It was too quiet to think of screaming. Even if you did, the scenery was perfect enough to rob anyone off their ears. More likely, the sun would rise in the same direction. Then, in the sky, there never seemed to be a dull star. Early evening everyone would sit outside wishing upon a shooting star. And their wishes were usually about peace, long life, good harvest, healthy crops and happiness. Well, I had one tiny bitty wish, and you wouldn't guess what it was about.
Every town got a story on its own. It could be ghosted, grim, creepy, folk-tale, or anything else.
On the other hand, it could be a “Keep it in the closet crime” no one talks about.
“But let me tell you about this town of mine.”
My eyes would melt in tears for fear to creep away.
There was nowhere to hide.
Sometimes I would wade through the wood
and remained there for as long as I could hold my breath.
But I realized it wasn't necessary.
He would find me anyway.
That was his regular spot.
His sanctuary, his sickness mm, mm!
“His little shack!”
Buried underneath running vine branches,
the map drawn accordingly in his brain.
My hunch, he built this place, especially for that purpose.
“To bring out creepy Ol’ Joe”
lots of time, running through the wood was even more impossible.
Because the ground was muddy and sticky,
looking at it would give me the urge to puke.
And breaking a fall was too many.
Mama would buy sneakers with soft sole,
and the pine-cones would feel bumpy and got stuck under my feet.
“I tell you right there. It was no-good feeling.”
Jemison is a small rural town in Alabama; located right at the end of the Appalachian Mountain range. During my growing up, life was nice and kind to all. It was a place where everybody knows everybody. People would great you as you pass. That little church in the corner, where everybody would go worshiping each Sunday; the Assembly was friendly enough. It didn't have to be your real family, but every child would refer to growing up people as auntie and uncle. Trust was within everybody, but it always takes one to ruin the show.
Meet Ol' Joe, a wealthy farmer- for everyone in town, he was the local history buff. He was respected by many. Everyone would go to him for advice. However, in my heart, I called him “creepy Ol' Joe.” He didn't really deserve this noble labeling.
Every town got a story on its own. It could be ghosted, grim, creepy, folk-tale, or anything else.
On the other hand, it could be a “Keep it in the closet crime” no one talks about.
“But let me tell you about this town of mine.”
My eyes would melt in tears for fear to creep away.
There was nowhere to hide.
Sometimes I would wade through the wood
and remained there for as long as I could hold my breath.
But I realized it wasn't necessary.
He would find me anyway.
That was his regular spot.
His sanctuary, his sickness mm, mm!
“His little shack!”
Buried underneath running vine branches,
the map drawn accordingly in his brain.
My hunch, he built this place, especially for that purpose.
“To bring out creepy Ol’ Joe”
lots of time, running through the wood was even more impossible.
Because the ground was muddy and sticky,
looking at it would give me the urge to puke.
And breaking a fall was too many.
Mama would buy sneakers with soft sole,
and the pine-cones would feel bumpy and got stuck under my feet.
“I tell you right there. It was no-good feeling.”
Jemison is a small rural town in Alabama; located right at the end of the Appalachian Mountain range. During my growing up, life was nice and kind to all. It was a place where everybody knows everybody. People would great you as you pass. That little church in the corner, where everybody would go worshiping each Sunday; the Assembly was friendly enough. It didn't have to be your real family, but every child would refer to growing up people as auntie and uncle. Trust was within everybody, but it always takes one to ruin the show.
Meet Ol' Joe, a wealthy farmer- for everyone in town, he was the local history buff. He was respected by many. Everyone would go to him for advice. However, in my heart, I called him “creepy Ol' Joe.” He didn't really deserve this noble labeling.
In harvest time, Ol’ Joe would carry crops of vegetables, fruits, nice bundles of rice to houses that were mostly with little girls.
He was a good friend of the family. He was welcoming in the home. He would go out in the fields with my daddy, and together they would have a blast.
Ol Joe would always ask Mama Permission for him to take me to the vine field. His story was… “It’s a girl's job to learn how to harvesting grapes.” And not a question asked Mama would let me go. That was the time; he would start touching me inappropriately. He would whisper in my ear's words that I couldn't understand, or simply because I was too young to dissect the message. Being the only child I felt scared and lonely, not an older brother, or a sister to turn to. So I got brave enough I reported Ol' Joe's inappropriate behaviors to Mama. And she said to me sounded so fiercely.
“You kids today have no respect for them growing ups. I didn't teach you that Taylor-Mae. Now, you wash that mouth of yours with soap you hear me? And I don't ever wanna hear that story from you again. Ol' Joe is a dang good man. He does the town well.”
As Mama didn't believe my story; I would continue going to the vine fields with him; he would take me inside that little shack, and fondling me. His smile was inhuman and winkled lines all over his face. He wasn't too far from being a Freddie cougar look alike. At times, I wished I could end it there and now, but I didn't have strength and support. Only, I would play defensive by running through the fields hoping to find a safe-haven, but there was never any. Nevertheless, I would scribble down. Whatever was bothering me on a string sheet of paper and buried it underground, and mostly I would find relief within. I went that way for many years until I graduated high school and left town. However, I carried that pain like a cross hanging on my neck. This burden couldn't ever so erase in my memories. What's worst, this monster was never identified and put to shame and justice.
Today, creepy Ol' Joe is living fear in many little girls' hearts, and you will find his name written in bloody print in the mist of their diary.
How many of you there’s a household has a creepy Ol' Joe next door’s neighbor?
How many of you there’s a creepy Ol' Joe story to share?
He was a good friend of the family. He was welcoming in the home. He would go out in the fields with my daddy, and together they would have a blast.
Ol Joe would always ask Mama Permission for him to take me to the vine field. His story was… “It’s a girl's job to learn how to harvesting grapes.” And not a question asked Mama would let me go. That was the time; he would start touching me inappropriately. He would whisper in my ear's words that I couldn't understand, or simply because I was too young to dissect the message. Being the only child I felt scared and lonely, not an older brother, or a sister to turn to. So I got brave enough I reported Ol' Joe's inappropriate behaviors to Mama. And she said to me sounded so fiercely.
“You kids today have no respect for them growing ups. I didn't teach you that Taylor-Mae. Now, you wash that mouth of yours with soap you hear me? And I don't ever wanna hear that story from you again. Ol' Joe is a dang good man. He does the town well.”
As Mama didn't believe my story; I would continue going to the vine fields with him; he would take me inside that little shack, and fondling me. His smile was inhuman and winkled lines all over his face. He wasn't too far from being a Freddie cougar look alike. At times, I wished I could end it there and now, but I didn't have strength and support. Only, I would play defensive by running through the fields hoping to find a safe-haven, but there was never any. Nevertheless, I would scribble down. Whatever was bothering me on a string sheet of paper and buried it underground, and mostly I would find relief within. I went that way for many years until I graduated high school and left town. However, I carried that pain like a cross hanging on my neck. This burden couldn't ever so erase in my memories. What's worst, this monster was never identified and put to shame and justice.
Today, creepy Ol' Joe is living fear in many little girls' hearts, and you will find his name written in bloody print in the mist of their diary.
How many of you there’s a household has a creepy Ol' Joe next door’s neighbor?
How many of you there’s a creepy Ol' Joe story to share?
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