31 December 2004Our band, The Mighty Morphin Power Brasstones, was one of six local punk and ska bands who went in on renting warehouse space to throw a massive New Year's Eve party and show. It was a bit of a gamble on whether or not we would make our money back, but I got a discount on food from work and we had people bring their own alcohol. The stated reason was that we were avoiding any liquor license issues, but the fact is no one had the money to shell out for that much booze on the vague hope they'd still manage to turn a profit. But the number of people who told us they were coming seemed promising, and the crowd of young folks in leather or checkerboard print milling around the neighborhood was taken as confirmation this was going to work out. We were the third band in the line up, so we would have the 8:00-8:45 window, but there was a lot of work to do before we even opened the doors. Mandy was off talking to the other drummers about how best to ensure we can do set changes in 15 minutes, and I was pretty sure they had settled on some system of sharing drum set pieces where possible. Charles, Mitch, Karen, and I were with the other brass players that were all getting together at the end of the night to close out the show. Courtney and Tony were off tuning their bass and guitars, respectively, while answering questions from the sound guy. My phone rang in my pocket, and when I saw it was my dad, I excused myself and stepped outside to answer. "How's your trip going?" I asked. I heard a weak laugh from the other end of the line. "Oh, better now." "Wait, what's going on?" "This job was a bit more difficult than I expected," he said, before coughing, but distantly, as though he had pulled the phone away from his face first. "Sorry." "What the hell happened? Are you okay?" "I will be. They said they expect I'll be released in a day or two and then I can catch a flight home. I'll let you know when to pick me up from the airport. But look, son, I realized that I'm getting slower out here, and there are things we needed to talk about that I couldn't ever tell you if I die." "Like why Mom left? You finally gonna tell me something about that?" "Yes. And why I had to let her. And how that plays into all of this." I groaned and lowered by head, rubbing my forehead with my free hand. He was silent, as if waiting for me to respond. "Why now? How bad was this job, Dad?" "I said I'll be fine, dammit. You go enjoy your show. We'll talk when I get home." With that, he hung up, and I fought the urge to throw my phone. I stood and closed my eyes, turned my head to the sky, and screamed. "Make sure you bring that energy to the stage," Mandy said from behind me. I opened my eyes and spun around. "How long have you been there?" "Not long enough, apparently. I just heard you were outside and assumed we were taking a smoke break." "We?" "Well. I'm a bit tight at the moment, you know, so..." I sighed and pulled out my Newports, pulling one out for me and one for her. "Thanks! I almost thought I'd have to blow you for one again." "Well," I said, switching the box for the lighter in my pocket, "let's see how many you bum before we settle anything." She laughed and slapped my arm. "You ready to ring in a new year?" "More than you know," I said, glancing at my phone before putting it away.
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18 december 2004The hollow on Hogback is distinct both because of the rickety wooden one-lane bridge at the bottom and the local story surrounding the name. The former is dangerous because, with the trees and curves on the way down into the hollow from either end, you can't really see the bridge or anyone else hoping to cross it until you're dangerously close. This depends somewhat on the speed you drive through it, of course, but it's almost a rite of passage for local kids to go tearing through it as fast as they dare, and an unrelated rite to stop in the dead center of the bridge and watch for the ghost. Thankfully, both events very rarely happen at the same time. The story is actually fairly unimaginative and more than a little misogynistic. Dude pays a hog as dowry to a farmer up the road, marries the farmer's daughter, wife turns out to be a bitch, dude kills his wife and carries her body to the farmer demanding his hog back, road gets named in honor of that guy for reasons no one seems to know. There are variants, but the ones I've heard largely follow that formula (except one in which she kills herself because he's a bitch, which seems almost sensible in light of the other one). It probably isn't true but the fact is no one is as interested in the story as they are in the rumor that the wife's ghost hangs around the bridge. This claim is, itself, something of a disappointment, both because no one even seems to believe she does anything interesting other than hang around, and because she isn't there. People keep dragging me into these damn woods to confirm the ghost is there, and I always have to decide whether it's better to play along or tell them the truth. "So there's nothing here?" Rick asked, rolling a blunt. "God I hope so," Charles offered. We had actually parked in the dirt beside the road and walked out to the middle of the bridge, and Charles was leaning on the side and looking down at the creek. The light was growing dim and we were all talking quietly enough to listen for an engine coming. "I didn't say nothing," I answered, as Rick put the blunt to his lips and got it lit, "I said there's no ghost." Rick let out the smoke as he passed to his cousin, Mandy. "How can you be sure?" Rick asked. "I've been here a dozen times, and there's no sign of her. Just kind of an...echo." Mandy handed off to me and I took my turn. "What's an echo?" I signed for him to wait as I passed to Charles and then exhaled. "It's like...there seem to be things that only exist because people think they exist. And they're only as real as the amount of people making them real. I call them echoes." "So there is a ghost, just not a, uh, real ghost?" "More or less." "Your friend is weird, Rick," Mandy muttered. "Your cousin is rude, Rick." She sneered at me as Rick smoked. He coughed a little as he visibly tried not to laugh. "I think that still counts as a ghost," Charles said, inching closer to the group. Rick passed. "Yeah! Isn't that ghost enough, John?" "Well, look. I can't talk to it, it can't possess anyone, and near as I can tell it just stands over there," I gestured toward a tree on the side of the creek opposite where we'd parked, "so if you wanna call it a ghost, fine, but it hardly seems worth it." Charles quickly looked to the tree. "Is it there now?" he asked, with a quiver in his voice. Rick laughed. "You're afraid! Look at you, it isn't even really a ghost and you're terrified!" "You agreed it was a ghost!" "Guys," I said, exhaling and passing. "Chill." "I'm going back to Alpha," Charles said. "We can smoke just fine there." "Hardly seems like your decision." Charles waved me off as he hurried back off the bridge. I turned to the others and saw Rick was still laughing and Mandy sighed. "I guess we might as well go get some food." With that, we all headed over and climbed into Alpha. I started the engine and we listened to the music as we finished the blunt. Right when I began to pull out, a rusty Chevette came tearing out of the trees and across the bridge, honking and veering as it passed us. It just clipped the front corner of Alpha and kept going, vanishing into the woods behind us. I grumbled, turned up the music, and punched the gas. 2 december 2004It had taken Dad years to convert the basement of his house into a study. The process began almost as soon as he bought the place, had been dragged to a standstill when Mom expressed displeasure with it, and only resumed in earnest after she left us. As I sat in an armchair that I hadn't seen before, I was reminded that he probably wouldn't ever be done to his satisfaction. About a third of the books lining the walls were from my great-grandma Joanna, collected during her lifetime and travels, with her notes scribbled in the margins. Maybe a half dozen or so were added by my grandpa, Jeremiah, who was apparently much less of a reader than the rest of us. I really knew very little about him, aside from the fear both dad and the ghost of Joanna seemed to have at the need to say his name. I had added probably twice as much as him already, left here so I could use them when I had easy access to the rest of the library. That left the bulk of the books, added by my dad, and covering a much more broad range of paranormal topics and folklore from around the world. "The question," I said, "is whether or not she's become something other than a ghost." I could hear Jackie sigh on the other end of the call. "What do we do if she's like, a poltergeist or something?" "I guess we'll just have to prepare for whatever," she said. I heard her turn the pages of a book. "But I'm concerned that if we spend too much time with that we won't ever get around to finding her." "You mean you won't. Remember, I can't just up and fly over to Chicago on the drop of a hat." "Aww, are you worried your beloved Omega won't make it all the way out here? The way you talked about it on the L--" "Her name is Alpha, thank you, and she'd be fine. It's the time off work and my rent I'm concerned about." I set the book on the little table next to my chair and leaned back into the cushion. "Alpha the Omega?" "Exactly." "You're the worst." I laughed, and I thought for sure I heard her chuckle just a little. "Look, just, promise you'll try? This involves you as much as me, you know." "Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll see what I can do. It's just, if you find her, and then call me, it's still gonna be seven hours at best before I show up. I want to know you'll be okay during that time." "I'll be fine, John. Just...set some money aside, or something, if you can. I really don't know what we'll be walking into." "I will. Stay safe." 19 november 2004So Rick and I were at a local cemetery today staking a vampire to the ground, as you do, and Rick was standing guard while I had to pound the stake in. "Can't your antimagic thing just, like, kill the vampire?" As opposed to keeping it from waking up while I was working, "Why are we doing all this extra work?" he asked. "We're doing extra work? You're literally just standing there with a beer." "But this is important? This is how you kill a vampire, just kinda...nail it into the coffin?" "Oh, no. This doesn't kill it. It's already dead." "Undead." "This is a dead body, Rick. The parrot is no more! He's ceased to be." "Are you seriously quoting Monty Python to me right now?" I stood up and looked at him. "Would you have preferred Terry Pratchett?" I asked. "Kinda, yeah. You got something?" We both just looked at each other for a few seconds before I sighed. "No, the moment's passed now." I heard him grumble as I knelt down to shove the garlic we'd brought into the vampire's mouth. 2 november 2004When I arrived at the luggage return in Pittsburgh, Dad was already sitting there skimming through one of his old books. I sat down next to him, setting my carry-on down at my feet and glancing over to see if it was in English. It wasn't. "You know this is why people think you're practicing voodoo," I said, leaning back and watching for the luggage return to turn on. "They think it's voodoo because they're racists," he replied, turning the page and not looking at me. "What are you doing, anyway? What language is that?" "Sanskrit. Looking up some information on the naga for a friend." I nodded. Dad's friends were largely a mystery to me. Whatever it was Henry Matteson was up to most of the time, he didn't involve me. I think after Mom got sick of his 'work' and me talking to the ghost of my great-grandmother and left us, he got paranoid about my response if I was brought in too far. The fact that I started to dabble on my own may have softened his concern, but it clearly never overcame it. "How was your trip?" "It was good. I like Chicago." "I take it something interesting happened?" he asked, closing his book and reaching into the bag next to him. He pulled out a different book and handed it to me. I nodded as I took it, leaning forward to put it in my own backpack. "Met a girl. Dealt with a haunting. Had a Halloween party." "Were any of those related?" "Yup." He chuckled and we both glanced over as the light began to flash and then the luggage return began to move. I handed him my backpack and then walked over to grab my suitcase. It took a minute or two of standing there before I saw it coming around, and by the time I had it and returned he had his face back in his book. "Find anything interesting?" He closed the book, put it in his bag, and stood as he handed me mine. "I wouldn't want to mess with the naga." "Here's hoping they know what they're doing, then." "He knows almost as much as he thinks he does, which is better than most of us can claim. Still," he said, putting his hands into his pockets as we walked toward the door, "I'll have to call him when I get home." 14 March 2001Last week, a witch at school brought in a focusing crystal. It was a solid piece of quartz, about four inches long, and since we had some downtime in choir she was showing it around and answering questions about what she does with it and letting people take a look. I was reading when Rick nudged me and asked if I'd seen it yet. I told him I hadn't. "This is the type of thing you're into, though!" he announced. I mean, yeah, I research magic here and there, but it's less that I'm into magic and more that I'd like to understand why spirits keep wanting my attention. The nuance had always been lost on him. "I mean...kinda?" "You want to see it?" she asked. It was then I noticed we'd drawn the attention of the whole group gathered around the crystal. "Ah, no, me and magic don't exactly get along," I offered. "Oh don't be ridiculous," she said, coming over. "Open your hand." "I don't think this is a good idea." "I can tell, there's something about you, try it. Just hold it for a second and see what happens." I sighed and opened my hand, and she began to hand the crystal over. As soon as it touched me, it snapped in half, and she was left holding her end of it as the rest fell into my palm. "What the hell?!" "I did warn you." When I tried to hand it back to her she refused, stating that I needed to keep it. She wasn't sure what had happened, but was confident that if I didn't keep the crystal I would be cursed in some way. There was just something about it. I could have probably told her that this is what happens when I come across magic, but it didn't seem like she was really listening, so I pocketed it and went back to my book. I threw it into some trees on the way home. I woke two days later and sat up to find a massive, black, four-legged beast sitting next to my bed and looking down on me with its white eyes. We stared at each other for a few moment before I registered that it was a spirit. "What are you doing here?" I groaned, throwing off my blanket. "Cuuuurse," it whined. I sighed and got out of bed, heading to my dresser to get ready for school. "Those don't work on me. Did they not tell you that?" I turned and saw that it was just watching me. "Please tell me you can say something other than 'curse.'" "Follow." "You want me to follow you?" "Follow." "...You're going to follow me?" It perked up slightly. "Follow!" "Awesome," I muttered, turning my attention back to getting dressed. It just sat there, waiting, while I got ready to go. When I finally walked out of my room, it got up and started following, knocking my lamp over. I stopped. "You can affect the physical world?" It purred. The thing is, it is true casting a curse on me would just not work. Any spell, really. Been like that all my life. But whatever was behind all of this was clever. "You're telling me that Tamara put a curse on you and it worked?" Charles asked. We were sitting at our lunch table after a disastrous morning. Behemoth, as I'd started calling it, was sniffing at my tray. No one could see it, of course. And it seemed to only affect physical things when it got very excited, which happened at the least convenient moments. Tapping at a brightly-colored jar of liquid in chemistry class was why I had some school-provided t-shirt on now. "She warned me there would be a curse, but I don't have any reason to suspect she cast it. And it isn't a spell, anyway, it's an actual being following me around." "Which you're not protected from?" Rick offered. "I assure you, if I knew how to get left alone by spirits, I would have done it years ago." "Right, but your-" Rick trailed off and wiggled his fingers. "Still not magic." "Right right, but like. It's weird, though." "So you think the curse didn't stick so they just sent some...thing, to annoy you?" Charles asked. Behemoth got too close to my tray and materialized just enough to knock it to the floor. Charles and Rick jolted upright. I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Something like that," I said. Behemoth was wagging its behind and trying to lick up my corn. I barely made it through two days trying to ignore Behemoth. I had a black eye to show for the time I tried to distract it and slip away and it knocked into a linebacker while catching up to me and had to replace most of our glasses after trying to do dishes the night before. I was done. It took me a couple more days of digging through dad's books and my own to find a ritual that seemed promising. I couldn't cast magic, part of the deal with being immune to it, but I suspected that if I could repel magic maybe I could use things that repelled magical beings. At this point, it seemed worth a try. I took off my necklace and stored it in my room before heading out. I had to piece the ritual together, using pieces from three different sources, but in the end I had something that seemed like it would work. It didn't, but it seemed to catch Behemoth's attention. I fiddled with the details some, trying to find out if I just did it wrong, and then tried again in a secluded part of the park. Behemoth's eyes turned glossy black and it reared up, roaring at me. A wind started to whip up around us, but only Behemoth, the paper I'd written the runic circle on, and I seemed to be affected. "Shit!" I yelled, as I nearly lost the paper. Behemoth fought against the wind which was trying to push it back, and then charged at me. I stumbled backward and the paper slipped from my hand, fluttering around in the wind briefly before slipping under Behemoth as it got near me. I barely had time to notice that the runes lit up as it was under Behemoth, and quickly threw my hand out. As soon as I felt its fur, I screamed, "Begone!" and was thrown backward. I landed in a shrub and it took me a moment of fighting to get back out of it. When I emerged, I found that the wind had stopped and Behemoth was gone. The paper was laying in the grass. Lindsay, who sat next to me in trig, hurried around some trees. "What's going--John? What the hell? Are you okay?" I dropped down to sit in the grass and waved it off as i tried to catch my breath. "Yeah," I wheezed. "Yeah. Thanks." "Fucking weirdo," she muttered, walking away. I just stared at the paper for a few minutes, and decided I needed a notebook to collect more like it. |
AuthorThe blog of John Matteson. Boost on TopWebFictionTall Tales: Volume Two now available
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