praise the Devil, the Devil and Henry Thoreau/ part 2 draft 1

Praise the Devil, the Devil and Henry Thoreau/ part 2

fiction
edward w Pritchard

Here is part 1 first, for continuity:

All the lonely people, where do they belong?

praise the devil; the devil and Henry Thoreau/part 1

fiction
edward w Pritchard

To the Devil:

The story will be about Thoreau's mortal fear of the Devil experienced in his small cabin at Walden pond. After anguish and suffering  occurring alone every night at 3AM, Henry David Thoreau [ French pronunciation] will purchase a "hex" sign for the wall of his small cabin there at Walden Pond. A few thoughts on Thoreau's early death and a theory of labor will also be presented along with a history of "hex" signs and supernatural visitations.

To author
from the Devil

I'll pay once I see the draft of the story. Hold the death talk it's becoming trite.
end
part one

Watch for part two soon / see below

 

Part two/ start

 

Lamentations on a vanishing dead day.

 

 As I write this, I Henry Thoreau live alone, more than alone, miles from my nearest neighbor in a cabin built alone with my hands alone on the shores of Walden pond. Now it's time for my evening ritual before I journey to the land of Morpheus, that is sleep for the night at 9PM.

 

Carefully I arrange the three chairs I keep in this small coffin like abode, then carefully I stack two of the chairs one atop the other so if the Devil comes, at 3AM, he will have no place to sit; one chair for solitude, two stacked for peace of mind . The Devil, my Brute neighbor, is not welcome here.  Methodically I pound, pound, pound on each of the four walls, we must keep bloodsucking rats from visiting during sleep.

 

Seven logs, two across each other, X-ed each across each, in front of the fire place; for later to keep my Brute neighbor from sneaking down the chimney later. Be gone ye Idols of my cave, Devil go to an almshouse, prison or splendid mausoleum instead of here, at Walden.

 

Laying a bed, sounds, sounds sound intrude. Scratching wolves at my barred door, ravens and owls screeching in the darkness, and the train, far away train carrying ambitious youth of the village of Concorde Westward, Westward to Oregon, to New Mexico to the vanishing future.

 

Waken with a start at 3AM a crashing bough in the deep Woods? No it is the Devil stalking my domain, searching for a way into my cabin. Clutch a book to my heart for protection, no firearms here, I am a man of peace.

 

Alone in the dark; I have never found a companion so companionable as solitude. Alone,  having never found company, wearisome and dissipating I stare at the walls. Darkness, pitch black darkness.

 

Then, whippoorwill calls, splashing fish jump, Concorde Bells ring hearty Yankees to appointed tasks. It's 4:30 AM. Life begins anew.

 

The Devil was avoided this night. To labor, hoe beans, catch fish, cut wood, haul water. Another glorious day begins.

end part 2