The Tales She Told

A short story

          Our small farm in Oklahoma was a place civilization had left behind. The buzz of June-bugs could be heard while traveling down the red dirt road that led to our dilapidated farmhouse. Most summer days, my mother sat on the porch swing, chain smoking. Times were hard. Grief over losing my dad to a heart attack and an old back injury kept her from providing much help. Though she had no problem instructing us in the ways of baling hay from the fields that fed the cattle, or how to correctly tend to the livestock. Our only break came on days such as this one, when the charcoal gray clouds overtook the sun, and the wind picked up, forcing us indoors to hunker down, due to the threat of a looming tornado.

          For reasons I never figured out, bad weather always put my mother in the mood to tell her tales. Maybe it was her daily ration of scotch or her Irish heritage, but she never let the truth stand in the way of a good story. As a budding literary wannabe, I was always happy to listen.  I plopped down in the threadbare recliner and waited patiently as Mom adjusted her sheer muumuu, slicked back her gray hair and took a long gulp of J&B Scotch Whiskey. "Did I ever tell you about the time your grandmother was attacked by the devil himself?"

          The corner of my mouth turned up in a smile. "C'mon, Mom. Really?"

          She raised her free hand in the air. "If I'm lying, I'm dying. It really happened." She took another gulp of her drink before weaving her tale.

          "It was the spring of 1841, you see. My great grandmother, Edna, lived in a rundown thatched roof house on a small potato farm in County Kerry, Ireland. A mixture of vices and virtues, she was a staunch Catholic who began each day in prayer. She recited the rosary on a makeshift altar located in the corner of her bedroom. There was nothing opulent about it. A basic wooden crucifix passed down to her from my great-great-grandmother hung on the wall. A long stone kneeler covered by a thick piece of fabric to protect her knees lay beneath. Edna's devotion seemed at odds with her superstitious nature, which could only be understood by a fellow Irishman. Everything was about avoiding Satan and his works. While not as nefarious as “Old Scratch,” Edna’s universe was also bedeviled by Leprechauns, black cats and witches. After she met her holy obligation for the day, my great-grandmother would fill her metal hip flask with an unknown brew that sparked conjecture among those in her household. Her husband, Patrick Henley, argued that she enjoyed the drink a little too much. However, Edna insisted her brew was for medicinal purposes and it helped her rheumatism.

          "Whatever the identity of the secret beverage within her flask, it definitely made life more bearable. Imagine her stuck on a farm in the middle of nowhere, without a television, or a telephone. Nothing but knitting and cooking for her. Who could blame Edna for taking a sip of a little something occasionally? In her time, birth control wasn't an option. After giving pushing out six children, Edna had determined not to bring a seventh into the world. It's not a stretch to say that she turned her attentions to other guilty pleasures such as the contents of her flask.

          "Rains fell hard in Ireland during the spring, causing a dreariness among its people. Despite the weather, life on a farm was demanding to say the least. The men rose early each day and tended to the animals and the fields, while my grandmother prepared breakfast. In the 1800’s, Edna was forced to work in a dim kitchen illuminated by candlelight, while she cooked over an open flame. Built on a crawl space, the two-story, six-room farmhouse was about forty-five years old. Without fail, the roof leaked when it rained, and during this season, there were always several pans strategically placed on the tattered wood floors to catch drips.

          "On the day in question, my grandmother awoke to her daily ritual of prayer and drank from her flask. Then, she dressed herself and descended the creaky steps into the darkness of her kitchen. She lit several candles and lanterns placed throughout the room, wiped a wispy web away from the front of her brick oven, and lit the kindling inside. Edna felt better than she had in a long time. Her hands weren't swollen, and they didn't throb when she kneaded the biscuit dough. Her knees didn't ache as she stood over the breadboard. "Despite her cheery mood, Edna stewed over a comment her sister-in-law made the day before.

          That damn Maureen O’Smiley, what does she know anyway? Just because she took the pledge, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the small blessings the Lord has given me. The Divil' won't pay me a visit for takin' a drink. How could she curse me like that? I’m a God-fearin' woman. Does she expect me to live with the pain?

          "Edna took a rebellious gulp from her half-empty flask and glanced out the kitchen window. When she saw the gray sky had released the first hint of daylight, she decided it was time to gather the eggs. She removed a batch of biscuits from the oven and placed the second set inside. As she did so, a thump sounded beneath her feet.

          Those damn hares I’m goin' to have Patrick get rid of them once and for all.

          "She quickly dismissed her anger, grabbed a lantern from the kitchen table, and walked to the coat tree beside the back door. After donning her woolen cloak, Edna headed to the barn. When she arrived, the large wooden door had been liberated from its lock, and it swung back and forth in the wind. Edna quickly entered the rickety building and closed the door behind her, securing the latch. "The animals were in rare form. At the far end of the barn, a sow screeched. The mule kicked its stall. Edna quickly made her way to the pig pen and filled the trough with wheat shorts. Curious about what had made the pig so upset, she scanned the area, but only saw a bunch of hay scattered across the dirt. 'Nothing out of the ordinary.' She glanced at the pig. 'What's gotten into ya ole girl? ' 

          The pig answered by going to town on its food. "You were just hungry, weren't you," she consoled.

          Edna headed to the chicken coop. Two hens were missing, and the rest of them had nestled together in the far corner of the enclosure. When she leaned in to get a closer look, she noticed blood splatters across the hay on the dirt floor.

          A darned fox has made its way into my hen house, I’ll be havin' none of that. When Patrick gets back, I'll tell him to set some traps. I don't want that rotten animal eating us out of a house and home.

          "She quickly collected the eggs and placed them in her apron.She was about to lock up the pen when hay rustled from the loft above. At that moment, the sow let loose another ear-ringing squeal.

          I’m goin' to have Patrick butcher that damn thing.

          "Then, a sound similar to a galloping horse emanated from the rafters. Edna’s heart skipped a beat. That doesn’t sound like a fox! ‘Patrick is that you?’ she yelled, knowing full well it wasn't him.

          "Only silence followed. With a shaky hand, Edna retrieved her black- beaded rosary from her apron pocket and clung it against her chest. She scanned the empty rafters above, suddenly aware of how the wind whistled through the cracked wood, and motes of dust danced in the shadowed corner of the coop. Another galloping sound came from above.

          Edna jumped. Then she turned on her heel and darted toward the barn door. She ran fast as her legs would carry her, ignoring her burning calves and the clawed, pale hand in her imagination that would reach out and grab her at any second. All she could concentrate on was the escape that lay ahead. When she finally reached the door, Edna's shaky hand fumbled with the wooden latch that stood between her and escape from the unseen terror behind her. 'C'mon,' she yelled.

          "The door creaked open, and she shot outside like a cannon. As she ran across the muddy yard, she could have sworn something called out, “Edna,” from within the dark barn. Her pulse raced in her veins as she continued toward the house like a panicked horse on a mission to return home.

          "When she made it inside, she locked the door, retrieved the flask from her pocket and lifted it to her quivering lips. After a long swig of liquid courage, she took a deep breath and returned it to her apron pocket. Then she removed her wet cloak and tossed it on the threadbare chair in her small parlor. Beneath the warm glow of candlelight, her fear had faded to the slight anxiousness that followed a bad dream. With a shrug of the shoulders, Edna headed to the kitchen and resumed her chores. The smell of warm bread and melted candle wax calmed her. I best get to work cookin' breakfast, or I won’t have to fear the Divil,' those men will show me hell when they come in from the fields and find an empty table.

          "Edna resumed her morning cooking with the skill of a master chef. She whisked goat cheese and cream into a bowl of eggs and poured the mixture into a warm pan. Thunder cracked outside. White light flashed through the window, followed by a mysterious creak in the living room. She swallowed hard. This old house, that damn weather, I wish the sun would come out. I’m goin batty in here.

          The thought had barely left her mind when a loud knock emanated under Edna’s feet. Her blood froze. She inched her hand into her apron pocket, grabbed her flask once more, and raised it to her lips. Only a few drops remained, and she polished them off before returning it to her pocket. Silence followed. She dismissed the rising trepidation in the pit of her stomach as a bout of nerves and continued preparing the eggs. Just as she poured them into the skillet, another knock came from beneath her feet. She flinched and brought a hand to her racing heart. Frustrated and embarrassed by her fear, Edna stomped her foot on the floor with as much force as her thin frame could muster. A reciprocal response followed.

          The hairs on her arms stood on end. Chills ran down her back. Someone was watching her. She knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow. Edna wiped sweat off her forehead and glanced around the empty kitchen, while slowly backing toward the parlor.

          "Then, a loud, hollow noise resounded through the room. Edna's ears rang, just like they used to when she tolled the church bells as a child. She covered her ears with her hands until the sensation stopped. Whatever was happening couldn't be real. It just couldn’t. But she needed to prove it to herself, and there was only one way to know for sure, so she said, ‘If the Dark One's banging on my floors, then I bid him to do his damnedest!'

          "A breeze grazed her cheeks and a shrill, high-pitched giggle resounded from nowhere and everywhere at once. Edna wheeled around, scanning the dimly lit kitchen, noting the way long shadows scrabbled up the walls. 'Where the hell are ya? Show yourself you damn coward!'

          "All the candles went out. The kitchen filled with smoke. She registered a flash of red in her periphery. When she looked toward it, a tall, hulking figure of a man emerged from the darkness. As it drew closer, the silhouette shimmered in and out of her view, disappearing and reappearing like a specter, never fully taking shape. Edna ran toward the door, but the visitor was too fast and blocked her way.

          'You summoned me?' The figure whispered in a deep, throaty voice.

          "Edna's stomach plunged to her feet. Her bladder lost control and warm urine ran down her legs. She had two choices, allow the devil to win, or take a stand. She pulled out her rosary beads and held them in front of her protectively. "Get behind me. I fear no evil so long as the lord is with me."

          "A deep, throaty laugh escaped the creature's lips. It stared at her through eyes as red as embers. "You must have faith for that to work on me, woman,’

          "Before she could respond, the figure wrapped long fingers around her throat and lifted her into the air, kicking and flailing against him. "I've come to do my damnedest," it whispered. 

          "Edna couldn't breathe or scream. Red dots floated before her eyes. Just before darkness fell over her, she realized Maureen and her dearly departed Ma had been right. She shouldn't have drunk from her flask. She was a sinner. 

          "When Patrick Henley returned from the fields, the house was filled with smoke. 'Oh my God almighty." He followed the smoke to the kitchen and when he got there, Edna was on the floor with the empty flask beside her. ‘Ma's been hitten' the medicine again, ' he said to the boys while running to her. ‘Edna, what have you got yourself into this time?’ He lightly slapped her cheeks trying to rouse her.

          "After a few seconds, her eyes fluttered open and he met the steely blue gaze of his beloved Edna.

          ‘What happened?’ he asked.

          "Edna sat up and pounded her fists on the floor. 'That Bastard! Where is the damn coward? I’ll find him and do my damnedest! Is that all he’s got?' Edna ranted.

          "Patrick combed his fingers through his wavy salt and pepper locks. 'Woman what on earth are you talkin' about? Who are ya talkin' about?'

          Edna coughed and Patrick rose and removed the charred biscuits from the oven.

          ‘The divil you arse! ' She yelled, coughing. 'He paid me a visit this mornin'. Choked me so hard he nearly killed me. She pointed to her neck.

          Patrick noted redness and some bruising on the area. Surely, she couldn't be telling the truth. Nay. What would the divil' want with the likes of Edna. He glanced around, seeing no signs of a struggle. Then he looked up at Billy and Paul, who watched through the same blue eyes they inherited from Edna. "Go, search the house, ensure no one broke in," he said.

          "Yes, Da'," They walked off.

          "No need, I tell ya'," Edna yelled. 'It was the devil.'

          The house was quite small so a minute or so later, the boys returned. Paul scratched his head, ruffling his jet-black hair. "Nothin', no one is here."

          'I see no signs of a break in,' said Billy.

          'Are ya' daft?' Edna said. 'It's Old Scratch.'

          'Calm yourself, Dear,' said Patrick, studying the bruises on her neck again. Was it possible the wounds were self-inflicted? Edna enjoyed the drink a bit too much, but she never showed signs of wanting to hurt herself.

          'Don't you tell me to calm down,' Edna stood on unsteady legs. 'I’ll show him.'

          'Who,' asked Paul.

          'The devil. Who do ya think? I'll teach him not to mess with an O’Smiley!’

          Patrick took a seat at the table, refusing to believe her rantings. There had to be a reasonable explanation. ‘Edna, my fine Colleen, what you're sayin' is just mental. By the smell of ya, I think the brew in that flask had you hallucinating.  I cannot see why the divil' would want to choke ye'’

          Edna brought her hands to her full hips. 'Just wait and see. I'll find Old Scratch and you'll regret questionin' my sanity. All of ye' will know there isn't a creature in this world or the next, who can get away with besten' the likes of me!’

*****

          My mother smiled and finished off the remains of her watered-down scotch before saying, "Patrick watched his wife conduct a thorough search of the house and the crawl space, but she never found evidence of the Devil. "

          After mulling over my mother’s tale, I asked. "Mom, did Great-Grandma stop drinking? Did she take the Pledge thingy you mentioned?"

          My mother set her glass of J&B on a pile of old newspapers beside her feet and shook her head. "Nope, she was too old for that. The Pledge is taken at age sixteen. A girl promises the Virgin Mary never to touch a drop of alcohol. After your Great-Grandmother's experience she never drank again."

          To this I inquired, "What did she tell people when they asked why she stopped drinking?"

          My mother cocked a thin eyebrow. "The truth of course. She said the devil made her do it."