feet above the ground as it soared toward us – it was white and had an eerie glow emanating from its center.
This was no trick and the shriek of the Ghost was suddenly joined by a trio of screams – one coming from me!
“Patch” waxed heroic! He was determined he would not go down without a fight! He reached frantically for the first thing his hand could find to fling at the phantom and all the time it was bearing down, screaming, crying, bellowing – closer … closer!
“Patch” remembered the apples in his basket and reached down but saw two baskets – finally in his frustration, he used both hands to thrust them into to both baskets. His fingers found their purchase and he produced an apple!
“Patch” - despite his affliction – had always been a good one for chunking things. He could fling a rock from a good fifty feet away and knock a squirrel out of a tree. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that good at close range – and without one eye covered.
I found myself on the ground, clawing scratching and kicking – desperately trying to get out of the path of what was clearly the Christmas Ghost!
“Mudcat” and “Patch” were on either side of the trail just ahead of me, the ghost was going to pass between them! “Patch” reared back and let the apple fly!
It seemed to pass right through him – amazing!
It seemed to pass right through him!
Meanwhile, the apple having missed its intended target, instead landed smack on the spot where hair doesn’t grow on “Mudcat’s” top lip! The apple shattered into a thousand shards and “Mudcat” dropped to his knees in agony.
Not having seen his smaller brother load up the apple and fire away, “Mudcat” assumed that the blow to his upper lip was the impact of the Christmas Ghost beginning to wreak havoc on his once youthful and promising life!
“Mudcat” commenced to pleading for his life:
“Plee-ase! Plee-ase don’t kill me!!! Plee-ase don’t kill me!”
Then as the swelling began to set in on his lip, it impaired his speech somewhat:
“Beeze dode keebee!! Bee-eeze dodekeeBee!!”
Were we not in danger of instant and terrific death, we might have found it quite comical.
As “Patch’s” eyes began to uncross, we looked at each other and realized that we had cheated death one more time. It was likely that we three were the only people that ever survived a visit from the Christmas Ghost! That is – if we could get out of those woods!
The sound was coming from old Mrs. Garrett’s house. We heard another shriek – probably Mrs. Garrett. That was followed by a dancing light and the mournful cry moving ever closer to us.
That’s when it came into view! By the time we saw it, it was too late to run.
I don’t know how to describe the apparition. At times it had a human shape but then it would undulate and change to a round shape and then back to a human form.
In the lantern light, I could see that all of “Mudcat’s” color had drained from his face.
The visage seemed to float and fly about three feet above the ground as it soared toward us – it was white and had an eerie glow emanating from its center.
This was no trick and the shriek of the Ghost was suddenly joined by a trio of screams – one coming from me!
“Patch” waxed heroic! He was determined he would not go down without a fight! He reached frantically for the first thing his hand could find to fling at the phantom and all the time it was bearing down, screaming, crying, bellowing – closer … closer!
“Patch” remembered the apples in his basket and reached down but saw two baskets – finally in his frustration, he used both hands to thrust them into to both baskets. His fingers found their purchase and he produced an apple!
“Patch” - despite his affliction – had always been a good one for chunking things. He could fling a rock from a good fifty feet away and knock a squirrel out of a tree. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that good at close range – and without one eye covered.
I found myself on the ground, clawing scratching and kicking – desperately trying to get out of the path of what was clearly the Christmas Ghost!
“Mudcat” and “Patch” were on either side of the trail just ahead of me, the ghost was going to pass between them! “Patch” reared back and let the apple fly!
It seemed to pass right through him – amazing!
It seemed to pass right through him!
Meanwhile, the apple having missed its intended target, instead landed smack on the spot where hair doesn’t grow on “Mudcat’s” top lip! The apple shattered into a thousand shards and “Mudcat” dropped to his knees in agony.
Not having seen his smaller brother load up the apple and fire away, “Mudcat” assumed that the blow to his upper lip was the impact of the Christmas Ghost beginning to wreak havoc on his once youthful and promising life!
“Mudcat” commenced to pleading for his life:
“Plee-ase! Plee-ase don’t kill me!!! Plee-ase don’t kill me!”
Then as the swelling began to set in on his lip, it impaired his speech somewhat:
“Beeze dode keebee!! Bee-eeze dodekeeBee!!”
Were we not in danger of instant and terrific death, we might have found it quite comical.
As “Patch’s” eyes began to uncross, we looked at each other and realized that we had cheated death one more time. It was likely that we three were the only people that ever survived a visit from the Christmas Ghost! That is – if we could get out of those woods!
The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Part 4
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!
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!
The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass Part 3
Continued from Part 2 ... Dillweed, the substitute teacher is telling the story of "Ben Rooge and the Christmas Ghost ....
Then finally Ben Rooge got HIS!
On a Christmas Eve ole’ Ben worked into the night and then made the trip from Slightville up Snagbottom Pass to his cold damp house. On the way, his old mule what was carrying him slipped a time or two and ole’ Ben just hit her with his old crookedy stick!
With that Dillweed slapped “Patch’s” desk with his ruler and he must’ve jumped two feet high!
‘At’s when it happunned . . . the old mule stopped and tried to get a drink out of a half-frozen puddle. Ben reared back like he was goin’ to whup the fire outta’ that mule but she shifted a little and Ben went a crashing to the ground breaking the ice that was beginning to form with his very head!
The old mule went back to drinking from the puddle and Ben just stared at her reflection in the water – when all of a sudden hit changed! The old mule face turned into the face of Ben’s old partner!!
Only his eyes was a glowing like two hot cinders and his teeth was bared like a mad dog!
That night when Ben was home in his bed, his old partner crept into his room only he was all wrapped in chains and he said when Ben died he would be a-wearin’ even more chains on account of he was so stingy and mean.
He said three Christmas Ghostes would haunt him that night…
And the story goes that the last one was a fiery ghost with empty eyes that rode on a flaming horse. His scream was like the howl of a thousand lost souls! And He chased Ben Rooge all the way down Snagbottom Pass.
And they say that right around Christmas. . . .
I heard “Patch” gulp.
If you ain’t been good…
The Christmas Ghostes will come for YOU!!
With that he put his sharp nose right up against “Patch’s” squinting face. “Patch” having removed his hand from his eye felt double the shock with two noses coming right at him and thus he bolted out of the desk and right into the floor.
“Patch” came to my house after school – mainly because he was afraid to go into the woods by himself – and he even stayed and helped me with my chores. Dillweed had been so enthralled with his story that he forgot to assign us any homework for the Christmas Holiday so by evening, we had nothing to do.
“Patch” looked up and the churning grey clouds in the sky above and realized that dark would come early. I knew what he was up to. He didn’t want to make that trip through the woods across the Pass by himself.
“Jeremiah, why don’t you come with me to my house. We could look for baby raccoons.” He said.
“Patch” was forever talking about catching a few baby raccoons and starting himself a coon farm so he cold sell the pelts for hats, coats and mittens for the city-folks. I wasn’t nearly as interested in the idea as he was.
I knew he really just didn’t want to go alone so I agreed to go.
By the time we neared his house, the sun had set and it was getting colder by the minute. “Patch” who was walking ahead of me stopped cold, I nearly bumped into him.
Before I could yell at him, I noticed why he had stopped: there at his feet, tangled in some butcher’s twine, was a baby raccoon.
“Patch” was ecstatic! He immediately began to try and untangle the little animal but in his excitement, his vision went double and he could not figure out which raccoon to grab. When he covered his eye, he didn’t have a free hand to untie the knots and tangles in the string.
I realized his dilemma and pulled out my Barlow pocket-knife and soon we had our first member of the Coon Ranch herd. “Patch” held him close and stroked him kindly.
That’s when it happened.
We heard it before we saw it.
It began with an unearthly bellowing that raised the hairs on the backs of our necks! Then we heard what sounded like an army on horseback on the craggy hill above us…ready to ride down right on top of us!
We first stared at one another – afraid to turn and see our impending doom.
Everything slowed down as I watched “Patch’s” eyes cross! That’s when we turned to see it a flaming fireball – as big as a house – racing down the Pass right at us!
I thought I heard the snort of the fiery horse! That is when I leaped out of the way skinning both of my elbows!
Upon landing, I checked all my parts to be sure the Christmas Ghost hadn’t bitten off an arm or a leg, then realizing I was still in one piece and fairly unharmed, I turned to see if “Patch” was still alive.
“Patch” was catatonic. He stood there in the face of mass destruction and held up the little raccoon toward the evil phantom – as if it’s cuteness my break his heart and turn him into a goody-goody. Apparently “Patch” was frozen in fear.
What had really happened was that “Patch’s” agony was doubled by his double vision; seeing two sinister, flaming goblins he thought his best defense was to stay put in hopes that each would pass on either side of him.
I don’t know why I did it – it certainly wasn’t courage – but I lunged toward “Patch” to knock him out of the way. I think I must have figured that I didn’t want to see what would be left of him after the Christmas Ghost made a barbecue out of him!
About the time I leaped toward “Patch”, he decided that he just couldn’t bear to watch all the devastation. So he closed his eyes and naturally assumed that the impact of my body knocking him out of the way- was actually the hammer of that Christmas Ghost.
We both rolled in between some trees and the fireball sped past us, at which point “Patch” let out the most fiendish, girlish scream I had ever heard. It made icicles form on the hairs that were already raised on the back of my neck! About that time, the baby raccoon took flight, and landing safely scampered home to his mother.
Just then we saw the blessed lights of “Patch’s” little woodland home and clawed the ground desperately to try and make it to safety.
“Patch”, still seeing double, ran squarely into a giant oak tree. Only slightly daunted by the blow, he jumped up and purpose to dive through his back door. However, having seen two doors – he selected the wrong one to jump through and soundly crashed into the wall of his house.
I watched all this take place and would have laughed had I not felt the hot breath of that villain on my neck! I also made a dive for the door but was equally turned back as the door did not give when I hit it!
Then finally Ben Rooge got HIS!
On a Christmas Eve ole’ Ben worked into the night and then made the trip from Slightville up Snagbottom Pass to his cold damp house. On the way, his old mule what was carrying him slipped a time or two and ole’ Ben just hit her with his old crookedy stick!
With that Dillweed slapped “Patch’s” desk with his ruler and he must’ve jumped two feet high!
‘At’s when it happunned . . . the old mule stopped and tried to get a drink out of a half-frozen puddle. Ben reared back like he was goin’ to whup the fire outta’ that mule but she shifted a little and Ben went a crashing to the ground breaking the ice that was beginning to form with his very head!
The old mule went back to drinking from the puddle and Ben just stared at her reflection in the water – when all of a sudden hit changed! The old mule face turned into the face of Ben’s old partner!!
Only his eyes was a glowing like two hot cinders and his teeth was bared like a mad dog!
That night when Ben was home in his bed, his old partner crept into his room only he was all wrapped in chains and he said when Ben died he would be a-wearin’ even more chains on account of he was so stingy and mean.
He said three Christmas Ghostes would haunt him that night…
And the story goes that the last one was a fiery ghost with empty eyes that rode on a flaming horse. His scream was like the howl of a thousand lost souls! And He chased Ben Rooge all the way down Snagbottom Pass.
And they say that right around Christmas. . . .
I heard “Patch” gulp.
If you ain’t been good…
The Christmas Ghostes will come for YOU!!
With that he put his sharp nose right up against “Patch’s” squinting face. “Patch” having removed his hand from his eye felt double the shock with two noses coming right at him and thus he bolted out of the desk and right into the floor.
“Patch” came to my house after school – mainly because he was afraid to go into the woods by himself – and he even stayed and helped me with my chores. Dillweed had been so enthralled with his story that he forgot to assign us any homework for the Christmas Holiday so by evening, we had nothing to do.
“Patch” looked up and the churning grey clouds in the sky above and realized that dark would come early. I knew what he was up to. He didn’t want to make that trip through the woods across the Pass by himself.
“Jeremiah, why don’t you come with me to my house. We could look for baby raccoons.” He said.
“Patch” was forever talking about catching a few baby raccoons and starting himself a coon farm so he cold sell the pelts for hats, coats and mittens for the city-folks. I wasn’t nearly as interested in the idea as he was.
I knew he really just didn’t want to go alone so I agreed to go.
By the time we neared his house, the sun had set and it was getting colder by the minute. “Patch” who was walking ahead of me stopped cold, I nearly bumped into him.
Before I could yell at him, I noticed why he had stopped: there at his feet, tangled in some butcher’s twine, was a baby raccoon.
“Patch” was ecstatic! He immediately began to try and untangle the little animal but in his excitement, his vision went double and he could not figure out which raccoon to grab. When he covered his eye, he didn’t have a free hand to untie the knots and tangles in the string.
I realized his dilemma and pulled out my Barlow pocket-knife and soon we had our first member of the Coon Ranch herd. “Patch” held him close and stroked him kindly.
That’s when it happened.
We heard it before we saw it.
It began with an unearthly bellowing that raised the hairs on the backs of our necks! Then we heard what sounded like an army on horseback on the craggy hill above us…ready to ride down right on top of us!
We first stared at one another – afraid to turn and see our impending doom.
Everything slowed down as I watched “Patch’s” eyes cross! That’s when we turned to see it a flaming fireball – as big as a house – racing down the Pass right at us!
I thought I heard the snort of the fiery horse! That is when I leaped out of the way skinning both of my elbows!
Upon landing, I checked all my parts to be sure the Christmas Ghost hadn’t bitten off an arm or a leg, then realizing I was still in one piece and fairly unharmed, I turned to see if “Patch” was still alive.
“Patch” was catatonic. He stood there in the face of mass destruction and held up the little raccoon toward the evil phantom – as if it’s cuteness my break his heart and turn him into a goody-goody. Apparently “Patch” was frozen in fear.
What had really happened was that “Patch’s” agony was doubled by his double vision; seeing two sinister, flaming goblins he thought his best defense was to stay put in hopes that each would pass on either side of him.
I don’t know why I did it – it certainly wasn’t courage – but I lunged toward “Patch” to knock him out of the way. I think I must have figured that I didn’t want to see what would be left of him after the Christmas Ghost made a barbecue out of him!
About the time I leaped toward “Patch”, he decided that he just couldn’t bear to watch all the devastation. So he closed his eyes and naturally assumed that the impact of my body knocking him out of the way- was actually the hammer of that Christmas Ghost.
We both rolled in between some trees and the fireball sped past us, at which point “Patch” let out the most fiendish, girlish scream I had ever heard. It made icicles form on the hairs that were already raised on the back of my neck! About that time, the baby raccoon took flight, and landing safely scampered home to his mother.
Just then we saw the blessed lights of “Patch’s” little woodland home and clawed the ground desperately to try and make it to safety.
“Patch”, still seeing double, ran squarely into a giant oak tree. Only slightly daunted by the blow, he jumped up and purpose to dive through his back door. However, having seen two doors – he selected the wrong one to jump through and soundly crashed into the wall of his house.
I watched all this take place and would have laughed had I not felt the hot breath of that villain on my neck! I also made a dive for the door but was equally turned back as the door did not give when I hit it!
The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - a Christmas Story - Part 1
Every year . . . or so, I try to create a Christmas Story for our kids. I hoped this would be an annual tradition we could share and it worked well ... for two Christmases - then we had our second child.
I have managed to churn out a few stories - many are not especially memorable. I did not get one together this year; I have an idea that's working around in my head but it's too big to pull together yet.
What follows is last year's story. It is one of those less memorable stories - so don't over expect:
The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass
When I was in about the fourth grade at the President Andrew Johnson School the events of this story occurred. I suppose I should explain the President Andrew Johnson School: Though this was only a little one room school house, someone had traveled to Knoxville, Tennessee, and learned that some big towns name their schools after Presidents. The people of Snagbottom were not to be outdone by any big city folks, so they named their school after the only President ever hailing from the Great Volunteer state of Tennessee.
As Christmas Holidays neared during the time I am going to tell you about, our teacher – Mrs. Pickle – was unable to teach due to a bout with the influenza. Mrs. Pickle was the only teacher at President Andrew Johnson School, she taught all grades. Well, all the folks along Snagbottom Pass began taking turns to try and nurse Mrs. Pickle back to health. One by one, families arrived with chicken soup and their own tried and true remedies. The neighbors also began to try and find a substitute teacher to fill in for Mrs. Pickle while she was out.
Eventually they settled on Dillweed Cloves. Dillweed was a gangly, oafish sort of a character; he seemed to always be hanging around but never really doing anything. He didn’t do much farming, like most folks on the Pass, and he never bothered to get married and have a family. Dillweed loved to talk. Anywhere a bunch of men were gathered around a fire, whittling sticks and talking – you’d find Dillweed standing around gawking and talking.
I think it was because he was the only one with nothing to do, that the folks decided to appoint him as the official substitute teacher for Mrs. Pickle. He did have a pretty good education, why he had graduated from the eighth grade right there at President Andrew Johnson School! Dillweed always bragged that they liked him so much at the school that they wouldn’t let him have his diploma until he agreed to come back to the eighth grade for a “repeat performance”.
Dillweed assumed office as our official substitute teacher three days before Christmas holidays.
By lunch time on the first day, he had pretty much taught us all he knew.
So Dillweed decided we all needed lots of fresh air and he declared recess for the rest of the afternoon.
That plan worked very well the first day, but on the second day of recess, the boys became tired of just playing and waxed mischievous and stole some of Ma’ O’Donnell’s blackberry pies she had cooling on the window sill.
When Ma’ O’Donnell caught them, she came after them with the business end of her sage broom.
On the third day, cold weather had moved in and some folks said a storm was brewing so the children all refused to go outside for recess that morning.
That’s when Dillweed took to doing what he did best – he weaved a yarn. And because he was feeling a little perturbed with the entire class body, he decided to make it as scary as possible.
...continued ...
I have managed to churn out a few stories - many are not especially memorable. I did not get one together this year; I have an idea that's working around in my head but it's too big to pull together yet.
What follows is last year's story. It is one of those less memorable stories - so don't over expect:
The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass
When I was in about the fourth grade at the President Andrew Johnson School the events of this story occurred. I suppose I should explain the President Andrew Johnson School: Though this was only a little one room school house, someone had traveled to Knoxville, Tennessee, and learned that some big towns name their schools after Presidents. The people of Snagbottom were not to be outdone by any big city folks, so they named their school after the only President ever hailing from the Great Volunteer state of Tennessee.
As Christmas Holidays neared during the time I am going to tell you about, our teacher – Mrs. Pickle – was unable to teach due to a bout with the influenza. Mrs. Pickle was the only teacher at President Andrew Johnson School, she taught all grades. Well, all the folks along Snagbottom Pass began taking turns to try and nurse Mrs. Pickle back to health. One by one, families arrived with chicken soup and their own tried and true remedies. The neighbors also began to try and find a substitute teacher to fill in for Mrs. Pickle while she was out.
Eventually they settled on Dillweed Cloves. Dillweed was a gangly, oafish sort of a character; he seemed to always be hanging around but never really doing anything. He didn’t do much farming, like most folks on the Pass, and he never bothered to get married and have a family. Dillweed loved to talk. Anywhere a bunch of men were gathered around a fire, whittling sticks and talking – you’d find Dillweed standing around gawking and talking.
I think it was because he was the only one with nothing to do, that the folks decided to appoint him as the official substitute teacher for Mrs. Pickle. He did have a pretty good education, why he had graduated from the eighth grade right there at President Andrew Johnson School! Dillweed always bragged that they liked him so much at the school that they wouldn’t let him have his diploma until he agreed to come back to the eighth grade for a “repeat performance”.
Dillweed assumed office as our official substitute teacher three days before Christmas holidays.
By lunch time on the first day, he had pretty much taught us all he knew.
So Dillweed decided we all needed lots of fresh air and he declared recess for the rest of the afternoon.
That plan worked very well the first day, but on the second day of recess, the boys became tired of just playing and waxed mischievous and stole some of Ma’ O’Donnell’s blackberry pies she had cooling on the window sill.
When Ma’ O’Donnell caught them, she came after them with the business end of her sage broom.
On the third day, cold weather had moved in and some folks said a storm was brewing so the children all refused to go outside for recess that morning.
That’s when Dillweed took to doing what he did best – he weaved a yarn. And because he was feeling a little perturbed with the entire class body, he decided to make it as scary as possible.
...continued ...
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