I am Sinister. It's a handle I have gone by for nearly two decades now. I first picked it from a vocabulary spelling list in elementary school. I was raised in a Catholic private school, in what some would term a privileged childhood. Labeling it like that seems a hard sell, looking back on it. But I have no horse in that particular race. Speaking of horses, I live in the Unbridled Spirit state of Kentucky. I have a small 15 acre ranch of nothing particular in the subrural agrestic rolling hills. I spend my days studying plants, raising orchids and producing fruit and fruit-based products for the local farmer's market.
A 1/2 cup of intrigue:
Being folded into the cornfields and abandoned coal mines of a "Dark and Bloody Ground" like KY has it's mystical realities. Bats and Crows, the odd chipped pieces of arrowheads from Native American hunts long ago. I have to admit, whether it's the mystique of living in a plaintive site or the paranoia of isolation, I often feel like a character from Courage the Cowardly Dog. Just marking time until the next oddity appears. I have plenty of stories, many too tendentious, some gruesome and at the very least worth the telling.
5 lbs of topic material, trimmed and deboned:
The Ertan Deep is the topic of this post. I can walk to my back window and see it from my house on the hill. It's there, staring back and trying to slither up at my humble brick ranch from it's valley lair.
A sign marks it's current limit, like the license on an evil-looking canine bruiser. The sign is lacquered orange, with burned futharkian runes. What it actually says, in sounds, isn't really compatible with my tongue. I call it the Ertan Deep because that's close enough to what it says and what it means. I figure it's half and half. It was an invention of my great grandfather and has been restored three times now. I'm not sure how much of the sign is original, apart from what was burned into it. Let's move on to what the Ertan Deep is, shall we?
The Ertan Deep is a dense tangle of honey locusts, blackberry briars, devil's walkingsticks and amur honeysuckle. It's only tenants are snakes(some venomous, others cannibalistic), rabbits, ticks and coyotes. Coyotes are the upper limit, insofar as nothing larger could navigate it. Now, while I cannot venture into it and take photos, I do know what is inside that thorned monster.
Gravestones. No, that is not a joke. It isn't a liberty or invention. It's fact. Ages ago, it seems, my humble valley was a kirkyard for a chapel some one-hundred years gone. My last survey of the inside of the Ertan Deep, back when I had a sharp machete and didn't know any better, were headstones with dates as far back as 1850s. Somewhere in my mess of junk are crayon rubbings I made from that day. There were an awful lot of markers from the turn of the last century. Spanish flu victims, mostly.
You might wonder how I can legally own a cemetery, complete with bodies. The simple answer is that I cannot. In front of each marker is a pit. A pit per stone, six feet deep. The remains were removed to some place that I can only guess. But the stones are now mine, if I can claim that the Ertan Deep is mine. But I don't want it.
It's too large to bush hog, too dense to kill with herbicide and I have no money to pay for it to be logged. So it's a monster I can't kill, right? But it does get bigger every year, if it wasn't big enough. Always spreading outward, trying to grab me while I mow the more civilized parts of my property. Property that is smaller, prettier and younger. Some of the patriarchal locusts and at least one giant oak in that nightmare are old enough to have fed upon the bodies that once rested there. If I were to blame the things that had happened to me out here in the quiet nowhere on anything, it would be that green mass behind my home.
A dash of conclusion with sequel bait:
Re-reading this entry, I realize that people will think I'm bullshitting them. I can snap photos of it and perhaps will. But what's more important is that I have a plan. Something revolutionary. Something that will change my fate forever. I'm going to kill the Ertan Deep. I'm going to dam the valley and I'm going to drown the whole thing to hell. Sink the headstones in water. Let fish play in those deep pits. Let's see if evil spirits can swim. I just want to see the effect, see if I can kill a landmark. I'll exchange one deep for another.
1 6oz pkg of anti-histrionics:
I just...have to find a way to pay for it. -_-; Kinda fecking broke, atm. Love, peace, I'm out.
Love you, fellow Darklings. Drink your coffee, say your prayers and don't