Any Excuse will do

Should you want to know the full background on this cast of characters, I refer you to Halloween Came Early this Year, contest #272.

Any Excuse will do

This Sunday morning, I woke to the sound of chanting. I do not object to chanting. When the voices blend and the acoustics are perfect, it can be very peaceful, soothing to the soul. But this one raspy voice at 6:53 am was not sleep inducing. Soon, my bedroom became very cold, and I snuggled further under the covers, pulled the extra blanket over me.

“What is that caterwauling?” Captain Heissen, my resident ghost, asked.

“It sounds like the chanting of a Native American.” I answered from inside the warmth of my cocoon.

Captain Heissen perched on the edge of my bed, unaware that his inherent chill penetrated through the covers into the mattress. I clenched my jaws to keep my teeth from chattering.

“Native American?” he asked. “What do those words mean? I’m a native American. I was born and raised in these United States. What are you talking about, woman?”

Captain Heissen, under normal circumstances a perfect gentleman, was obviously out of sorts having been roused before sunup.

“Erm, I believe you might have called them injuns.” I answered.

“What’s an injun doing there?” Captain Heissen tipped his head toward the small cemetery behind my - our house.

“My best guess?” I scooted up in the bed, looked at him and shrugged, partially to get feeling back in my arms and shoulders, partially because I really wasn’t sure why the man was chanting. “It’s Easter, today. And ever since they did all the construction on the church, and had to move y’all’s graves, they feel they need to keep apologizing.”

“I thought they did that with those gong things. Remember, when you said they were what? Re –

Reconsecrating the ground and putting the graves to rest. That was shortly after Halloween, right after the pranks we played.” We chuckled at the memory. “Yes, I remember. I honestly thought that would be the end of it. I assume there is someone in the township office who has nothing better to do than find an excuse for a ceremony.” I grumbled.

Little Ella and Captain Heissen’s mother, Abigail joined us. I was surprised not more of my boarders were packed into my small bedroom.

Ella, clambered onto the bed and snuggled with me. My arm was frostbitten instantly.

“God’s teeth! I ask you. They left us to slumber for more than 150 years.” Captain Heissen continued to gripe. “Why in the –," he flicked his eyes toward little Ella. “Wy in the blazes, do they think they can wake the dead before sunup anytime the thought strikes them?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Captain. This being a religious holiday, they may feel some significance behind it.” I pulled another cover over me, putting at least one layer between me and four-year-old Ella’s ghost.

“But why an injun? I can tell you for a fact there are no injuns in that graveyard. They had their own place, upriver a bit.” The captain continued to gnaw on the question.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Abbigail cleared her throat. “Back a ways, I guess it was near Christmas, there was a similar thing. You weren’t home that afternoon.” She nodded in my direction. “But there was a whole to-do in the cemetery.”

“Really?” I picked up my phone and scrolled back through messages that my small township dutifully sends to my phone.

“Ah.” I snorted. “They held a Kwanzaa ceremony.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” Captain Heissen’s mood was not improving.

“I admit, I am not exactly sure. Let’s see if I can find the answer. Yes, here is it. It’s an annual celebration for African Americans and derivative of the various harvest celebrations traditionally held throughout the African continent.

“What’s an African Americans?” Ella asked.

I groaned, how to explain the politically correct term. “Well …, they are the people whose ancestors came from Africa.”

“You mean ni-“

“Don’t say it.” I hastily interrupted the captain. “It’s considered derogatory.”

“What’s derogatory?” Ever curious, Ella asked.

“Erm, belittling, taking away the value of something or someone.”

“Hah!” The captain snorted. “I know there are no ni- none of them in that graveyard. On the contrary, they were all buried right here where this house is.” He nodded.

A shiver ran through me. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yes.” He shrugged. “Most of them were thoughtlessly dug up and disposed of when the basement was excavated. There are still a few in the back yard, but they rest in peace.”

“So,” Abigail’s soft voice was barely strong enough to be heard over the monotone chanting from in the cemetery. “Will they keep finding excuses to apologize every holiday?”

“I don’t know for sure, Miss Abby, but the possibility exists.”

“I do believe we need to arrange another demonstration to let them know that their message has been received, and they can cease and desist.” I heard a note of eager enthusiasm in the captain’s comment.

“One moment, please.” He said before I could answer. And put his fingers to his lips to whistle. Moments later the temperature in my bedroom dipped to artic conditions when Sergeant Timothy and his rag-tag troupe of Civil War soldiers crowded into the room.

“Do get rid of them.” The captain ordered.

“Yes Captain.” Timothy, Abbigail’s brother, sprang to attention.

Temporarily appropriating my sheets and towels, they set off on their quest for peace. Once my houseguests had left my bedroom, I threw the covers aside, dressed warmly and walked into my yard.

Ahead of me, twenty specters floated toward the small cemetery where a handful of people were gathered.

By now the chanting had stopped and a woman was rhythmically hitting a large copper object, eliciting a sound that was both mournful and ominous.

The pathetic group of citizens startled and stepped back, when they saw my bedlinen floating toward them.

“Don’t be alarmed.” I shouted from my side of the fence thatseparated the two properties. “They mean no harm but wish that you leave them in peace. They ask if you can go back to what you’ve been doing for the past century and a half, which is ignore this space.”

“But we want to apologize for disturbing them.” One man shouted back.

“Consider your apology accepted and the case closed.” I assured them.

“But … but my ceremony.” One woman stammered.

“No, really.” I repeated. “They would much rather you move on and not waken then again.”

“But … Oh!” She shrieked when one of my sheets was draped over her. Still screaming she fought against the many folds of the percale. I sighed when my sheet fell to the ground and hoped the dirt her feet were grinding in would wash out.

Another woman took her arm and dragged her off to the cars parked at the curb. The other three participants rushed away after bowing excessively.

“Let’s hope this is the end of their silliness.” The captain, his good spirits restored, grinned, and wiped his hands at a job well done.