Welcome to the Grave Yard.  Come take a walk with me.

It’s warmer today.  In the fifties.  The snow is melting, which is a good thing.  Now I can read the date and the event on the headstones.  So many memories-days dead and gone.  You should hear the ghosts at night.  Good ole Scrooge would be scared shitless.

Do you see that grove of trees over yonder?  What?  No.  It isn’t that far.  Oh, him?  Don’t mind him.  His bark is worse than his bite.

Anyway, do you see that grove of trees?  I am planning on clearing it out to make more space.  Ah, here we are!  A fresh one.  The veterans should have fun with the newbie.  I don’t know what they do.  Just that I am glad that they do when I am not here.  For all I know, I might want to join in.

Fucked Up Merry Christmas

December 25, 2016 

Hells Engraving does nice work, huh?  Yeah, yesterday wasn’t a fun day for me.  You know how my boys are autistic, right?  Well, for years we have struggled to get them to open Christmas gifts.  

It’s kind of how they are in school-gotta do a lot of hand-over-hand with them, or open their gifts on your own.  Kind of takes the wind out of your sails.  At any rate, ever since my dad died, I have had a difficult time in finding that Christmas Spirit.  It’s weird, actually.  In a way, when he died and with all the pictures and CD’s we put in his coffin with him, he seemed to take his spirit of Christmas with him.

So, anyway, back to my boys.  Over the years, I have come to regard wrapping my boys’ Christmas gifts as redundant.  I mean, when you give a child a package wrapped in shiny, pretty paper, aren’t they suppose to tear it to shreds?  My boys have no problem in tearing everything else to shreds.  Why not wrapping paper.

I didn’t sleep well on Christmas Eve night and the presents didn’t get wrapped.  Christmas morning came and I was passed out on the couch.  The next thing I know, my wife is yelling and cussing at me for not wrapping the presents.  

Excuse me.  Aren’t there two of us here?  Since when was the blame put off on me?

And the rest is history.  It is amazing at how destructive a few minutes of arguing can be to a day.  Especially, when one is asleep and can hardly understand what the fuck the other is talking about.  To say the least, the day was gone after that.  When she does that sort of shit (arguing about something petty or wakes me up in a nasty way, it makes me so angry, I could punch her).  She wanted to have sex that night, but I cannot seperate hurt from sexual arousal.

What’s what?  Oh, that headstone.  Come on.  Let’s go have a look.

A Thanksgiving Gone to Hell 

Some asshole came out here one night when I wasn’t here and filed off the dates on some of the headstones.  This is one of them.  His tracks ended somewhere over there.  I saw a missing persons flyer in town a few days later.  Authorities found his body down by the creek that runs along the border to the Grave Yard shortly after that.  He had been mutilated.

Who him?  Well, judging by the dried blood I found around his mouth, I would say that he’s the one that did it.  One hell of a good watch dog-or whatever he is.  Don’t stare at him.  Drives him nuts.

I had come home that morning from work a little snippy.  And I will be honest, my apology wasn’t the most genuine sounding.  After that, I went to bed.  Got woke up later on the day to hearing the bedroom door bang open and the words wake the fuck up!  Oh, I was awake after that alright.  As you can imagine, a visious arguement followed.

I didn’t eat a single bite of that food.  Because I am stubborn that way.  Of course, she feels bad for it, but look at the graves.  The days are dead and gone.

Well, its getting close to dark.  I would be heading out, if I were you.  He will follow you to the gates but that’s as far as he goes.  Just a word of caution:


– Graveyard Night


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s