A host of possums positioned themselves atop the barn—
looking, gazing, squinting, hypothesizing about the road below.
The road, which until moments ago had been just a road, now glowed.
Small lights.
Many of them.
Too many.
“Look—there’s another one!” (Havsum)
“And another…” (Daresum)
“What are those lights, Grissum?” (Jensum)
Grissum narrowed his eyes. “Don’t know. But they’re lining the road. That’s never good.”
A hush fell over the roof.
Then—
“They’re possum ghosts.” (Knowsum)
Everyone groaned.
“Ghosts?” (Havsum)
“Yes. Possum ghosts.” Knowsum stood taller than necessary. “Coming back from the dead because of an improper burial.”
“What are you talking about?” (Havsum)
“Well—” Knowsum gestured wildly toward the road, “just weeks ago when our friends, our relatives, our loved ones were struck down out there, we let the humans clean them up. We didn’t drag them off ourselves. We didn’t bury them proper. We violated the ancient ways.”
There were no ancient ways.
But Knowsum said it like there were.
“They’re upset,” he continued. “And now they’ve returned—to search us out, to find us, and to torment us.”
Knowsum threw his paws into the air.
“THE END IS HERE!”
“Oh please.” (Havsum)
But Jensum wasn’t laughing.
“What if he’s right?” (Jensum) “What if they’re coming for us… and they know?”
“Know what?” (Newsum)
“That we’re playing dead,” Jensum whispered. “They know our secret.”
More lights appeared.
Then more.
Soon, both sides of the road were glowing.
Grissum stood.
“I’m going to take a closer look.”
“Where are you going?” (Daresum)
“With him.” (Daresum)
“You’re both insane!” (Knowsum) “I’m staying right here where it’s safe and reasonable and alive!”
December 22nd, 6:49 PM
A flock of possums rushed past Grissum and Daresum—
screaming, hissing, panicking.
“They’re back!”
“The spirits!”
“They’re watching us blink!”
Grissum didn’t stop.
Neither did Daresum.
December 22nd, 7:03 PM
They reached the road.
The lights stood quietly.
Waiting.
December 22nd, 6:59 PM
Jensum, Newsum, and Dumsum crept toward the road from the other side.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Heroically. (In their own minds.)
The lights flickered.
December 22nd, 7:04 PM and 48 seconds
A voice exploded behind them.
“How did you three get here so quick?” (Daresum)
All three spun at once.
Bad idea.
Several lights tipped over.
Because the lights weren’t ghosts.
They were bags.
With candles inside.
Fire flared.
And Jensum—who was already emotionally unstable—caught his tail on fire.
Pain shot through him.
He hopped.
He danced.
He screamed.
He hissed.
The road erupted in chaos.
December 22nd, 6:09 PM
Jensum was on the roof.
Screaming.
Hissing.
Hopping wildly.
Newsum grabbed him.
“Wake up! Wake up! Jensum, WAKE UP!”
Jensum jolted awake.
“My tail is on fire!!!”
Newsum smacked him.
“You don’t have a tail!”
Memories flooded back.
Jensum lunged.
Problem.
They were on a roof.
A metal roof.
Wet.
Slick.
“AAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Two thuds.
December 22nd, 6:15 PM
A host of possums positioned themselves atop the barn—
looking, gazing, hypothesizing about the road below.
The lights—
were they closer now?
Knowsum cleared his throat.
“I told you,” he whispered. “They never really leave.”
Here is the original – https://phillipbrande.com/2016/12/24/the-possum-chronicals/ – Tell me in the comments which one you like the best.
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