Post by g40t90yes on Oct 18, 2017 10:17:29 GMT -5
2 Sasha Jones’s screams for help deaden in the cool morning air. Her throat raw from screams of “help me! Is there anyone who can hear me, pierced the darkness only to echo back to her ears. Her high pitch signal to alert someone she was in trouble rang like a church bell. Sasha had no idea where she was or how long she had been there. So much was going on in her head causing a throbbing as she were having a migraine.
Before leaving that morning for church, Sasha tie her knot of braids into a pony tail touching the line of her butt. Now her head felt cold. Naked. Sasha braids were gone.
Sasha wanted to move her hands, her feet. She wrenched forward. Bolts of panic shifts through Sasha body when she realize she couldn’t move.
When Sasha was nine she visited her aunt in a small backwoods town in Georgia for a few months because Sasha’s mother went into a rehab center for her drug problem. Auntie Terry was solid, heavy breast and made the best fried chicken in town. Terry was a functional alcoholic. She worked at the local high school as a custodian. She was a single mother and raised two kids. One in college and the was a senior in high school Drinking in a town small as Ty Ty, Georgia is a way to ease the pain of boredom without killing each other.
Sasha’s grandparents live there also. Grandpa Ellis and Me Mo Janie lived in a 1940 shotgun house made from cider pine wood porch, stucco walls sat high off the ground under clay bricks. Stone steps lead to a wooden screen porched door attached to metal spring that slammed the door shut every time it opened. Built by Sasha’s Great Grandfather, the house stood as shrine of memories from Klan marches, cross burnings and receiving 10 children into the world. Sasha loved her grandfather who told the scariest ghost when Papa Ellis had too much of Farley’s Smith’s homegrown moonshine. Grandpa Ellis was born in the late 1900’s when slavery was over, but Negro hate still rained deep among the groups like “The Klan, and mobs out to lynch blacks for fun. Ellis Scott was a sharecropper, who made a living farming and working at Mr. Gilmore’s mill for most of his 90 years of life. Scott watched his father killed at the hands of a white mob who also burned down their farm. He was fifteen. The middle child of six, Ellis lived with that burning hatred in his heart for the whites who took his father. He joined the army. Made it back to TyTy, Georgia, married the girl who was waiting for him had children of his own. Ellis Scott lived through a period of time where because the color of your skin, you were hunted like a dog, treated like property and no respect.
After dinner, Terry and her boyfriend sat on the back of a half screened porch and fire up a joint, while grandpa and Sasha sat out front in the shadow of an oak tree. Grandpa Ellis said was as old he was. Before Papa Ellis got started he would always take a nice big gulp of shine, burp.
It was a great night for a ghost story. A bright country moon back dropped a star filled sky. The air filled with the scent of Georgia pine gave it that extra ingredient.
“Grand-daughter, Grandpa Ellis called. “Can you bring out that can of raid, please? He asked. “The bugs are hell tonight.
His grand-daughter complied.
“You ready Sasa, Papa Ellis asked?” Sasha’s huge chocolate eyes waited to pin them on Grandpa Ellis every word. Ice tinkled from her mason jar of coke. Sasha nodded indicating she was ready.
The years have worn on her Grandfather. Despite his years, Grandpa Ellis was lean, sharp tongued. A ladies man in church and a moonshine drinker at night, Ellis Scott enjoyed life.
His motto, “God protects his spirits and the shine kept him straight and hard.” Ten kids, twenty-two grand-children, six great grand-children, and life time off telling ghost stories, Grandpa Ellis Scott was respected and the talk of TyTy, Georgia. “Ok, Sasha, he said, pull up a chair. “This story is special story. It has a message, Grandpa Ellis said, kissing his grand-daughter on the forehead. He sat in his favorite rocker with the pillow cushion, rocked very slowly and sipped at the same time.
Tonight’s story was about a nine year girl who was taken from her bed by six white men all Klan members who raped, beat the little girl till she died. Her poor frail body took the pounding of the men ranging in age from 18 to 25. Her screams wailed in the midnight darkness for her mother and father went unanswered. The men all drunk with hate and rage spewed their venom upon her body. Sasha gasped, covering her mouth with her left hand, while her right pounded on her thigh fighting back the tears.
“Sasha, Grandpa Ellis called to his grand-daughter. “You ok?” He asked, eyes moist, held grief only a person telling a story like this would have. Sasha large chocolate eyes pinned themselves to Grandpa’s every word.
“Please continue, Grandpa, I am not scared!” Papa Ellis continued the story. “The next morning when it was discovered the little girl was missing, a concerned young man formed his own search for the missing girl. After three days of searching day and night in dense wooded area, the young stumbled upon a creek and saw what he thought was a log blocking a small stream of water, cool and clear. Smooth rocks sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sun. As the young man drew closer he realize it was not a log but the body of the missing girl. The water was freezing to the young man’s ankles. But the cold was secondary to his find. Her clothes just threads on her naked body swayed like wet confetti in a bloody pool of mud. The young man thrusted his hands skyward.” “My God, he wailed. The little girl lay face down between two rocks. One side of her head was visible crushed. A heavy rope noose tied loosely around her neck. The animals just left her there marinating in her own blood. Skin wrinkle from hours in the water. The silence of the woods held the young man’s weak cries. He lowered himself to both knees to turn the little girl over. Dread flowed through the young man’s body.
“Gasp, he choked, dropping his body into the freezing stream as looked into her lifeless glazed eyes. His pants soaked, his legs numb, the young man found the numbness not from the elements, but from his sorrow. The young man overcome by emotion as he placed two strong arms under the torn up body. He careful walked the body back to the family. No words were said for they knew living in the racially hatred south what happens to those who can’t defend themselves against the monsters who call themselves the “Klan!”
Papa Ellis pushed his feeble frame out his rocker lined with a pillow for a cushion. His eyes wet something Sasha had never seen from Grandpa when he told a story.
“Grandpa, Sasha called as she rose from the chair careful not spill her glass of coke.
Grandpa Ellis looked towards the open field soaking in the humid wind. He looked out with empty eyes. The air filled with pine. In the distance a neighbors hound dog barks deep and hollow. Grandpa Ellis raised a feeble hand. “Don’t you hear her screams child? He asked in a weak voice. “Her screams on the wind.”
For a minute Sasha tried to understand. She touched her grandpa lightly on the arm guiding him back to his rocker. His knees buckled easing Ellis down to a soft landing. Reaching over feeling for his glass of drink, Grandpa licked his lips waiting for liquid satisfaction.
“Grand-daughter, I am getting tired, but I will finished the story, Grandpa promised. Taking a smooth sip allowing the harsh homemade concoction down. He rocked slowly as always. Grandpa took a minute, then he started.
“Two weeks past and those crackers!”
Sasha jumped at Grandpa words. There was hate in the words Sasha thought. Hate like those people had towards the little girl.
“The prays of the family was answered when in a bar in town two white boys had a too much to drink and gave out to much information, Grandpa Ellis said. “A drunk will tell every secret or what in his or her heart. And these bragged about the bubblegum girl they had in woods, Ellis said. His words chilled Sasha. “Their voices loud and boastful someone in the crowd over heard them. The next morning six whites were arrested. During the trail the all pointed blame on each other. No one listen, especially the all-white jury. It only took one day for them to let those white boys go.”
Sasha hurt inside for the little girl. She also felt hate for what they had done to her. Sasha and the little girl was the same age. Could something as evil happen to her?
“The family was not surprised by what happened in court. Being black meant you had no rights, Grandpa said. Grandpa sigh, took another sip. “I need to finish before I, his words slurred.
“Grandpa, Sasha called sweetly. “You don’t need to need finish.” The moon cast shadows on the two sitting on the porch. Sasha pulled her chair closer to Grandpa waiting just in case he passed out from sleep.
“I am alright child. Now, the family went back living their lives, but strange things begin to happen. A month after the verdict, a man was found in a field without his head. Next month another man fell into a cotton bailer. At the end of six months there had been six unexplainable deaths. All white men, no trace, on witnesses, no clues. The police call them accidents. But a newspaper reporter study the deaths and found out all the men were the white boys acquitted from the attack on the little black girl. To this day no one found out who killed those boys. Black folks say it was the little girl up from her grave to get here revenge. Some say her screams can be heard on a night like this.” Grandpa Ellis cough and asked for his grand-daughter to put him to bed. Before Sasha left her grandfather’s bedside she had a questioned.
“Grandpa Ellis, whatever happened to young man who found the little girl?
Grandpa Ellis stared a blink stare. He took his granddaughters hand, squeezed it softly.
“The young man became an old man, he said, falling into a deep sleep.
Sasha’s body trembled against all her efforts to stop. A wave of dread pass over as she prayed to God for her trembling to stop. But she could not. The air was chilly. Her feet and hands almost numb.
Her feet she thought. Her shoes?? Where were her shoes? Panic. The reason for the numbness in her feet, because she had no shoes. Her bare feet flat on the cold dirt started to numb. A chilled wind drew circles around her bare legs as if she was in a tunnel. Sasha breathed evenly keeping the movement of the plastic bag steady as not to suffocate her. Tiny holes provided much needed oxygen. Sasha could feel air on her neck and face. That’s why her screams went unheard. The bottom of the bag neatly tie around her neck just enough as not to strangle, but hold the bag in place.
“Keep calm girl, an angelic voice played in her head. She was alive and that was the best part keeping her hopes up that soon this nightmare would be over.
“Was is it midnight?” She thought. The last thing her eyes saw was the abandon house, the back of her Range Rover and fluffy pink shoes before the lights went out.
“Was she in a cave?” Images of the worst.
Before leaving that morning for church, Sasha tie her knot of braids into a pony tail touching the line of her butt. Now her head felt cold. Naked. Sasha braids were gone.
“Help me, she screamed, bringing the words from the diaphragm as she learned from signing. Once, twice Sasha did this. Sasha’s cries for help rippled the plastic prison surrounding her head. Hot tears flowed down a cheek layered with sweat.
“Let me go!” Shouting as she struggled ignoring her binds on her ankles digging into her flesh. Blood strolled down to the ground below. Her wrist swollen, sore from acts of pulling with all her strength for freedom. To no reward.
“Calm down, the angelic voice returned.
The more Sasha struggled, the harder it was to breath.
Before leaving that morning for church, Sasha tie her knot of braids into a pony tail touching the line of her butt. Now her head felt cold. Naked. Sasha braids were gone.
Sasha wanted to move her hands, her feet. She wrenched forward. Bolts of panic shifts through Sasha body when she realize she couldn’t move.
When Sasha was nine she visited her aunt in a small backwoods town in Georgia for a few months because Sasha’s mother went into a rehab center for her drug problem. Auntie Terry was solid, heavy breast and made the best fried chicken in town. Terry was a functional alcoholic. She worked at the local high school as a custodian. She was a single mother and raised two kids. One in college and the was a senior in high school Drinking in a town small as Ty Ty, Georgia is a way to ease the pain of boredom without killing each other.
Sasha’s grandparents live there also. Grandpa Ellis and Me Mo Janie lived in a 1940 shotgun house made from cider pine wood porch, stucco walls sat high off the ground under clay bricks. Stone steps lead to a wooden screen porched door attached to metal spring that slammed the door shut every time it opened. Built by Sasha’s Great Grandfather, the house stood as shrine of memories from Klan marches, cross burnings and receiving 10 children into the world. Sasha loved her grandfather who told the scariest ghost when Papa Ellis had too much of Farley’s Smith’s homegrown moonshine. Grandpa Ellis was born in the late 1900’s when slavery was over, but Negro hate still rained deep among the groups like “The Klan, and mobs out to lynch blacks for fun. Ellis Scott was a sharecropper, who made a living farming and working at Mr. Gilmore’s mill for most of his 90 years of life. Scott watched his father killed at the hands of a white mob who also burned down their farm. He was fifteen. The middle child of six, Ellis lived with that burning hatred in his heart for the whites who took his father. He joined the army. Made it back to TyTy, Georgia, married the girl who was waiting for him had children of his own. Ellis Scott lived through a period of time where because the color of your skin, you were hunted like a dog, treated like property and no respect.
After dinner, Terry and her boyfriend sat on the back of a half screened porch and fire up a joint, while grandpa and Sasha sat out front in the shadow of an oak tree. Grandpa Ellis said was as old he was. Before Papa Ellis got started he would always take a nice big gulp of shine, burp.
It was a great night for a ghost story. A bright country moon back dropped a star filled sky. The air filled with the scent of Georgia pine gave it that extra ingredient.
“Grand-daughter, Grandpa Ellis called. “Can you bring out that can of raid, please? He asked. “The bugs are hell tonight.
His grand-daughter complied.
“You ready Sasa, Papa Ellis asked?” Sasha’s huge chocolate eyes waited to pin them on Grandpa Ellis every word. Ice tinkled from her mason jar of coke. Sasha nodded indicating she was ready.
The years have worn on her Grandfather. Despite his years, Grandpa Ellis was lean, sharp tongued. A ladies man in church and a moonshine drinker at night, Ellis Scott enjoyed life.
His motto, “God protects his spirits and the shine kept him straight and hard.” Ten kids, twenty-two grand-children, six great grand-children, and life time off telling ghost stories, Grandpa Ellis Scott was respected and the talk of TyTy, Georgia. “Ok, Sasha, he said, pull up a chair. “This story is special story. It has a message, Grandpa Ellis said, kissing his grand-daughter on the forehead. He sat in his favorite rocker with the pillow cushion, rocked very slowly and sipped at the same time.
Tonight’s story was about a nine year girl who was taken from her bed by six white men all Klan members who raped, beat the little girl till she died. Her poor frail body took the pounding of the men ranging in age from 18 to 25. Her screams wailed in the midnight darkness for her mother and father went unanswered. The men all drunk with hate and rage spewed their venom upon her body. Sasha gasped, covering her mouth with her left hand, while her right pounded on her thigh fighting back the tears.
“Sasha, Grandpa Ellis called to his grand-daughter. “You ok?” He asked, eyes moist, held grief only a person telling a story like this would have. Sasha large chocolate eyes pinned themselves to Grandpa’s every word.
“Please continue, Grandpa, I am not scared!” Papa Ellis continued the story. “The next morning when it was discovered the little girl was missing, a concerned young man formed his own search for the missing girl. After three days of searching day and night in dense wooded area, the young stumbled upon a creek and saw what he thought was a log blocking a small stream of water, cool and clear. Smooth rocks sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sun. As the young man drew closer he realize it was not a log but the body of the missing girl. The water was freezing to the young man’s ankles. But the cold was secondary to his find. Her clothes just threads on her naked body swayed like wet confetti in a bloody pool of mud. The young man thrusted his hands skyward.” “My God, he wailed. The little girl lay face down between two rocks. One side of her head was visible crushed. A heavy rope noose tied loosely around her neck. The animals just left her there marinating in her own blood. Skin wrinkle from hours in the water. The silence of the woods held the young man’s weak cries. He lowered himself to both knees to turn the little girl over. Dread flowed through the young man’s body.
“Gasp, he choked, dropping his body into the freezing stream as looked into her lifeless glazed eyes. His pants soaked, his legs numb, the young man found the numbness not from the elements, but from his sorrow. The young man overcome by emotion as he placed two strong arms under the torn up body. He careful walked the body back to the family. No words were said for they knew living in the racially hatred south what happens to those who can’t defend themselves against the monsters who call themselves the “Klan!”
Papa Ellis pushed his feeble frame out his rocker lined with a pillow for a cushion. His eyes wet something Sasha had never seen from Grandpa when he told a story.
“Grandpa, Sasha called as she rose from the chair careful not spill her glass of coke.
Grandpa Ellis looked towards the open field soaking in the humid wind. He looked out with empty eyes. The air filled with pine. In the distance a neighbors hound dog barks deep and hollow. Grandpa Ellis raised a feeble hand. “Don’t you hear her screams child? He asked in a weak voice. “Her screams on the wind.”
For a minute Sasha tried to understand. She touched her grandpa lightly on the arm guiding him back to his rocker. His knees buckled easing Ellis down to a soft landing. Reaching over feeling for his glass of drink, Grandpa licked his lips waiting for liquid satisfaction.
“Grand-daughter, I am getting tired, but I will finished the story, Grandpa promised. Taking a smooth sip allowing the harsh homemade concoction down. He rocked slowly as always. Grandpa took a minute, then he started.
“Two weeks past and those crackers!”
Sasha jumped at Grandpa words. There was hate in the words Sasha thought. Hate like those people had towards the little girl.
“The prays of the family was answered when in a bar in town two white boys had a too much to drink and gave out to much information, Grandpa Ellis said. “A drunk will tell every secret or what in his or her heart. And these bragged about the bubblegum girl they had in woods, Ellis said. His words chilled Sasha. “Their voices loud and boastful someone in the crowd over heard them. The next morning six whites were arrested. During the trail the all pointed blame on each other. No one listen, especially the all-white jury. It only took one day for them to let those white boys go.”
Sasha hurt inside for the little girl. She also felt hate for what they had done to her. Sasha and the little girl was the same age. Could something as evil happen to her?
“The family was not surprised by what happened in court. Being black meant you had no rights, Grandpa said. Grandpa sigh, took another sip. “I need to finish before I, his words slurred.
“Grandpa, Sasha called sweetly. “You don’t need to need finish.” The moon cast shadows on the two sitting on the porch. Sasha pulled her chair closer to Grandpa waiting just in case he passed out from sleep.
“I am alright child. Now, the family went back living their lives, but strange things begin to happen. A month after the verdict, a man was found in a field without his head. Next month another man fell into a cotton bailer. At the end of six months there had been six unexplainable deaths. All white men, no trace, on witnesses, no clues. The police call them accidents. But a newspaper reporter study the deaths and found out all the men were the white boys acquitted from the attack on the little black girl. To this day no one found out who killed those boys. Black folks say it was the little girl up from her grave to get here revenge. Some say her screams can be heard on a night like this.” Grandpa Ellis cough and asked for his grand-daughter to put him to bed. Before Sasha left her grandfather’s bedside she had a questioned.
“Grandpa Ellis, whatever happened to young man who found the little girl?
Grandpa Ellis stared a blink stare. He took his granddaughters hand, squeezed it softly.
“The young man became an old man, he said, falling into a deep sleep.
Sasha’s body trembled against all her efforts to stop. A wave of dread pass over as she prayed to God for her trembling to stop. But she could not. The air was chilly. Her feet and hands almost numb.
Her feet she thought. Her shoes?? Where were her shoes? Panic. The reason for the numbness in her feet, because she had no shoes. Her bare feet flat on the cold dirt started to numb. A chilled wind drew circles around her bare legs as if she was in a tunnel. Sasha breathed evenly keeping the movement of the plastic bag steady as not to suffocate her. Tiny holes provided much needed oxygen. Sasha could feel air on her neck and face. That’s why her screams went unheard. The bottom of the bag neatly tie around her neck just enough as not to strangle, but hold the bag in place.
“Keep calm girl, an angelic voice played in her head. She was alive and that was the best part keeping her hopes up that soon this nightmare would be over.
“Was is it midnight?” She thought. The last thing her eyes saw was the abandon house, the back of her Range Rover and fluffy pink shoes before the lights went out.
“Was she in a cave?” Images of the worst.
Before leaving that morning for church, Sasha tie her knot of braids into a pony tail touching the line of her butt. Now her head felt cold. Naked. Sasha braids were gone.
“Help me, she screamed, bringing the words from the diaphragm as she learned from signing. Once, twice Sasha did this. Sasha’s cries for help rippled the plastic prison surrounding her head. Hot tears flowed down a cheek layered with sweat.
“Let me go!” Shouting as she struggled ignoring her binds on her ankles digging into her flesh. Blood strolled down to the ground below. Her wrist swollen, sore from acts of pulling with all her strength for freedom. To no reward.
“Calm down, the angelic voice returned.
The more Sasha struggled, the harder it was to breath.
