The Play Ground

(A short story I wrote several years ago about two little spooks. I like it at Halloween!)

Severin pushed the lid open, his shutter-like eyes blinking and widening to adjust to his awakening. He stood up and stretched his thin lithe body stiff now from sleep and confinement. Bending under the small opening, he left the old marble crypt, stopping to run his fingers over the Poyouria family name above the door. He moved off toward the old playground, located in what was once Congo Square, now Louis Armstrong Park. The park was closed and locked, but it did not matter to him. He was drawn there, to the place of his death, by some deep need, some part that was lost to him. There was no victim for him there, no one to be drawn to him by his innocence, and fall prey to his deadly deceptive power and used to sustain his existence. All of the children had gone home hours ago as he once had, fleeing the darkness, the predators that roamed the street in need of a child for their perversion; home to mothers, to supper, to homework, to safety. Only once had he stayed too long in the darkness under the huge golden moon that hung over the city; stayed too long for one last fling on the swings before heading home. But he wasn’t alone the night, had never reached home and when he left the playground he was forever altered by his encounter with the vampire who found him. His parents believed him abducted or that he had run away, not that he could have become a creature that they did not believe existed. Now the darkness that he had always fled was his only friend, his constant companion and his nurturing mother. He strolled through the entry and past the rustling palm trees. He saw the jungle gym, the monkey bars, the merry-go-round, the old swings, hanging crooked and rusted in the dim light from the street that filtered through the banana trees. The trees concealed the tall iron bars of the fence and dappled the light from the streets. He moved to the swings and sat down in one pushing with his feet, unthinking, feeling his deadness with no fear, no desire, no hope only hunger and what? A touch of sadness or was it madness? But he wasn’t suppose to feel. Only exist in this twisted death. Dead and yet not? He didn’t fully understand it, but did not question it. Swinging slowly, dust drifted up and settled on his pants legs as his feet moved through the sandy soil. His anger at his creator, his murderer had at first frightened him. As had the feeling of desolation, of feeling disembodied and his predatory need. He had learned to accept the resentment of being semi- present. His eyes wandered up into the thick leaves of the ancient oaks above him. The other boy sat on the top of the old tree house, so still that Severin had not seen him at first. His little face glowed in the darkness, alabaster, gaunt and smiling at him; both with his wide blue eyes and his thin lips. The boy climbed down as agile a park squirrel and faced him. He was alive, warm, breathing, trusting, gentle and friendly; perhaps a lonely homeless street child. “Come and play with me,” the boy said. Severin followed, his dead heart now filled with longing. Chain creaking, arms and legs pumping, they swung, higher and higher, up near the stars. They climbed the domed jungle gym and hung suspended on the bars, hands gripping, legs walking the air, twisting, turning, running. He watched the boys’ fair hair bounce as he hung suspended by his knees, his thin stick-like arms dangling towards the ground. Then on to the merry-go-round, pushing faster and faster until their breath burned in their chests. The pull of centrifugal force tightened the skin across the bones in his face as moonlight and shadows blurred past with their speed. It slowed, drifted, and stopped. They walked toward a bench to rest and it rose in him. The need, the hunger, the yearning, strong and ready; his faced twisted in cruelty, he grasp the tender flesh with his fingers. Severin turned the boy toward him, his dark eyes glowing, his face hungry and his spirit mean. Under the wash worn shirt he felt the wings. They were nestled under the dark skin, buried beside the skinny shoulder blades. Dormant. He felt the silkiness and then the power of muscles as they lifted the shirt, opened and were unfurled. They opened wide, amber colored, shimmering, gossamer and soft but with tendons beneath them, controlling them. The boys heart-shaped face was bleached and startled, his body poised and read to escape, to soar, to leave him there. Leave him alone in the darkened haunted playground. Wide, unblinking blue eyes held his green orbs. He was spellbound, transfixed, not frightened except for his potential loss of a victim to feed upon. The wings moved and his hand slipped from the boys shoulder as he rose, hovering above Severin, looking down at him with uncertainty. “What are you? A ghost? An angel?” Severin whispered reeling back in astonishment. “Dead, the same as you. Had I blood I would offer it to you. But there is none, nor any heartbeat. I am lonely, as are you. There are not so many of us here. Not your kind, nor mine.” The wings moved behind the boy, stirring the vampire’s raven hair, and they slowly lowered him until his toes softly touched the ground. They folded and returned to the hidden pockets in his hollow shoulder blades, the skin closed over them and his old shirt covered his back. He stared at Severin and Severins’ body stiffened in apprehension. “Don’t you fear me?” Severin asked. The boy shook his head and then he laughed and reached out and took Severins’ cold hand into his. “Friends?” the boy asked. The vampire nodded. “Race ya!” the other boy suddenly challenged. Severin hesitated only a moment before darting after him. They raced off across the playground, yelling, pushing, tripping, their legs pistoning wildly. Their voices rose shrilly, eagerly, almost joyfully, spiraling upwards past the dust rising under their feet and into the dark leaves. A policeman on the street outside the fence stopped and tilted his head toward the park. He stood very still waiting and listening. For a second he thought he had heard the sounds of children playing inside the darkened park. But he shook his head. It was only the sounds of the wind in the banana trees, or the sounds of traffic on North Rampart Street. He walked on down the block.

Hunting Spooks

I like almost all the ghost hunter shows. Some I watch for the possibly that something strange might be caught on film, some to see the locations and some just to laugh at the antics. Last week there were two new ones on A&E and Discover Channel. One called Extreme Paranormal and the other Ghost Lab. Extreme Paranormal (EP) was far out there. They guys were into summoning circles, circles for protection and pentagrams, all of which are usually associated with witchcraft. I wasn't impress with it at all. They tried to call up the ghost of a guy who was burned to death while in prison. They outlined a figure on the floor, poured lighter fluid on it, while one guy cut himself and dropped blood on the fire to "call" up the spirit. If I was the spirit I'd run like hell from these nuts. They also went to Bonito Lake in New Mexico. I firmly believe that the use of pentagrams and blood is related to darker things than ghost hunting and think that these guys are playing with the potential for call in up something that they don't want and won't know how to handle. They are worse that Paranormal State for seeking demons. Attention guys, demons are bad!! You don't want a demon. The chubby cheeked "hunters" were loud, silly and relied on what they thought they "felt".

The other show Ghost Lab (GL) featured a group from San Antonia, TX. They were well organized with slick voice over. Ghost Lab is the name of their command center which housed their equipment. They were investigating in Tombstone. It's hard not to find a ghost in Tombstone. The visited The Birdcage, Boot Hill and the silver mines. They didn't use as many cameras as they should have. They were way too noisy. I think you have to shut up to hear anything when looking for the paranormal. Both teams relied on provoking and there was a lot of clowning around. GL did have the first black ghost hunter that I have seen on TV. Both were copies of Ghost Hunters and Ghost Hunters International. I will watch EP to amaze myself at the ignorance of this bunch. And will watch GL because they have potential and they are good ole boys from Texas. But so far my favorites remain GH and GHI even though I sometimes get a bit disgusted with them.

Coastal Cleanup Day

Photos by H. Murray

My daughter joined thousands of volunteers who swarmed nearly 145 miles of Coast waterways and beaches Saturday morning for the 21st annual Mississippi Coastal Cleanup. The event has always focused on the Coast’s mainland and barrier island beaches and waterways but this year included lakes, rivers, marshes, bayous, estuaries, and other watershed locations. More than 4,000 volunteers scoured 58 locations in Hancock, Harrison, and Jackson counties picking up enough trash and debris to fill 3,120 trash bags and more than five large dump trucks. The annual cleanup is a massive undertaking sponsored by the Mississippi Department of Marine Resources, the Mississippi Marine Debris Task Force with 80 cities, counties, organizations and businesses supporting the effort.

The teams took action to rid the beaches and inland waterways of litter, hauling off more than 50,000 pounds of unsightly and harmful debris. Some strange things were found on the beaches including the usual broken glass and cigarette butts. Shotgun shells were found on Front Beach in Ocean Springs. “Last year we found out that more than 60 percent of the debris was from recreational activities along the shoreline. This means the trash is not coming mostly from fishermen but from picnic and beach goers who do not throw away their trash, glass bottles, cigarettes, cans, and plastic products," the director of DMR said. Peculiar items found at Saturday’s cleanup included pieces of a foosball table at the Long Beach Harbor, a pile of animal bones in Hancock County, a live copperhead snake in Biloxi, a set of minivan seats at Heron Bayou in Jackson County, and a jelly fish, entangled in a six-pack ring, which was released by a volunteer near Courthouse Road. Organizers said volunteers also found the remnants of eight tents, eight 55-gallon drums, and the back of a plasma television set on Deer Island.

My daughters adventures (besides collecting trash) included paddling the Ocean Springs coastal beach and wetlands in a kayak, doing battle with a giant black spider, and having a mullet jump into her lap. All the volunteers were treated to a BBQ lunch donated by the ' SHED', in Ocean Springs.

Simple Pleasure

Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain etc.

Since I keep an ongoing sinus infection, I call my Dr at the little On Call place (which provides better service than the big name brand doctors do, but that's another story) and had him call in a script for me. I called Rite-Aide (which I changed to hoping for more mature personal than CVS, but that's another story too) and of course I get Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain. All pharmacy techs have one of those names that tells you right off that their IQ is a lower number than their bust size. Their mama's named them while dreaming of homecoming queens.
"Heeelloo can I help you?" She chirps in that voice that makes 13 year old boys pop a woody. I identify myself and ask if the Dr has called in a script, what the med is and how much it will be.
"Hold onnnn!" SO I wait. "Ohhhhh, that will be 57 and 57", she says all pleased with herself.
I say. "Hold it a minute Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain. It's not that much with Medi-Care and I have met my deductible. You better re-lick that calf." There is a pause.
"Oh! Let me check. H-H-Hold on."
So I wait, listening to a lot of shuffling sounds which leads me to believe that Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain has stuffed the phone into her bra.
"I found it and it looks like your are going to have to bring your insurance card in. We don't have you on record," she say in a sing-song voice sure to calm those crabby seniors. She has adopted her professional voice now that she knows that she is dealing with a senile senior citizen.
"Well, poopsie," I say, "You better check yet again. I have my information on file. I know this because I buy six prescriptions and two types of insulin there every month. And until I got you on the phone there hasn't been any problem. So Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain, take your cutie little ass back to the computer and check it again."
"Hold on-n-n," she says and she sounds like she's gonna cry and have her big boyfriend in his letter jacket come and beat me up. So I wait. Lots more shuffling sounds, and a slightly hysterical muffled voice in the background. And I wait.
"Ohhh! Kay! I found it and there is not charge!" she chirps happily.
"Thanks, Tiffany/Brittany/Adrain," I say, "Now you put that bag of meds somewhere safe until I get there and get it, OK?" I can just see her smiling, her world back in place.
"Ohhhkay! " she giggles, "I will."
And people wonder why old folks just want to pick up the meds, go home, watch a little TV, take a small white pill and slip into a few hours of sleep apnea.

Facebook

I just cannot get into Facebook. Despite what Maxine says about Myspace I like it better than Facebook. Myspace is all about one person and more in depth. It's more of a personal page not random thoughts. I cannot seem to get interested in what friends and others various people are doing, thinking, feeling every minute of everyday as posted on Facebook. When did we all decide that everyone wants to know about all of our thoughts, what games we play and our comments. Of course this blog is a lot of my thoughts, but I don't post it for anyone who doesn't want to see it to read. And I try to cover one topic at a time and do so in depth. Some of the best writers on Facebook give a link to their blogs and I like that. They have something of interest to share. Facebook makes me feel like I'm getting snippets of random thoughts from a whole lot of people. It makes me dizzy. I don't care if they go to town, or what they thought for a two second span in the dentist chair or if it's raining or what their kid did that they thought was cute. Lots of people who post on Facebook think that the entire world is interested in the smallest dismal part of their day. Its mundane!! When I see the space on the computer that ask "What are you doing/thinking right now?" I think who the hell cares!! When did we get so we have to share every thought with everyone? Face it people, most of the day to day events in our lives are boring and of no interest to anyone but us.