"Home Fires of the Great War"

Here is your Friday Fiction.

I have been writing and writing and writing this week. I am working on my "Home Fires of the Great War" and boy are things getting exciting! Trying to get three "letters" written each month has been very helpful and I have managed to do it. Only this month I just finished my fifth letter! And it is not the end of the month! I have written three letters just this week which leaves me with only four more to write! I told you things were exciting.:) Once I get these last letters written, I will go back and write the "war letters" and slip them in where they go. That will only leave the "background" to do! If all goes as it has been, I should have test copies ready for readers before Christmas! If you haven't yet told me you want to be a test reader, and you would, let me know. I'll be more than happy to add you to my list.:)

I have been working so much on my book that "Meleah's Western" hasn't been thought of much. Anymore questions about it?

This story that you are about to read, is based on the story Johnny Ch. told us in the van on the way home from Jefferson City about an event in his life. I did change a few things such as who it happened to and how they were affected. But most of it is from the real life story. I hope you enjoy it.


Oh, I must tell you about Evie. It would have been laughable if it were not so pitiable. We have, or rather used to have, a black rooster whose name was Nighty. I believe Georgie named him, not that it matters. Nighty was mean. His favorite past time seemed to be terrorizing any person, with a few exceptions, who was outside. For some reason he never chased David, Edmund or Karl. Any of the rest of us were fair game as far as he was concerned. He was treacherous. If you turned squarely around on him and started walking toward him, he would turn tail and leave, but the moment your back was turned, he would be running straight for you. It got so bad that the younger ones wouldn’t go outside without one of the older boys. That rooster was the only one Kirsten couldn’t tame. Evie loves to be outside, but was terrified of Nighty. She would run screaming to the house or to the nearest person if he so much as looked at her. Finally Edmund had enough of it. One day he caught Nighty, who had just chased Evie inside, grabbed his legs and snapped his head against a fence post before tossing him behind the barn.
When Evie heard the news she ran outside at once and shouted, “Nighty’s dead! Nighty’s dead!”
Kirsten and Rosalie were much quieter upon hearing the news, but also took immediate advantage and spent the rest of the day playing happily outside.
A day or two later, Evie was outside playing and singing, “Nighty’s dead! Nighty’s dead!” I was in the kitchen with the older boys when a sudden, shrill, terrified scream came from outside! The boys sprang to their feet in an instant, knocking over their chairs as they did so.
“Nightys comin’ af’er me!” Evie’s holler sent us all into action. At once we rushed for the door. Edmund was first. Leaping off the porch he sprinted across the yard and scooped up Evie in his arms. I stared from the safety of the porch. There indeed was Nighty. His head was hanging down at a grotesque angle from a broken neck, and he was staggering straight for Edmund.
“That beast!” Edmund exclaimed. “Here, David, take Evie, and I’ll deal with him.” That was easier said than done, for Evie refused to let go of Edmund. Try as they might, they couldn’t get Evie to leave Edmund. Meanwhile the rooster was coming closer and closer. Evie’s screams again rent the air, and Edmund gave up to the inevitable and said,
“One of you can do it, and make a good job of it!”
David caught the luckless rooster and Karl a hatchet. In another minute, the rooster was without his head. Unlike the other butchering of chickens they do, the boys didn’t let go of this one for some minutes after his head was off. If you don’t know chickens, they run around like crazy for a little bit after their heads have been chopped off. Nighty would most certainly have headed straight for Edmund and Evie.
Evie was still clinging in terror to Edmund’s neck and shirt and crying, saying over and over, “Nightys af’er me! He is!”
“No, Evie,” Edmund soothed. “David has him, and Karl is chopping off his head. He won’t be after you any more.”
“But he comes back!” Her face was buried against his neck while her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. She was shaking and trembling.
Mama and I hurried over, but even with our combined effort, it made no difference. Edmund was the only one she wanted then, and it took nearly a quarter of an hour for him to just get her calmed down enough to raise her head.
He took her to see that Nighty was really dead, and then they watched as he was buried. Still, it was almost a full hour later before Evie would let go of Edmund’s neck. She refused to go outside alone for two days after that, and will never go anywhere near where Nighty is buried, probably fearing that he will somehow come out of the ground and chase her. She has regained most of her courage by now, though she still looks warily at the barn when she passes it. The other way she was affected is that she dislikes any and all chickens. No longer will she go with Kirsten to feed and gather the eggs. She wants nothing to do with them. I can’t say that I blame her, can you?


I do hope you feel sorry for Evie. And for Johnny, though I think he has recovered from his scare. :)