Folklore of the Night

  By the time the boys and Uncle Knud got back for lunch, Aunt Maren had swept and dusted the whole house three times over. She even took care of the deposits of zombie dust that she had been trailing. Ma was doing her traditional singing in the kitchen as she prepared lunch. Grandma tried to join in the music but was only capable of adding a contralto drone that complemented Ma’s singing remarkably well. Before lunch was over, all present could hear the familiar puttering sound of the returning Model T. When Oliver came in the back door, Reuben announced, “You have been replaced! Your reputation of being the hardest worker on the farm is a fading memory.” Uncle Knud waved in acknowledgement of his achievement with a flutter of his crackling fingers. Oliver gave a deferential nod towards his Uncle. “I am pleased to yield my exalted position to you, good sir.” “These people are just marvellous,” exclaimed Morgan. “I bet we can get them to work right through the night, and they don’t...

  That heavenly smell of bacon; such a gift.  Always an obedient young man, Oliver allowed the aroma to draw him down the hall along to the breakfast table.  “How odd,” he pondered.  “Why are they here?”   While bacon had great power, its spell broke in lieu  of the three dead people seated at the table.  While it had been quite a few years ago, Oliver noted that Grandmother sat in her traditional spot.  Uncle Knud and Aunt Maren rooted themselves in the two guest chairs at the end of the table.  Each of them gazed forward with milky-blue eyes, then turned in his direction.  There was no emotion, not even with the prospect of bacon at hand.  Yes, a very strange morning.             Ma seemed uncertain just what a proper hostess should do with such unexpected guests.  She nodded towards one of the chairs on the opposite side for Oliver to take.  Reuben sprinted in from the back porch, skidded a...