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Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Whispering Spirits

Until last night, I suppose the scariest thing I ever saw was in the summer of 1977. My little brother Tommy, Greg Boutter and Danny Harbin (or Leadbutt as we called him because he moved so slow) and myself were down by Black Oak Creek. The Creek, so called because of the fire that raged through these parts a long time ago (my dad said sometime around 1900), wasn’t much more than a stream starting just south of Elberta and never making it into Miflin, which wasn’t more than a mile or two south of Elberta itself.

We built the tree house in an old oak tree east of the creek, pretending we were defending the land from the Indians and keeping the creek water safe for the people inside the fort. Keeping them safe from the ghosts that were supposed to haunt these woods. There were ghosts, what with people dying in the fire, but we weren’t afraid. We were soldiers. Besides, there were
four of us, and together we could kick any apparition’s butt, especially if we were safe behind the walls of our tree house.

We had regular guards posted at the foot of the tree, between the fort and the creek. The remainder of us soldiers kept the tree house headquarters in top military shape. As usually happened, we made Tommy stand guard while Greg, Leadbutt and myself read and debated the newest adventures of Spiderman and The Avengers..

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