THE VISITATION

Gather 'round, boys and girls - I have a story to tell. It's a short story, but I'll do my usual best to make it unnecessarily long.
It's also an unfinished story. I have no idea what the outcome will eventually be.

In order to enhance the story, and enthrall you with viewing pleasure, I have photos! 

In my humble and dilapidated abode (that's my house, in case you're puzzled) there's a built-in bookcase adjacent to the kitchen. I can see it from the kitchen table - where I eat and often use my laptop.

The bookcase has six shelves. I use the fourth and fifth shelves to display a haphazard array of antiques. I chose these shelves because they're high enough to keep my two curious cats away. Unfortunately, the height of these shelves have never deterred the mice (no kidding, mice have attempted to nest there).

A photo of the bookcase taken yesterday, after I removed the antiques (I'm in the process of painting the shelves white - which has nothing to do with my story).

As you can clearly see, the shelves are cluttered. Many of the porcelain and China antiques are from the 1700s. The antique photos are all originals. They include photos of Queen Alexandra of England, her son Crown Prince Albert Victor, Russian Tsar Nicholas II and his son Alexei, and the Bavarian King Ludwig II.

This has nothing to do with my story, but I wanted to impress you.

So yesterday afternoon I'm sitting at the kitchen table - worrying about the endless thunderstorms, the constant power outages, and my increasing health issues (with are genuinely scaring the jeeters out of me).

And I look at the bookcase and THINK I see one of the photos move. I also heard a distinct clinking sound, coming from the other antiques.

Holy hell, I'm thinking. I hope there isn't a ghost in the house.

Reluctantly, I get up and go over to the bookcase to investigate.
At first I don't see anything out of the ordinary.

On close inspection, I think I see something curious behind the photos.....but I'm not quite sure.

The something that I thought I saw is becoming more clear......and I'm quickly catapulted into Panic Mode.
I didn't want to believe it - but it is alarmingly true!

Yes, boys and girls, there's a SNAKE lurking on the shelf among my antiques!!!!

I was far beyond shocked - -
I don't know how he got up there...or how he managed to avoid knocking all the antiques over.
To hell with the serpent! My first instinct was to remove as many antiques and photos as possible. I put on work gloves and began carefully removing items one by one. The snake's tail was sort of entwined in the back of one photo, so I left it there.

To make a long story short - which, of course at this point is a complete impossibility - I got my tried-and-true weapons of defense against serpents - - a broom and an empty trash can. It should be fairly easy to capture him.

But here's the kicker - - - -

When I returned to the bookcase, the snake WAS GONE!! Vanished.
I was beyond stunned. I searched everywhere but no sign of the serpent.

So here I am, writing this after midnight - knowing that there's a loose reptile somewhere in the house.

I'm reluctant to go to bed. If the snake can get onto the fifth shelf of a large bookcase, he can damn well crawl into my bed while I'm sleeping.

End of story?
Not quite. I'll be keeping an eye open all night. And I'll continue my search tomorrow. If I live that long.

Wish me luck, comrades. I sure as hell am going to need it.

                              Cheers, Jon

 

THE VISITATION

It happened early this evening, after dark - completely unexpectedly. No, it wasn't an angel. But it certainly was one helluva surprise.

I was never in favor of getting to the point easily. Good writing - much like good sex - needs sufficient foreplay before the climax. I'll drive you there, but I'm gonna take the long route. Take a deep breath and fasten your seat belts.

Let's first describe my day:
A bitterly cold, yawning, miserable day.
The temperature is desperately trying to hit 20 degrees (Fahrenheit) but never makes its mark. Everything outside is frozen. I am drifting in an icy, lethargic limbo. Too cold to think. Too tired to care.

The temp dropped to 2 degrees last night. That's Two - like in "Duo". I stayed up all night, babysitting the water pipes. Making sure they didn't freeze. Long, frigid, lonely hours. I made pancakes to pass the time. And a couple cups of hot tea.

By dawn, I have lots of other things to do. Sleep is not yet an option. Just after noon I finally collapse into bed for a few hours, accompanied by Bosco the cat, who keeps stealthily stealing the covers.

I'm gonna radically change the subject now, only because it's imperative to my story. Trust me. I always know what I'm doing.

A few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine in California decided to send me a gift. It was something I can use during the cold winter months (let your imaginations go rampant). She ordered the gift from a catalog and had it shipped to me.

Of course, the package never arrived. I'm here in the wilderness among wolves and heathens. Adequate deliveries via UPS are unheard of. Hell, UPS is unheard of. 

The catalog company was informed of the non-delivery and a new package was immediately sent. Against all odds, it was miraculously delivered - kinda like a virgin birth. I received it last week.
The End.
Happy ending.

So, what about the Visitation? 

Hang on to your wigs and girdles. I'm getting there. 

So. Let's get back to today.
After my afternoon nap with Bosco. I made a quick dinner (fish and chips, if you really want to know).

Just as it is getting dark, I decide to take a shower and wash my hair. Heavy snow is expected late tonight. I want to look my best in case I freeze to death and am photographed by the press for the Morning Edition.

Before I hit the showers, I let my cat Scratch outside. She's extremely demanding and doesn't mind the cold. 

As I'm stepping out of the shower I suddenly remember that Scratch is outside. Despite her appreciation of the cold, she's been out twenty minutes and might very well have turned into a feline popsicle.

With a towel around my waist, I open the back door. The Arctic blast that hits me has the power of an avalanche. 
No cat in sight, and it's now pitch black.

"Scratch, where the hell are you?" I yell so loud that my voice echoes through the forest. 

At that very moment, someone or something is pounding at my front door.
Holy shit, it couldn't be the cat, could it?

Picture this:
I live in the proverbial middle of nowhere. In a forest. Access to the damn place is nearly impossible without sleds and teams of huskies. It's pitch black outside and now 10 degrees. I never get visitors. Even on a good day.

I drop the towel, hastily pull on a pair of jeans and half a flannel shirt (I only had one arm in one sleeve). My hair is dripping wet. I stumble to the front door and open it.

It's a guy from UPS. Young and cute - but that's beside the point. His truck is far away. He actually hiked to my house.

"I'm here to pick up the package," he informs me. 

What the frick? 
"What package??"

I'm not sure what's more embarrassing: my ignorance over what he's talking about, or my appalling - dripping and completely disheveled - appearance.   

"The first package that was delivered on January 4th," he explains.

I make a feeble attempt to gather my wits and explain that the first package never arrived. I only have the second package - and I won't surrender that one without a fight. Or at least a heroic scuffle.

I explain the situation and he accepts it.
We part on amicable terms.   

I genuinely feel sorry for the guy - having to find my place after dark, and having to hike in frigid temperatures to get to my door. 
Kudos to cute and courageous UPS couriers.

I also feel sorry for me - having to make an appearance before a stranger when I'm soaking wet and half dressed. This has never happened before. Well, not when I was sober, anyway.

I feel sorry for my cat Scratch, who looked like a paltry imitation of a polar bear when she finally came in.

I should also feel sorry for the kind and patient people who took the time to read this excruciatingly long tale, but I don't. Hell, it was free entertainment.

And - since it was told by me - it was damn good entertainment.




Hey, Jon - you're full of yourself.