The Haunted Parkers (a work in progress)

I remember the Parker’s. You cross the creek bout two miles down a dirt road and through the wood. Then you are at the Parker’s house.

I remember the Parker’s outhouse. I remember the smell. I remember the house. Windows with flour sack curtains. Bare bones, wood frame house. No paint. Just wood. Smoke wafting from the wood stove. Mrs. Parker baking biscuits. Front porch screened and shadowy. Crawlspace under. Alien space. Haunted, dark space. Storage, old stuff, to be never resurrected. broken stuff, abandoned. Just buried in dust. Like memories hidden.

I recall Mrs. Parker pumping water outside. Thin but strong. Sideways, she almost vanished into the haze. Hair so black, it seemed blue. Dark eyes seeming to always be looking past me. There seemed to be a haunt she was recalling. My friend Richard, had the same dark eyes. Sometimes though, his eyes would almost laugh. I remember his sister Sally. Thin, like her Momma, but oh, so pretty. She spoke seldom, loved to sing. Her respite was on Sunday with the Church choir. Choir practice every Wednesday, Mrs. Gary, choir director, took a particular interest in Sally. Mrs. Gary was a good Christian woman. That was Sally’s only refuge from the storms of her Father.

I remember being boys together with Richard Parker. Stretching way back to those Summer days through the the woods to swimming holes. Creek walking, crawdads in a pail. Blue gill fishing with bits of bologna and a bamboo pole. Poking at a snapping turtle with a pole. So strange, I still…