I’ve Been Visited by the Dead

Last night my great-grandfather contacted me from the grave. It really was a wonderful (if a little disconcerting) experience. Even though I’ve always been open to such things, I have to say that this is the first time that I can remember when the dead have actually contacted me from the other side. He went on and on as old guys (and apparently dead ones too) are wont to do. He said a lot of things, most of them personal to me so I won’t try and tell you everything he said. Not to mention I’ve got a shit-ton of homework to do and I swore to myself I’d be all caught up by the time school started back on Tuesday which, let’s see, oh yeah,  tomorrow!

Old Grandaddy did ask me to mention one thing to you-all though. (Apparently those who have “crossed over” are at least somewhat aware of the happenings here on earth in the 21st century, when and if they want to be because he seemed to know what a blog was and that I had one.) Old Grandaddy said this:

When you get on that thing that ye open up and the light spills out and you go to bangin’ on those little buttons and sending telegraphs out there to all your kin and friends—some of which you know and some ye don’t, you make sure and tell them that me and my ghost buddies what worked in the mines when we was alive along with our friends who worked the steel mills, and the textile factories and so forth… all of us who worked so hard—some of us even losing our houses to the boss’ dirty workers settin’ our houses on fire and some of us even gettin’ killed and such—all this just to set up the labor unions so them sons-of-bitches couldn’t treat us like we was slaves and such—you tell all  your people what reads what you type that we, the ghostly workers, ain’t none too pleased with them sons-of-bitches what are now trying to destroy the unions that we gave up so much to build and that we are just about as pissed with them as we were with the wicked coal bosses of our day. Tell ‘em that we think that talkin’ shit about the labor unions and trying’ to out-right destroy them is just about as bad as… naw, tell ‘em it IS as bad as them sons-of-bitches what touched torched our houses and killed our fellows when we was tryin’ to set up the unions in the first place. And tell them idiot poor people that’s alive today and talking shit about the unions that they wouldn’t have none of the shit they have now if’n it wasn’t for us doin’ what we did. And finally, please tell them people what reads what you write that for all them sons-of-bitches that’s actively tryin’ to destroy the unions now… whether they be the evil bastards what’s tryin’ to own ever’thing or the stupid poor people what believes all the shit they’re bein’ told by the modern day versions of the torch-men what worked for the bosses in our day… tell ‘em all that we’re comin’ for them. Tell ‘em we’ll be visitin’ them in the night. Tell ‘em that all the plagues of hell that’s about to come floodin’ into their lives ain’t no accident at all but instead is the di-rect result of them tryin’ to destroy what we built. Tell ‘em they’re gonna be sorry they ever crost the Ghostly Miners and Workers of Nineteenth Century America, that they are gonna wish like hell they hadn’t. You just tell ‘em that.”

And as quickly as the apparition had come to hover over my bed, it was gone. Well, there wasn’t much I could say but “Yes sir, Old Grandaddy. I’ll tell them.” And so I am.

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