Friggin Tellesco and his Beenie Weenies. He was like a kid, back in the eighties.
“Is there anymore?” I finished up my Beenie Weenies and Tellesco looked over from his can of fruit cocktail, which held a single slice of cherry at the bottom of the corn syrup.
I did not know at the time that he was in love with a ghost girl, and he could see her through his tears.
It was a good thing for him that he cried all the time, sad bastard that he was. He probably saw her quite often.
He got up and said, “I’ll get you some more. My mom stocked this place up with all of my favorites for when I played out here.”
Huh. I hoped it wasn’t expired. Or, had he been out here all the time when the stately ranch had existed? Ya know, canned goods have a long shelf life, especially when they are fortified with preservatives. Lord knows, I won’t need to be embalmed after I die, I’ve eaten so much of it.
Well, franks and beans will make you fart later on, but they fortify you because they are both made from protein. You can re-energize in such a manner. Protein can be found in legumes, and also in lips, nose, guts, assholes, eyeballs, frontal lobes, skin and toes. Hell, grind it up fine enough and add spice, and I’ll chow on it.
Tellesco called out from the other room. “What is up with the white powder?”
He went on. “I found a tiny zip-log baggie in your leather and forgot it on the counter out here. Is that like seasoning?”
+ + + + + +
Joey wiped his eyes on his leather jacket sleeves and kept on driving north, and he felt the air in the Mazda truck get cold. He blasted the heat, but it did not seem to help.
Then he heard a soft sibilance from the seat next to him. It whispered, “Tellesco’s home is safe haven.”
He about jumped out of his skin. He got the willies.
+ + + + + +
She was gone.
He wondered what the fuck had just happened.
He crept closer to his iron bed, and he knew that the ghost of Katheena had left him.
Perhaps he could get some shut eye. He had big day ahead of him. He was going to be released from prison the day after, and he needed to re-think about what would be his next course of action. He’d had plenty of time to negotiate in his head about how he would approach life on the outside, but the visit of his friend had changed all of that.
He needed to look like he was well rested and well adjusted.
He lied back down.
And, of course, his brain would not turn off. There was simply too much going on in his head then and there.
+ + + + + +
Seen could not sleep. Everything in this new realm alerted him and caused for his close inspection.
He got up to explore. He had his own agenda. He had work to do. He was now a Walkin.
What might his agenda be?
Well, perhaps you would like me to tell you about it?
OK, let’s go. You should know that Fat Jerry had debts to settle, and that fact figures here, in this new equation.
Seen was a Walkin, a visitor, a guest to our Earthly plane, and he didn’t have much time here. They never do, simply because of their odd behavior. Such a red flag becomes a warrant for their removal.
He slipped out of bed and went to the closet that held his clothes.
He figured that these nice, clean people made the wounded folks a wear long gowns with the back open in order to make them feel vulnerable, and it worked.
He did not want to escape with his arse showing. He understood that he would be instantly recognized as an escaped patient, which was his immediate intention. He had no need to be involved with the relatives of the body he now occupied.
He pulled the plastic bag out of the closet and brought it over to the hostibal bed, and dumped its contents out.
He pulled up the tank top. It looked like something a lady would wear, under her bodice and gown, like for her boobs.
He tossed the tank top aside and held up the plaid shorts. These also looked to be undergarments, from the Scots. But them men liked to have their cockles swing freely in a breeze, under their kilts. He knew this from his last visit to our earthly plane.
The last thing he saw on the bed were some peasant’s shoes. Sandals. He wondered why this poor beggar dressed in such a manner, and the realization dawned on him that he had come to inhabit the body of a poor man.
What he did not know was that this individual was evolving in to a person who intended to meet his world head on, as nakedly as possible, with no camouflage or accoutrement. Those are French words that indicate falsity and decoration.
Seen needed to hide.
But he also needed to blend in.
He had some thinking to do, and he needed to do it quickly.
Sean’s relatives were on their way to the hostibal.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
OK, Some More For Ya.
Fat Jerry’s hearse was a lump collector, a body collector, a bone collector.
It had been drowned in the desert, baptized by the pool that had tried to drown me twice, from which Fat Jerry saved my life the first time, with his magical desert coccai—Um, I mean, desert dust, and the second time, last night, by Tellesco.
Fat Jerry had destroyed Tellesco’s home.
Tellesco had stolen Fat Jerry’s hearse from him.
Now the hearse was drowned in Tellesco’s pool.
It was meant to happen.
This had been Fat Jerry’s plan.
He was the one who had tagged the walls of the guest cottage.
He had put the curse on this place.