But The White Dog, sitting lonely on the placid but, spoke only that word as if her soul in that one word she did outpour. 

Nothing farther then she uttered, not a tail then did she flutter – Till I scarcely more than muttered, 

“Other dogs have flown before – On the morrow, he will leave me, as My Hopes have fled back.

Then the beast said – “Feed Me More!“- The Haunting Of Bedlam Farm

It is a dark and stormy night; Poe would have loved our farm tonight. We had a quiet Halloween.

Last night we watched the 1963 movie version of Shirley Jackson’s remarkable story, The Haunting of Hill House. Today we went about our business. Tonight, we’re watching the Rocky  Horror Picture Show, a cult favorite Maria has seen many times, but I have never seen.”

I haven’t seen a ghost on the farm yet, but I know some spirits live in the old barn. I can hear them at night, sometimes all the way from our bedroom,  talking and laughing.

I’ve listened to screams from there. And then there is the Hound Of Bedlam Farm. I am loath to even speak of this creature.

It is also said there are ghosts of dead and impertinent goats (is there any other kind?) who haunt the pasture.

I sometimes wonder if the barn cats, the most mystical creatures on the farm, don’t transform themselves into spirits of the night and dance up in the rafters. I often hear music coming from out there.

I used to think there was a ghost just outside my study door; every time I came into the room, I felt a cold chill bearing down on me, summer or winter.

After a few years, I thought to look up, and I saw the air was coming from a vent transporting the wind from an upstairs window.

Maybe it was a ghost, but I doubt it. I like to think of Halloween as a children’s holiday, and as an older person, I try and keep my nose out of it.

We do have a spooky old chandelier, and it rattles and tinkles in the wind like scary old chandeliers are trained to do. If there were ghosts in the house, they would light her up and sit by the fire. The Hound of Bedlam Farm stays away from the house.

Which isn’t to say I don’t hear other scary things from time to time. We have a raving lunatic in a mask who prowls the farm at night wearing a cap that says Tax The Rich. Good luck with that, I should out our window.

Our donkeys braw in sorrow when they are lonely or hungry. We have spooky old windows that rattle in the wind, the snow, the sun.

I know there we have this hound, a fearsome twice as big as the Hound Of The Baskervilles. She also roams the farm and cries out for food, and makes strong men tremble.

Her eyes glow red in the dark, and the birds and creatures of the night run and hide. Sometimes, I hear her scratching at the door. Sometimes she cries her terrible cry…

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster, she ran fast and followers faster, till her songs one burden more – Till the dirges of her Hope that melancholy  burden bore, Of “Never – nevermore.”

That this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous best of yore mean in croaking back in such a roar, “Feed Me!

Feed Me More!”

Happy Halloween.