Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part IV

Mich sat inside the speakeasy drowning his conscious in the rotgut booze made out back by Frank Delano. He was listening to the songstress belting out rhythm and blues while begging the Lord for mercy because of her devious ways. He stared at her. Her pecan skin and plumb lips quivers as she sang, “I need forgiveness from you”, while hitting the high note. When the song ended, Mich walked up and put five one-hundred dollar bills into the jar labeled Inaskye's Swear Jar. Inaskye looked at the jar now full of money and picked it up. “Hey Candy Man.” She gestured with the jar. “You need forgiveness?” She picked up a lace shawl and put it around her shoulders.

He looked at the woman and she walked off while looking back. “Come on then.” He followed her to a backroom.

The dark shape followed the woman back to her SUV and stood in the shadows. The dark shape was watching and waiting. Waiting for opportunity. The dark shape's need to expose and destroy the woman grew inside with each glance of her. No one would have her.

The shape never saw it coming. The ghost appeared from behind and began to merge into the dark shape's physical being, holding still the dark shape's form. The apparition encircled her arms around the dark shape and began to squeeze. The ghost let go and the dark shape was flung through the air near the clapboard house it was standing next to. The dark shape could feel its soul being ripped from its body. The mouth harboring the last scream, began to crack and the eyes bulge. There was a thud to the body. The dark shape was impaled into the boards of the house by the straggled breathing of a stag, pushing the dark shape deeper into the wood until the wood bowed. There were gurgles as the stag pulled itself away with the dark shape hanging from its horns. Shaking the dark shape like a rag doll, the dark shape slipped free to bleed out on the ground. The ghost hovered above. The ghost turned and moved to where the dark shape stood to see the woman safely get into her SUV and drive away.

Inside the clapboard house, Minnie Miller could hear noises outside. Burglars again. She picked up her 38 revolver from the place she shoved it between her knitting needles and yarn. She slipped on her fuzzy house shoes. She took a first glance outside the window. She didn't see the body lying underneath the window. She went outside onto the porch and walked to the end where she heard the noise. She saw a body under he window, took aim and let a bullet fly.

“If you're not dead. You are now!” Wait until all her friends down at the local Senior's club learn how she thwarted a burglar or worse yet, a rapist caught in the act. She waited to see if it moved. Minnie walked back into the house and dialed 911.

The 911 operator came onto the line. “Hello, 911. What is your emergency?”

Minnie Miller straightened her flora printed moo-moo. “I would like to report a dead body. At least I think it's a dead body. Right outside under my window.”

Eli returned to the area where Hugh took a spill out the deer stand. Night occluded the day and the sounds of the woods began to make their mark on the silence. He wanted to know what was going on. He asked Mich to meet him but Mich had a prior engagement. He wondered why Correlia had not returned his call. He called her twenty times so far. He was beginning to worry.

Eli knew Correlia's stand was not to far behind her father's house which abutted the area the three men had hunted days earlier. He always liked to be close by so if she shot something he and the boys could help her load it up. He walked through the woods to see if he could find her stand. When he got to the lean-to he pushed the nylon screen aside and scooted inside. He sat down and found a journal scrapbook. He wondered should he do some investigative work and spy on what she was into. He thought not to but curiosity got the better of him. He opened the journal and found deeply personal information written in its pages. Some of it disturbed him. He found the entry from days ago to find some photos of Correlia and Hugh trying on wedding dresses and tuxedos. Eli snorted and thought those two. Why would she leave this behind? Eli sat there for a moment then began to feel a little worried. No, this wasn't right. Something wasn't right here. He got up and crawled out. He looked in different directions. He saw a light off in the distance and began walking towards it. He lost track of the time, but walked a short distance through the woods. As he got closer to the edge of the woods, he could see the shape standing. As he stopped, the time it took for the apparition to transverse the distance knocked Eli down as the ghost screamed the wail of a Banshee. He yelled and got up to run but no matter where he went it was there. It growled and moved back to the edge of the woods then disappeared.

Eli recovering his composure crawled across the ground to stare down the path leading to the open area. Woman's things were hanging from tobacco string in the limbs of the trees. Puzzled yet oddly pulled, he got up and walked to the edge of woods to see Old Man Pierce out in his back yard hanging his daughter's things in the trees. It was strange behavior. Eli saw something flutter from the clothes line. It was lace of some kind. He then began to wonder if Old Man Pierce had gotten wind of what his daughter was planning?

Rachel Gray Owl lay on the porch soaking up the night air. The sounds of frogs interrupted what would otherwise be a quiet night. Her Auntie Mallory sat beside her in a white wicker rocking chair. She pulled the Peruvian blanket over her feet. The blanket was one her Aunt had given her after purchasing it at a local pau wau. Red Threads were woven as a background with the image of white fish swimming in a blue and yellow geometrical shape. The borders reached out to the edge. It brought her comfort.

Her Auntie Mallory stared out into the night sky.

“Rachel, do you think you need to go to the Elders? Talk to them about your troubles? I think it might help you.”

Aunt Mallory picked up her glass of sweet tea before removing a magazine from the small porch table. She was thankful for these quiet, cool nights. The mosquitoes were gone and she could engage herself in the sounds of nature while perusing the latest bird and flower magazines. Spring was going to be there soon enough and she had to prepare for the planting. Bulbs, yes that would be nice she thought, some real Dutch bulb from Holland.

Rachel was silent inside her blanket. She thought about the course her life was taking. She didn't like it. She use to believe activism was for the greater good yet she ended up fighting with everyone that had a difference of opinion. Was life suppose to be this way? The constant case of battling with everyone while no one solved the problem. Her Aunt Mallory discarded the current magazine for a fashion magazine.

“Auntie Mallory, I have never tried to be pretensions on my attitude. It is what it is. People want to judge me. I am trying to do good in the world. If it weren't for Correlia Pierce, I would have no problem. She is more of a problem for me with her killing animals and posting her images online. Who does she think she is?”

Auntie Mallory looked away from her scrutiny of the latest runway fashion.

“Rachel dear, you can't help what you feel passionate about. I would tell you that when questing after anything there are going to be obstacles. You have to fight the good fight. Not everyone is your enemy. Stop looking for people to validate your suspicions of them and pushing them away. Just take this investigation to find your half-sister who was adopted out at birth. You haven't given up on that. I hope it doesn't disappoint you.”

A wine colored SUV slowly made its way down the woodland path to the Gray Owl Residence. Amber Jennerett flipped on her high beams as she coasted slowly between pine trees and oaks on the lonely drive. She could see the light of the porch up ahead. She hoped Rachel was ready to hear the results of her investigation. She lived in town and knew the Gray Owl's well. She could see Rachel's Aunt Mallory and Rachel on the porch. She sucked in her breath and took a drink of her soda. Amber pulled up into the yard, parked the SUV and got out. She walked to the other side and opened the door to retrieve a manilla envelope. She shut the door. As she was walking up the drive she waved and called out, “Hello Miss Mallory.”

Rachel Gray Owl motioned for Amber to take a seat in one of the wicker chairs. Her anxiety and excitement began to mount the moment she saw Amber get out her vehicle. She felt a chill in the air.

The ghost was standing in the center of Rachel, Aunt Mallory, and Amber. She wasn't sure why she was here but felt it important.

Amber sat down and looked at Rachel.

“Rachel, when you first asked me to investigate this missing half-sister I wasn't sure if I would find her. I did find her and I hope you will understand that things don't always turn out the way we would like. Not that I am saying this is bad but I want you to keep an open mind.”

Rachel didn't like the sound of where this was heading. “Oh God, is it bad?”

Amber looked Rachel in her eyes. “It will be a bit of a surprise to you.”

Rachel glanced at her Aunt Mallory. “I am a big girl. I can take it.”

Amber opened the envelope and pulled out some documents and a photo. She handed the photo to Rachel. “This is your sister.”

Rachel looked at the photo. Upon looking at it, she realized who it was and put her hand over her mouth to stop from crying out. “No this can't be...”

Her Aunt Mallory got up and looked over Rachel's shoulder. The suspense was killing her. When she saw the photo she even looked at Amber in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

Amber flipped through the papers to find the birth certificate. “Yes. This document confirms it. This little girl was taken from the hospital and raise not to far from here. She never knew who her family was. She thought her father was all the family she had. He was a bad man from what I hear around town.”

Rachel got up and walked off the porch. She couldn't digest this. She could hear her Aunt's worried voice calling to her, “Rachel dear!” The air was getting colder as Rach walked inside of the woods. She began to cry erratically before falling to her knees and burying her face in the leaves. The ghost kneeled down and showed herself to Rachel.

Rachel opened her eyes to see the angry face of the ghost dressed in lace. She screamed, fell back, and began to scramble into a tree. She could hear her Aunt Mallory and Amber calling for her. The ghost blazed. The eyes were the most angry she had ever seen. Eyes of revenge, retribution and fury. The ghost took a step then as if realizing slowly back away evaporating into sparks that resembled fireflies. Rachel turned her head into the tree. She didn't want to look up not even when her Aunt Mallory began to pull on her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you child? What did you see?”

Eli sat in his truck with his bottle of bourbon. He was crying while smoking a cigar. The CD player came on. Ty Herndon's voice came from the speakers. He looked up out of the front window. Coming through the woods was the glow of a light, the ghostly woman.

The radio was blaring the voice of Ty Herndon's bridge:

     Ashes to Ashes dust to dust

     I'll lay beside you forever in love

Eli got out of the truck. He walked toward the visage. He started to run towards it. The glow stopped.

The music from the truck waif through the woods as it changed songs. Eli stopped in front of the specter. She lifted her veil and let it fall away. The ghost of Correlia stood before him. She put her hands out and started to sing with the voice on the radio:

    they say for everyone,

    there's that certain one

    Out there, somewhere......

Eli  walked towards her. She was dead, wasn't she? He thought about it for a second but decided he didn't care. He walked right into her arms.

Correlia murmured. “I want you to come with me.”

Eli pulled away. “I am not dead.”

Correlia laughed and pointed to the truck. Inside was Eli, dead with a burning cigar in his fingers.

Eli looked at the truck in his usual realistic philosophy.

“I guess that solves it then. Can't say I'll miss it.”

Correlia softly laughed. “You are as tart in death as you were in life.”

Eli grabbed her again and kissed her dead lips. “Like I say, to be continued.....”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part III

Two Days Prior:

Correlia Pierce put on her boots and reached into the gun cabinet to pull out a box of 30-30 rifle shells. She pulled three bullets out and slipped them into the camouflaged pouch. She wanted to keep some handy while she was in the woods. Correlia was sure there were already bullets in her gun. She liked to be prepared. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Pulling her backpack open, she slipped the bottled water and pouch into the bag along with her flashlight and a scrapbook journal. As she was unhooking her cell phone, she heard a horn blow out in the front yard. She peered out the window.

“What is she doing here?”

She walked over to the door with her backpack, opened it and walked outside on the front porch.

“Rachel Grey Owl. What do I owe the pleasure?” Correlia knew this wasn't a good thing. Wherever Rachel Grey Owl appeared, trouble followed.

Rachel Grey Owl opened the door to her sedan and walked up to Correlia. She stared brazenly at her in contempt.

“I know about you and Mich.”

“You do now.” Correlia laughed.

Rachel pulled a photograph out of her pocket. The photograph showed Correlia and Mich in an embrace, kissing. Correlia took the photo from Rachel and looked at it.

“This is nothing. It is an innocent picture of me and Mich. Nothing more.”

Enraged Rachel fumed.

“How can you say that? You and Mich are clearly lovers. How long has this been going on? I demand an answer.”

“Why don't you go ask Mich?” At this point, Rachel was just pissing Correlia off. “He seems to like it by the picture.”

Correlia turned to walk toward the woods. She didn't have time for this. She stopped and turned around in case Crazy Rachel wanted to attack her. “I don't understand you. You are all over the place acting crazy. Did you ever think that might be the reason why Mich broke it off with you? Or can you not get that into that vain head of yours?” She turned back to walk off into the woods.

Rachel Grey Owl glared at Correlia as she disappeared into the woods. She turned around to see the wind had picked up. On the clothes line behind her, blowing in the breeze were curtains and lace bedding drying in the sun.

Rachel Grey Owl thought of all the time logged tracking Correlia's movements online. She followed her from her job and to the laundry; sat outside to watch her fold her clothes. She tried to tamper with her car but someone walked up on her outside of the bar. Someone needed to teach Correlia a lesson.

Correlia walked down the path. Her cell phone began to ring. Hugh's number showed up on the caller id. She answered.

“What are you doing?” She laughed.

Hugh's voice came over the line. “I have the package. I picked it up this morning after I bought groceries. Are you going to be at home later?”

“Yes,but I am in the woods right now. I don't want it left on the porch. I'll come by later and pick it up. Dad is not suppose to be here this evening. I think he is going on an overnight fishing trip down at Lake Mead.”

“Okay Correlia. Just come by after you finish.”

“Okay Hugh. Thanks again.”

Correlia ended the call and put the cell phone in her pocket. Everything was going to be okay. It just had to be.

There was a snapping of limbs. Startled Correlia saw Eli walk out of the bushes.

“Did I scare you?” He began to laugh. “You should have seen the look on your face. It was priceless.” He walked over to Correlia and pulled her close to kiss her. She pushed back.

“Stop being a douche.” Correlia was a bird with fluffed feathers.

“You keep acting like that I am going to cut off the loving.”

“You are not suppose to see me.”

Eli chuckled. “Girl, I have seen you naked haven't I? What else is there?”

“Eli, this has to stop.” She pulled off her backpack and took a swing at him.

“Noooo, it must continue.” Eli grabbed Correlia and pulled her down to the ground.

Mich Blake pulled into the drive of the little, white, wooden church nestled just inside some oaks with flowing Spanish moss. He had been crying for some time. Things were not going as he would have liked. He got out of the truck and walked to the back door of the parsonage and knocked on the door. Reverend Summers answered the door.

“Mich, come in. I wasn't expecting anyone until about 6 pm.”

Mich walked inside the cozy sitting room. He sat down and looked at Reverend Summers.

“I would like to confess a sin.”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part II

The Next Day:

The next morning, Roger Maldonado walked into Hugh Lorimer’s hospital room. His sharp cut suit was the current bespoke style. He dropped his coat on the faux leather recliner and sat on the bed.

Hugh awoke with a start.

“Hello honey. I just got back from the pastoral conference. Just as soon as you contacted me I hopped the first plane to get here.”

Roger leaned over and kissed Hugh on the lips.

“You are always getting yourself into trouble. When is this going to stop?” He laughed at the grimace on Hugh’s face.

“Now Roger, you know I like to hunt. I simply slipped. I had my gear on to keep me from falling but when I started to get down from the tree I lost my footing.” Hugh picked up a small plastic cup to sip some water.

Roger looked sternly at Hugh.

“At least take some precautions with those ladder rungs. You could have been killed and where would I be then?” Roger started to wipe the creases out of the bed comforter.

Hugh looked out the window like a guilty man. He stayed silent.

“I saw something; out there at the stand.”

Roger looked at Hugh. “What was it?”

Hugh began to tremble. “I think it was a ghost.”

Roger began to laugh. He stopped when he saw the look of worry on Hugh’s face. “Come on now. You want me to believe you saw a ghost?”

Roger was about to respond when the food tray for lunch arrived. He thought it best to question Hugh later. The pain killers must be affecting his mind. Hugh began to eat and changed the channel on the television.

“I did Roger.” Hugh picked at his food in silent contemplation.

Eli checked his cell phone messages. Correlia had not returned his phone call yet. He knew she left town yesterday to visit her Aunt to tell her the good news. It was good news to him but he was sure others wouldn’t think so. He hoped Mich Blake had not gotten wind of the news.

Mich Blake spent the better part of the morning calling local taxidermists to price head mounts for Hugh. Everyone in town doing the work was overrun with pieces not finished on time. One of the taxidermists suggest he call Tim's Taxidermy. The taxidermist did refer to him a Nick the Necrophiliac. Mich thought it was because of the kind of work they were in, mounting dead things and all. He didn't care what the dude was into as long as the price and the work were right.

Mich pulled the head from the refrigerator and walked out the house to put it in his cooler. A gray sedan pulled up behind his truck. Rachel Grey Owl jumped from the car and began to accost Mich verbally.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Mich eyeballed Rachel. “Don't come here bothering me. I got errands to run. Why are you here anyway?”

Rachel Grey Owl pulled out a photo of Correlia Pierce.

“I know this is the tramp you have been sneaking around with in the woods. Did you not think I wouldn't find out?”

Rachel took a swipe at Mich with her hand. Mich sidestepped the blow which landed on his chest.

“So help me God Mich, you and she will pay for this.”

Mich took a step back. Mich thought this sounded like a threat. He didn't know Rachel that well because the relationship started out as a drunk one night stand that developed into a crack habit. She reminded him of the song Jessie's Girl but he wanted to give her back.

“Usually I put up with your jealous crap but not today. I broke it off with you and I mean it. You need to get back in your paddy wagon and head back where you come from.”

Mich crossed his arms over his chest. He had enough of Rachel's melodramatics. It was not like he couldn't find him another woman. He liked Rachel for her activism but when she turned it on him in a conversation right after sex, he figured the relationship was dead in the water.

“I don't know why you came to my yard waving a picture of Correlia Pierce. I can only think you want to fight with her as you do the rest of us. Correlia is a friend. I think maybe you should go.”

The fury in Rachel Grey Owl's eyes burned. “A friend? Is that what you call it. You go down into the woods with her and make biscuits then come to my house to do the same thing. I hope you get and STD.”

Rachel got back into her sedan, lit the ignition and tried to pull over onto Mich's foot as she sped away.

“Screw you and her.”

Mich watched as the sedan tore down the road vicariously. His mailbox suffered the consequences.

“Crazy biotch.”

He opened the door to his truck, hoping she wouldn't come back. He knew it wasn't that Rachel was an animal activist but a deeply disturbed woman. It would seem that was the kind he liked; volatile and nutty.

Mich Blake drove down the dirt road to the small white building beside Yadkin's cemetery. He pulled his truck into the unassuming parking lot to the taxidermy building. A non-descript sign with a duck and deer silhouette in black hung by the mail box. The yard looked a mess with bits and pieces thrown around. This made Mich believe there was no woman caring for the place. He rung the door bell. There was no answer. He wrung the door bell again before trying the door. He turned the knob and walked inside. A radio was playing loudly as a man was doing some work on a deer head.

Mich yelled. “Hey guy! I am here to drop off a friend's deer mount.”

Tim Nicholson jumped as Mich tossed something at him to get his attention. He looked up.

“What can I do you for?” Tim stopped what he was doing.

“My name is Mich Blake. One of my friends said you had the best price for doing a deer mount. I brought my buddy Hugh's head by to see if you could pencil it in.”

“Sure. I am just about caught up with everything here. Go get it and I'll write up a ticket. I do require a one hundred dollar deposit. No refunds.”

Mich moved for the door. “I'll be right back.”

Mich walked back out the door to the truck to retrieve the head. When he returned he set the black plastic bag on the wooden work bench. Tim was nowhere in sight. He saw a door then walked over to it because it was partially cracked and pushed it open with his fingers.

Inside of the room was a bed. On the bed was what appeared to be a woman or what use to be a woman. The room smelled of preservatives. The ghastly face stared back at Mich. Mich was startled when Tim walked beside him and pulled the door closed.

“What is that?”

Tim stared Mich in the eyes.

“A man is entitled to the love of his life.”

(To be Continued)

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

The Mundane White Deer

Remember this: Try as adults might, some things are just ridiculous.

The new celebrity on the Hunting block is an eleven-year-old boy who shot a white deer. From the articles posted to the internet, all of the hunting shows and magazines are calling either to congratulate or to recruit for the story of the week. That must put a dent in grown men’s agendas, who are striving to get into the hunting business and have been up-started by a child.

The little boy legally killed the deer in his home state of Michigan. I say that is Michigan’s problem. This clears him of any wrong-doing, legally.

From the articles, the parent and boy admit there were several hunting participants out to kill this animal. It is fairly skinny so there couldn't have been much meat except for burger and sausage.

The prudent question to ask here is: why advertise this when it will be gifted with negative connotations and adult attacks on a child? By now the boy realizes he has adults grouping around him like the buffalo so I doubt he feels unsafe.

It isn’t about losing your right to hunt. It’s not about a child’s right to hunt. It’s not really much about nothing. It is just about the spectacular, spectacular which I have come to abhor.

I have seen this many times on the internet; persecution and laments. I guess someone wants to prove their point of being singled out, misrepresented, and disavowed. Also, the idea that someone needs other people to rush to their aid to validate their entitled or legal right to do something seems a bit so yesterday with this hunting fodder.

There are posted by others stating the albino or white deer is an anomaly and should be smited off the breeding landscape of deerdom.

There is also the abuse subjugated on the child by the public via the parent wanting their child to be famous. I couldn’t do that to my son, as I have said before. I want to protect him not toss him out in the fray, empty-handed or for money’s sake.

I also know there are people that do not like you. They will one plus or like such things to get a rise out of you because deep down you crawl under their skins. You’re welcome.

My problem with this tired storyline came in the form of the SCDNR posting an article about this little boy to their website. It was ambiguous as to whether the SCDNR supported it or not. I am sure there will be a sound biological reason for the post.

This drama was playing out in Michigan, not South Carolina. People have shot albino and pied deer here. It’s not made into a three ring circus, which is what hunting has become. Setting the tone for showing your ignorance, attacking your fellow man, prostrating children out to start or win arguments on debates, and just low down dirty morals and ethics.

I began reading the posts on the SCDNR Facebook page. One candid misogynist fellow commented, with colorful profanity, that women perusing the SCDNR Facebook page needed to stay at the shopping mall and keep posts to ourselves, as we didn’t hunt.  Of course, the SCDNR took the comments down which I was thankful for. I guess the attitude against women hunting in South Carolina is alive and well in some people.

It also illustrates how the article can polarize South Carolina constituents using the SCDNR Facebook page to be for or against this little kid shooting a deer. I wondered whether the poster at the SCDNR understood or realized they were providing an outlet to make the constituents using the services of the SCDNR look like ignorant southerners or fiends out to attack a child. Why would someone do that? Is it that important to cause a controversy?

I don’t live in the land of fairy tales and people do act the same all over the world to different degrees, but why invite the devil into your hunting lodge?

Granted the SCDNR hopefully does understand as a state agency they should not dabble in picking and choosing individuals that go along with personal beliefs or agendas. Those posts should be for their private pages. This service the SCDNR provides is for everyone, not people just on one bandwagon. It was not education because this fodder can be found elsewhere and commented on outside of the SCDNR.

People didn’t seem to be pleased with the SCDNR person posting this article. It’s too disruptive and that is the reason for it; disruption.

When I considered the fall-out from the white deer I thought people were concerned this little boy would think that there is nothing he can’t tromp upon because he is entitled by law. What happens one day when he gets older and this ideal has stuck with him? This ideal that has been re-enforced by adults and he goes outside of the law because he feels entitled? What then when he cries foul to being persecuted or misrepresented?

I asked myself, what is the real message being sent to children?

I can understand the people of that area being upset. There was probably some faux ownership of this animal that spiraled down into perceiving it as a pet. There was also the hope that maybe one day they too would see it. Now that day is gone unless another one appears. The next white deer can be shot down because it is genetically undesirable, legal to hunt, or just to spite everyone for killing it because you can.

There are hunting participants that do consider the sentiment of non-hunters. They see these animals as something to keep around because it gives people hope even if the animal is a mundane.

The dark side of this is hunting participants that will go out of their way to kill any white deer just to hold it up to non-hunters’ faces, grin and say,  “You can do nothing about this.” Then walk off with a happy spite because they won. Won what I say? They have subjected another person to loss and molestation while making themselves look less than human. Maybe that is what human is; spiteful and vindictive.

Given the child has some square right to flaunt his quarry for bragging rights amongst the internet hunters, which was secured by his family. It is not like he did an epic thing. He just shot another deer of a different color. Not that I am down-playing his accomplishment, if that is what you call it, but this is true. He is not a character in Homer’s Iliad that quested for something and destroyed terrifying beasts along the way. The white deer probably walked by or was on a corn pile. It didn’t jump up into the stand or run from the trees with fangs bared.

I shake my head and laugh at this kind of thing.

Not too far from where I live dwells twin, albino girls. Their mother is of African descent. I would watch their mother braid their powder white hair down at the park. Sometimes they would ride bikes in the evening. I wonder sometimes if people could have decided to take their life at birth because they were considered genetic anomalies or weak genes. I then reflect on the treatment of albinos in Africa. They have their body parts stolen by force to go in potions or witch doctor remedies. One lives a normal life, the other in fear, and the white deer doesn’t know it is in dire circumstance because of its color. It gets killed anyway because it’s legal or someone wants its head and hide. I could beg the question to let it just live. There will always be another person with that desire to shoot it.

I’m waiting for the photo and story of a baby in diapers jumping into the fray of a wild hog herd, kill them all with one stroke, changes its diaper, writes its own article and shows up on the Joe Rogan show or the Sportsman’s Channel. All while planning to save everyone from hunger with just one fish.
Lessons learned:
Everything has a price on its head.

Everything can be ripped from this Earth for whatever reasoning.

Nothing is sacred.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part I

     The ten point buck made his way toward the edge of the woods, stopping to sniff and taste the wind. He moved slow and languid, stopping every three steps. He sensed something. He elongated his neck and quivered his mouth to nudge a leaf shaking back and forth on a thin vine. He moved on into the clearing of soybeans.

     Leaving the protection of the tree line, the buck broke the woods and slowly wandered out into the field. The wind momentarily died down. There was a creak then a sound he had heard all too often. The arrow thudded into his side, blade cutting its way through. Blood began to spurt from the wound. Its heart raced with fear and adrenaline. There was nothing to know from this point on except abrupt pain and an ever-increasing dark. The woods were its safety and it knew to flee. The buck took flight, but collapsed yards away inside of the woods. The grey-colored lifeless body lay undiscovered as the wind swirled through an ocean of dried leaves. Shadows engulf the dead animal like a dark forbidding vortex.

     Hugh Lorimer sat quietly in his tree stand with his bow in his lap. He watched as the buck ran off after he let his weaponized shaft fly. He knew if he placed his arrow true, the deer would not make it out alive with its life. He was right. Dark fell around him. He breathed the cool dew in. All was quiet. No one would know the drama which had just minutes before unfolded. After twenty minutes, Hugh decided to investigate the whereabouts of his quarry. He unbuckled himself and began to climb down. His hope, the deer was dead and not about to wander away to be lost. He did so hate to track animals in the dark even with the flashlight. After moving down the metal ladder, he slipped and fell. His body crashed onto the ground below, knocking him unconscious.

     Hugh’s hunting companions, Eli Evans and Mich Blake, where located in the woods in the land-managed area abutting private land. There was no gunshot to ring out to let the others know he had downed a deer. No one would know for a while that Hugh lay unconscious at the bottom of his stand.

     Night in the woods has always been a mystery. Off in the distance from Hugh’s body came the sounds of footfall. The high pitched howls and calls of the coyote pack were closing in on his position.

     Hugh awoke with the feeling of someone tugging on his pants. When he regained consciousness, a coyote was trying to drag him off. Hugh came too sharply and looked around. The light of the moon illuminated the eyes of the coyote pack. They were closing in.

     “Get out of here, the lot of you.” He yelled and waved his hands. The coyote moved back to the packs location. The pain in his leg reminded him of his fall. He couldn’t find his bow, nor could he shoot. He yelled for help; silence. Hugh began to shake with the idea of being eaten alive by a coyote pack.

     The coyote pack began to bark out high pitch yips and howls. He closed his eyes in prayer. Hugh wondered why they weren’t attacking. He opened his eyes and in the trees he saw the glow of a figure, standing very still. The soft, transparent body cast an eerie blue light. He could see that it looked like a woman. The terror deep inside began to grow with each breath. What was this thing?

     As the spectre moved closer, the coyotes began to move back into the dark with glowing eyes.

     “Stay away from me. Stay away from me.” Hugh’s body began shaking uncontrollably. He held his breath as he looked away. The spectre crossed the distance then kneeled down over Hugh. Hugh opened one eye to look at the ghostly vision. It was too much. Hugh fainted at the sight of the lace-covered phantom. The last thing he saw was pitiless eyes.

     The spectre moved back and forth over Hugh’s body. It hovered over the broken leg. Rising up, the spectre moved into the forest. Minutes later, it returned with a ghostly deer. The deer Hugh had previously shot. The ghost led the spectral deer to stand over Hugh. Ectoplasmic liquid oozed out of the eyes of the animal spirit. The ghost pointed to Hugh then moved off into the woods. The animal spirit snorted and pawed at the ground. It lowered its head to acknowledge the living man on the ground.

     Eli Evans and Mich Blake did not garner a buck of their own that night. They waited patiently at the front of their trucks listening to the radio.

     “Eli, who are you dating now?” Mich inquired. Mich rubbed bug spray onto his arms. The mosquitoes were fierce down near the swampy area they scoped out for hunting. Mich had a brawny physique and debonair smile. Women always loved him for his teeth and his muscles, which was always in abundance. Green and black face paint marred his usual ecstatic good looks. He was a go-getter and athletic type. His brownish eyes were hidden in the dark but held a religious innocence.

     Eli Evans was staring at the dark. He wondered where Hugh was. It was well past time for him to come in empty-handed, unless he tagged a deer.
     “I’m not dating anyone. Are you still messing around with Rachel Greyowl? I think she’s a real nutter. What do you see in her?”

     Eli pulled out a Prince Albert cigar. It was chocolate. Chocolate was his favorite. He struck up the lighter and burned the end. The ember glowed with each puff. He inhaled then removed it from his mouth to breath out the smoke in a slow, straight stream.

     Eli was a tall and moderately thin with a model’s body. His dark hair sat atop porcelain skin and perfect features. The only thing that showed marring was a scar that cut under one of his eyes. It stood out with a fleshy gold color. He moved into view of the truck lights and his blue eyes flashed for a moment with agitation.

     Mich began to laugh. “Naw man, I stopped dating her. She took up that animal rights activism mess. I don’t find that attractive. The polar opposite thing wasn’t working out for us. Do you think we should go looking for Hugh? He’s sure to be back by now. Maybe he’s lost a deer in the woods?”

     Eli took another roll of his cigar then ripped off the end. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

     “Yeah, we better go find him.”

     Eli walked around to the door of the passenger door of the truck to retrieve his flashlight. Mich shut his truck’s ignition off and shut the door. They both walked off down the road toward the field they knew Hugh was set on.

     Eli and Mich traveled down the road until Eli thought he saw something in the distance. They had another five minutes to get to Hugh’s stand. He knew there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else down there. Eli put his hand to Mich’s chest. “Hold up man. I thought I saw something.”

     Mich looked down the road into the dark. He raised his flashlight but didn’t see anything.

     Eli and Mich saw the blue light flicker on and off in the distance.

     “Turn the flashlight off Mich.”

     Eli heard the click as the light was extinguished. In the distance, the glow moved from one spot to the next until it came to rest in the middle of the wet, dirt road.

     Mich began to feel threatened; the firmness in his voice echoed his building panic. He whispered to Eli.

     “Man, my granddad use to tell us stories about those blue lights. He called them wisps. He warned us to turn-tail and run the other way. Nothing good comes from them.”

     Eli stared. “I’m not running from nothing. Hugh’s out there. He could be hurt. Besides, that looks like a person. You’re not chicken shit are you? Let’s go.”

     Mich and Eli made their way to the spot where they saw the blue light before it disappeared. They walked into the woods and found the stand. Hugh was underneath it, lying on his back with a broken leg.

     Mich rushed to where Hugh had landed under the stand. Eli was close behind him.

     “Hugh! Are you alright? Talk to me buddy.”

     Eli examined Hugh’s leg. When he moved it, Hugh came to screaming with pain.

     “My leg!” Hugh whimpered in pain. He was already stiff from lying too long in the dirt.

     Eli sat back and put his hands on his hips.

     “Mich we need to get Hugh back to the truck. Let’s carry him out to the road. I’ll run back and get my vehicle then take him to the emergency room.”

     “Alright, I’ll stay with him. His boyfriend is going to be pissed when he finds this out.”

     Mich reached down to pick Hugh up under his shoulders. Eli stood in between Hugh’s legs to pick them up. Once they got Hugh to a good comfortable position, they carried him out to the edge of the road. Hugh complained the whole time from pain.  Eli ran to get the truck and returned with the 4x4. Once they loaded Hugh in Eli’s truck, Eli backed the truck up.

     Hugh was awake fully from all the indelicate handling. Hugh lunged for the window.  

     “Get my deer. I think it ran just into the woods near the stand. Please.”
     Mich walked over to the window.
     

     “I’ll go back and look Hugh. My truck is still parked down at the opening. If I find it I’ll dress it out for you back at my house.”
     Hugh sat back in the passenger seat. He looked peaked from the wound.

     “Mich, it looked like a ten-pointer. Save the head for me, I wanted to have it mounted.”

     “I’ll get it done for you.” Mich looked at Eli. “Let me know what the Doc says and call me later.”

     Mich patted the truck window to signal Eli to take Hugh on to the hospital. He then walked back into the woods to retrieve the deer.

     Eli began to make his way down the road out of the land managed area. Hugh was in shock. Eli thought Hugh looked like he saw a ghost. Hugh leaned over to turn the radio on.

     “Eli, I saw a ghost. I mean a real ghost. She came right up to me.”

     Eli eyed Hugh.

     “After that fall Hugh, you probably have a concussion.”

     “No I tell you. I saw a ghost. I opened my eyes and she was right in my face. She had holes for sockets and this stringy lace that burned blue then broke off and died like fire embers. It scared the shit out of me.”

     “I think you broke your head.” Eli began to laugh at his friend but given his dire state decided that wouldn’t be prudent.

     “A coyote had me. He started to drag me away and there she was; just standing there.”

     Hugh began to cry. It was just too much for him to take in and now Eli didn’t believe him. Mich would be no better.

     “If it makes you feel any better, Mich and I saw blue lights flickering in the area. I thought it was fireflies. Mich said it was wisps.” Eli laughed out laugh. “Mich can take out a gorilla on his own and he’s worried about a little spooky ambiance shining in the dark. I don’t know how he ever gets laid.”

     “Disco lights.” Hugh laughed but the pain reminded him again of its presence.

     An hour and half went by as Eli drove towards town. Eli pulled his broken Prince Albert cigar out and struck it up with the lighter he fished out his ashtray. He couldn’t get Hugh’s ghost story or the blue lights in the woods out of his thoughts. What was to be made of it?

     He finally pulled up to the emergency room doors and went inside. He came back with a wheelchair to escort Hugh into the waiting room. It was going to be a long night. Once inside, Eli handed Hugh his cellphone.

     “I think you’d better call your boyfriend.” Hugh took the phone and dialed the number.

    

(To Be Continued)

Written by: Angelia Y Larrimore

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

The Hunting Liberalist

Remember this: To stay in one attitude for long is stifling.

Disclaimer: Read before you get your panties in a wad.

I never thought much of myself in the political arena. All the candidates seem lacking when I was at the ready to vote. I see members on social media that disdain a Liberalist. I wonder if they know what it truly means. Chumming the water with blood drives people crazy on the internet. Is it just another one of those Edward Cullen versus Jacob moments, where the onlooker has to pick a side for team somebody?

I thought of what it was to be a hunting Liberalist. I tried to fixate on the need by non-liberalist people to rigidly slot Liberalists into a tight definition. It doesn’t seem to matter. The argument is all about not finding solutions, more debates, who wins debates, and how rigidly we can hold people’s ideals and stances up to say, “Look here. You are drawing outside the lines again. That is not allowed.” I say open that box of crayons and gobble them down.

Progress does need order but progress also needs those people willing to move past a problem into a solution. Stagnation and failure to act will incite more suffering. When you have a vast population with varying opinions, the greater good has to prevail. When I state this, it is in the context of what is the core of the problem. Two issues of concern are the wording of sacred text and gun control.

Enter in: Bill Maher, Affleck, and the band of merry political argumentists.

I was watching the episode with Bill Maher and the Ben Affleck shenanigans. One of the questions or statements posed, if I am correct, was based around Liberalist inability to rectify a liberal's belief in freedom of religion when applied to an outside religion's sacred text. This sacred text incites murderous intent against a non-believe, which leads to death.

Then followers of said sacred text impose religious doctrine on a non-believe, as if the non-believe were a member of said religion yet didn’t know it. Thus giving followers religious right to judge, condemn, and murder a human being for breaking their religious doctrine. A religious doctrine said victim or non-believer is not interred into.

Using a sacred text given to you by a higher power, to bring order out of chaos and raise humanity up to commune with a God is found at the end of a knife. The hand wielding that knife kills for the justification of the Word. Purists, indeed.

I thought about Liberalism.

Liberalism is a political philosophy founded on the idea of liberty and equality. Liberals support ideas such as civil rights, freedom of press, free trade and freedom of religion. These are concepts writ in the Constitution.

Each man has a natural right to life, liberty, pursuit of happiness, and property. I say here that when you buy a gun it is considered property. I have a right to my guns. Then there is the second amendment, which politicians and others want to re-interpret for their subsequent agendas.

The problem I believed Maher was pointing out was: in Liberalism, from an American standpoint, is that certain religions have sacred text stating the sanction of murder against another human being, follower or no, yet to be liberal is to support a religious groups right to hold sacred text as a justification to murder another. This stance is as literal as the purist idea of the Koran’s to kill people based on the word. There exists no other interpretation except the rigid boundaries of what is literally put forth.

I was watching the 700 Club. The commentator was stating his case against Islam and the sanctioned persecution, torture, and murder of Christians. I previously was doing a treatise on something from the bible and found this:

Leviticus 20:13 states, “If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads.

The commentator was judging Islam for radical wordage and literal interpretation from a purist standpoint yet the sacred text used by this particular group states pretty much the same thing. The commentator seemed to be excusing the passive nature of the Christian application of dealing with the same wordage.

Here I illustrate how I can pick apart the literal information of Islam and Christianity much like Conservatives pick apart Liberalist thinking. “Quid pro Quo, Clarice.”

First one would need to acknowledge this situation exists. Any Christian can turn purist or extremist with the right rotten attitude.

If this were removed from the sacred text landscape, anyone taught such a thing would not have to bear the burden of hate, shame, or discrimination. I would think this would be showing love and compassion to someone that could enter into a heaven, if that is what you so believe. As a Christian or a believer in Allah, you have fulfilled a tenant of alleviating suffering instead of inflicting it. Love and forgiveness is the basis of religious doctrines. People ignore this.

I must admit here when I was on a googling rampage, this little ditty had 22 parallel versions of the same biblical quote. The bible has already been revised several times. Maybe we should rethink that murder-mayhem clause. I guess one could argue that to change one scripture or two would be blasphemous. Looks like it has made the rounds already.

The point I would make here is this:

There is nothing in Liberalism as a rigid doctrine that states a liberalist's has to embrace another's right to religious freedom, if that religion goes against your moral and ethical code by sanctioning religious murder. You can acknowledge the content of that religion but not support flawed doctrine. There is nothing wrong with stating your boundaries on what you will and will not support. If the group understands their behavior is causing harm and will not be tolerated, is to acknowledge their position in the global community. Nations need to grow up and put childish things aside, as does its people.

The offending religion can carry about its doctrines, either extreme or non-extreme but without the support of Liberalist thinking. At Liberalism's core there should be an inalienable right to protect your personal morals and ethics in the presence of another's view that is greatly flawed. There should also be the option of intervening on the part of a group or individual who is at the end of the knife.

There is the responsibility to not profile or stereotype followers of the sacred text in question. The glaring truth is: sacred text wording sanctions murder. To resolve this you would have to alter the sacred text. As a progressive society, not weighed down by conservative thought where religious doctrine is concerned, could look at this as a moment of trial. Does the creator, who gave humans free will, want sacred word used as a murder weapon? Does this make sense when paralleled with the mantra Thou Shall Not Kill? Is the trial really the Creator testing the follower with a choice? What weighs more for damnation, murder or being conscious of the Word? If you truly understand the sacred word, it is not the literal translation but the test.

I digress to Abraham offering his son Isaac up as a sacrifice. He could murder his son for God but no. He had a choice. He didn’t have to kill anyone. All he had to do was decide not to murder his son and find a better way; a better way being the main point here. You have choice. You can choose not to murder someone because of the sacred word. Neither God nor Allah wants his creations murdered in their name. To kill is to fail the spiritual test and God-Allah is known for his tests. You court damnation when you condemn another man.

Liberalism can be a forward thinking platform to politics and not rigidly tied to outdated dogmas. Liberalism should be an avenue to look at a problem, see where the weak spot is and plug the hole, not embrace every stupid thing in the name of freedom when it cast death on innocent people. Liberalism should also venture to be a revolving and alternating problem-solver that tries new things and moves society to a more efficient place while cause as little harm as possible. The founding fathers were liberal. The indigent people who supplied them with the ideas were probably liberal as well. The world will always change. People don’t want change because their idea of security is threatened. Things can only stay in one climate for so long, given the influences on it.

I don't consider myself a Liberal but when you apply the political definition I could be. I considered the argument for and against gun control, which is a hot mix of controversy in itself. I also reflected on my personal opinion. I have seen the online works of both sides. I wanted to take my time and look around to see where the solutions were, if any.

When I was thinking on gun control, I believe the issue is not the gun. Anything can be made into a weapon, as the truth goes. If someone wants to kill you they can find all kind of interesting ways to do it. I think of the board game Clue and Edward Gorey’s illustrations based on alphabets, people in cemeteries, and murderers hiding behind vases with assorted weapons. A good assassin could take you out with a paper clip if they wanted to.

I considered the school shootings.

Each one of these shooting incidents occurred because of the mental state of the person(s) doing the act.

Several problems present themselves here. The first problem is buying a gun with no requirement for a mental evaluation. The second problem is profiling to determine who might look like a mental risk and who does not. Third, the mental evaluation could be seen as incriminating, discriminatory, and could be considered private medical information in need of a subpoena. Fourth, when the purchased gun leaves with the owner it can end up in the hands of anyone. We go on the assumption the purchaser is using the gun solely for their purposes. I could go on.

I believe the core problem is anchored in society’s behavior to their fellow man, how we raise our children, the attitudes we pass on, the isolation, discrimination, exclusion, suppression, anger, resentment, suffering, and indifference to the infliction of pain while telling people to suck it up, hide their abuse, hide their feelings, not seek help, and be labeled a basket case or pariah because no one noticed when they start acting out or gave warning signs. The stigma with being honest about feeling cut off from society as a whole or even on the individual level can be deafening to some. As a society, we have been taught not to get involved, turn our backs, or look the other way. We stand and watch people burn all the time. We do nothing, feel like our hand are tied, and watch people die on a video. Somewhere in there we become addicted to the effect of a global violence. Society likes the feeling. People like being in each others faces raging with words, pushing, shoving, and getting nowhere. We stay in that bad relationship hoping one day it will get better but it never does as a whole, only in bits and pieces, here and there. It’s a form of suicide that never fulfills itself. Control and not being able to control vomits up wrath and war.

School can be a place filled with isolation for students. Things I saw were keeping up with the Jones, bad home training of students or lack thereof, not having proper counselors available to student when problems arose, teachers playing favorites, absentee parents due to work, and a form of communism. We’ve all been there with school cliques. You have the Goths, the Emo, the Plastics, the Yuppies, the Creatives, the Troublemakers, and God love the Nerd. These teenage groups can be as vicious as any animal out in the wild that can drag down a wildebeest. If there is a weak one in the herd, they identify that teenager then make its life miserable. I move on from bullying because it's torture.

Once this tortured mind starts to resent the treatment, especially when the teenager sees other people are immune to its infection, can devise all kinds of ways for retribution and revenge. Parents are so busy making a living they don’t introduce their children to consequences until rules are broken then the punishment doesn’t fit the crime. Children and teenagers are ignored because parents are too preoccupied with more important things.

Society doesn’t spend enough time psychologically nurturing children. This is left to parents who are at work for eight to twelve hours a day while the child is at school for eight hours.

There is no class that I know of in my son’s old school that teaches children how to deal with their issues by questioning the thought behind the emotion, challenging ideas which are just thoughts, nothing more, how to counteract the thought before it turns rancid, and re-establishing better ways to perceive and approach problems, feelings, or actions.

I say school here because if parents aren’t conscious of this teaching technique they are passing bad habits to their progeny. Worse yet, the parent may be in denial or resentful of the need to have better mental health.

People do use religious mores to teach each other but that is not always required. The biggest problem with people is they don’t know what to do, who to go to, or how to handle things. Once you have all this pressure on you, the cup runneth over.

Life has become about the debate, not solution options. It’s more important to chew the fat.

The world has not had a holy man or high profile prophet in a long time other than the Dali Lama. There is no new voice to say to the world, this sacred text needs editing. If such a person existed, that person would probably be stones or killed. I guess the Creator has to come up with a more subtle, creative way to get the point across.

There are thing I am sure of. A Cosmic Creator, human angels, and the cumulative voice of billions of people telling the ears of the world to change, to rethink their consciousness, and realize things are getting out of hand. If you want a prophet, those voices could be considered the Word of the Creator because of the magnitude. This is the singular voice from plural sources crying out against great wrongs. Listen to them for they shall not steer you wrong.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~