Historical humor by Tom Hoerr, February 1984. Household spirits are the column’s comic invention.
I didn’t use to consider myself a superstitious person.
Not really.
A ghost was something on my television set (particularly Channel 2), goblin meant an impolite way of eating, and a warlock represented the monopoly that the Pentagon has on military conflict. Bishop Berkley aside, if you can’t touch it, it ain’t real.
At least, that’s how I used to feel. Lately I’ve begun reconsidering my position on things.
In fact, confidentially, I’m convinced that we are not alone. I’m not referring to “things that go bump in the night” now; I know what those are and hopefully the crackdown on drunk driving will ameliorate that situation! No, the things I’m talking about are pervasive in a much more subtle insidious kind of way. Let’s be candid, the two of us: When’s the last time you placed your keys somewhere, only to have them missing when you looked for them? Remember when you recorded the check you wrote in your checkbook. only to find the writing not there later? How many times have you relaxed in bed, enjoying a bit of night silence, only to hear the drone of a radio or television set still turned on elsewhere in the house? That’s right, you know exactly what I mean. I don’t know the origin of these creatures, but I do have some insight as to their types. Like politicians there are two major types of phantoms, the “movers & shakers” and the “all talk, but no action.” The “movers & shakers” (M&S for short) are the culprits who move and shake objects (clever name, huh?).
The M&S not only erase entries from checkbooks, they erase messages from refrigerator doors and juxtapose digits in phone messages that I take for my wife.
Most heinous of all, they separate and realign socks placed in my dresser drawer. More than once I’ve worn one blue and one brown sock due to the machinations of the M&S in my house. (Typically when it is pointed out to me that, indeed, I am wearing one blue and one brown sock, I simply reply, “That’s all right, I have another pair just like that at home.”) At least one local bank is flourishing, due in no small part to the series of safe deposit keys (at $7 each) that I’ve purchased to replace those continually taken by the M&S. It’s easy to see why the M&S are so active.
They get their energy from the varied food they take: leftovers which vanish from the closed refrigerator (I wish I had a dollar for each time I find an empty pie tin pan left on my refrigerator shelf!): windshield wiper fluid which must be some kind of elixir as it has always disappeared when I need it; cigars which dematerialize, wrappers and all, into thin air. Toothpaste caps are surely some kind of real delicacy for no sooner is the tube defrocked when the cap leaves the premises (no doubt to join the last roll of toilet paper which is always somewhere else when it’s needed).
The only real guaranteed protection against the M&S is to follow that old adage, “the best defense is a good offense.” As a result, if a nuclear holocaust does occur, while I may be short of luxuries such as food, water, and medicine, my basement will be well-stocked with safe deposit keys, toothpaste tubes, and toilet paper. I thought my stockpile had the M&S beaten (apparently they must be allergic to mold and, hence, unable to venture into my basement) until the spring rains and floods came.
The keys and toothpaste tubes held up reasonably well under water, but the toilet paper was another story. Don’t let anyone tell you that the plastic toilet-paper wrappers are waterproof.
The “all talk, but no action” phantoms (commonly called ATNA’s), while less obvious in their mischief, are no less frustrating. Rather than taking or moving objects, the ATNA’s harass through sound. Heard a “drip drip drip” lately but been unable to find a leaky faucet? What about that funny sound your car makes until you take it to the mechanic? How about the times you’ve recorded songs, only to play them back and hear a cacaphony of static?
The ATNA’S strike again.
While irritants, these kinds of audio aggravations are tolerable (after all, chances are something needs fixing on your car anyway).
The ATNA’s real evil lies in their ability to distort messages and block normal communication. How many times have you given someone a time for a meeting, only to have that person show up at the wrong time and swear that you gave the incorrect time? Remember the twenty-six times you told you-know-who to take out the trash, but that person “didn’t hear” you?
In my household the ATNA’s disintegrate the sound waves when I tell my wife about a meeting I have scheduled; she, too, “never heard” me. (I’m not sure, but I think this is something like the Doppler effect.) I’m in a real dilemma because now that I know this, I play it smart by telling my wife something and then being doublesafe and writing it on the refrigerator door memo pad. That foils the ATNA’s, but unfortunately the M&S take over and the message, like the safe deposit key, disappears. Simply sharing my plight with you, dear reader, doesn’t do any good and neither does ignoring the spirits that occupy my house.
The problem is serious enough that I’ve done some research. Apparently this kind of possession is not atypical in older city houses. (Interestingly enough, forms of possession vary by area; while M&S and ATNA’s are prevalent in the city, West County homes are plagued by pink and green polyesters that drive gaudy cars and watch “Family Feud,” but that’s another story.) Anyway, there is an ancient chant which can rid a household of its demons.
One need simply repeat the litany twice while either smoking a cigar or eating a Hostess cupcake and — poooof — the spirits will vanish and possession will end.
As a service to you, I now offer the chant for your use against whatever demons may inhabit your home.
Now let me see, I had the chant written on a piece of paper that I sat on this table last night …
Originally published in The Paper, February 1984.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1984_02.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
