bloody marty mix
25/365: Brewery Burial Bigamy & the Not-Quite-Perfect Clones
Friday, 20 June 2008.
I've been hiding something, but it's time to come clean. You may as well know.
See, it all started like this....
My husband bought this house. It was a nice house. A very pretty house, with trees and grass and a little stream running through it. It had everything.
Unfortunately, "everything" included the forgotten remains of an old brewer's burial ground. Every time either of us set foot out the back door, we were set upon by angry spirits, wielding ghostly bottles of stout, or ale, or the occasional weiss. Let me tell you, ghostly glass hurts like a motherfucker when driven through your skull by dead, bitter brewmasters.
It became clear to us pretty quickly that the only way we were going to be able to walk outside the house was to build a deck. If the dead brewers weren't directly trod on, we reasoned, they'd have no reason to beat us about the head with bottles.
We consulted with a local shaman, and he suggested that the three of us try to contact the spirits to ask their permission to build the deck. After parting with the $150 fee, we sat with the shaman and summoned the spirits.
"Oh, great brewmasters," he intoned, waving a bit of burning something-or-other. "Commune with us this day."
Suddenly, a voice trickled in, distant and metallic at first, then stronger. "Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh...." it said.
My husband leaned in to my ear and asked, "What did it say?"
"Uuuuuuhhhhh.... Uhh, what do you want?"
The shaman nodded in my direction, so I gathered up my courage and spoke.
"If we build a deck, will you leave us alone?"
"A deck?" the spirit echoed. We waited, keenly aware of the pounding of our hearts. "Hang on," the voice said. We heard a flurry of whispers, and then the voice returned.
"Awesome," it boomed. "Can you have it finished by Tuesday? That's when we like to have a cigar and then go in and watch Hell's Kitchen."
My husband looked at me in a panic. "We can't possibly finish a deck in 3 days!" he cried. "There are only two of us!"
The voice was silent for a moment.
"It is done," it said.
And, as we slowly looked around the room, we could see seven figures emerging from the shadows. My husband jumped to his feet.
"What the..."
"Wait!" I whispered, grabbing his arm. He gasped, as he began to see what I had already noticed. The seven figures were me. Seven perfect copies... no wait. Not perfect. One was missing its right foot, and shambled along zombie-like, though amiably enough.
"Now," the voice thundered, "you will build the deck."
And as soon as it had started, it was over. The ghostly whispers were gone, and we were left with seven, not-quite-perfect clones, blinking and shuffling their 13 feet.
Needless to say, we got the deck built by Tuesday, and ever since we've been hanging out with the dead brewers and the clones on the deck in the evenings.
I've decided it's not so bad, all in all. The clones wander around a bit, and bump into things a lot, but they're a friendly lot. And the dead brewers bring beer.
(see notes)
25/365: Brewery Burial Bigamy & the Not-Quite-Perfect Clones
Friday, 20 June 2008.
I've been hiding something, but it's time to come clean. You may as well know.
See, it all started like this....
My husband bought this house. It was a nice house. A very pretty house, with trees and grass and a little stream running through it. It had everything.
Unfortunately, "everything" included the forgotten remains of an old brewer's burial ground. Every time either of us set foot out the back door, we were set upon by angry spirits, wielding ghostly bottles of stout, or ale, or the occasional weiss. Let me tell you, ghostly glass hurts like a motherfucker when driven through your skull by dead, bitter brewmasters.
It became clear to us pretty quickly that the only way we were going to be able to walk outside the house was to build a deck. If the dead brewers weren't directly trod on, we reasoned, they'd have no reason to beat us about the head with bottles.
We consulted with a local shaman, and he suggested that the three of us try to contact the spirits to ask their permission to build the deck. After parting with the $150 fee, we sat with the shaman and summoned the spirits.
"Oh, great brewmasters," he intoned, waving a bit of burning something-or-other. "Commune with us this day."
Suddenly, a voice trickled in, distant and metallic at first, then stronger. "Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh...." it said.
My husband leaned in to my ear and asked, "What did it say?"
"Uuuuuuhhhhh.... Uhh, what do you want?"
The shaman nodded in my direction, so I gathered up my courage and spoke.
"If we build a deck, will you leave us alone?"
"A deck?" the spirit echoed. We waited, keenly aware of the pounding of our hearts. "Hang on," the voice said. We heard a flurry of whispers, and then the voice returned.
"Awesome," it boomed. "Can you have it finished by Tuesday? That's when we like to have a cigar and then go in and watch Hell's Kitchen."
My husband looked at me in a panic. "We can't possibly finish a deck in 3 days!" he cried. "There are only two of us!"
The voice was silent for a moment.
"It is done," it said.
And, as we slowly looked around the room, we could see seven figures emerging from the shadows. My husband jumped to his feet.
"What the..."
"Wait!" I whispered, grabbing his arm. He gasped, as he began to see what I had already noticed. The seven figures were me. Seven perfect copies... no wait. Not perfect. One was missing its right foot, and shambled along zombie-like, though amiably enough.
"Now," the voice thundered, "you will build the deck."
And as soon as it had started, it was over. The ghostly whispers were gone, and we were left with seven, not-quite-perfect clones, blinking and shuffling their 13 feet.
Needless to say, we got the deck built by Tuesday, and ever since we've been hanging out with the dead brewers and the clones on the deck in the evenings.
I've decided it's not so bad, all in all. The clones wander around a bit, and bump into things a lot, but they're a friendly lot. And the dead brewers bring beer.
(see notes)