The old man invites us to "Gather 'round, gather 'round". He sucks on a pipe with a mouth that has teeth in the single digits. It only took one cocked eyebrow and one sentence of wondering just what in the hell a 'Squeebishaw' was for him to pounce. Much like he might lead you to some old crate full of musty treasures, he was eager to open this box of knowledge but did it with a deliberate pace. There is a certain ritual to this, I imagine, an order of events that he follows with each curious tourist who passes through his shop. It starts with the yellowing poster tacked to the wall, then your eyebrow raises, a questioning murmur escapes your lips, and there he is, ready to lead you through the rest of the paces. His steps as he moves toward you, the timing of his speech, his movements as he tells you the tale, all a part of a ceremony that's become second nature to him. How many times has he done this?
"'Course you ain't hearda Ol' Squeebishaw...you ain't from anywhere near here. Where you from?"
Our answer doesn't matter, we're just playing our part. His response will be a chuckle whether we say New York City or Nowhere-You've-Ever-Heard-Of, USA.
"Yeup. Ol' Squeebishaw, he stay close. He love this town. Love it deeply."
Maybe we ought to talk about that poster, the one that got this ball rolling. 'Poster' is a generous term, it's maybe twice the size of your standard sheet of paper. It's in sepia tones, gridded with creases as though it had been folded up for the majority of its existence. 'DO YOU DARE?' it asks above a rough sketch of forest with a dark angular figure slinking among the trunks. 'CALL UPON OL' SQUEEBISHAW?' it asks as though that's a second question and not a continuation of the first. Beneath that it becomes an event promotion with time and date and location. I guess if you dare, you dare then and there? Old Man will clear this up soon, I assume.
"He live in the trees. There a tree, there Squeebishaw. He up in there even though you can't see him. He there. Always."
Of course you don't start with, "Squeebishaw is a giant squirrel" or "Squeebishaw is a mutant chimpanzee." You don't get right to the point and answer the question. We'd be done and gone. Things need drama and intrigue, you've got to keep the mystery brewing. That's why you shoot down questions. You don't get a word in asking for clarification before you're hushed. This is his thing, let him do it.
"He watch. He wait. He come in the fall. He come when the moon orange and the sky purple. He come when he ready, when we ready, when it time."
Each nugget of info is punctuated by a long drag on the pipe. Pacing. Masterful. Drag this thing out. Ramp up our curiosity until we're damn-near vibrating. But then I fear he'll just walk away.
"He come down out the trees...gangly ol' Squeebishaw, branchy Ol' Squeebishaw..if you know how to call. If you know how to invite him. You invite him right an' he will come to you. Time gotta be right. Gotta follow the rules, gotta do what he want, gotta do it just right."
I can see where this is going. Those fears weren't off base. He's going to lead us on right to the edge and then, with a grin on his leathery face, he's going to walk away. We'll have to go on from there. We want to know just what in the hell Ol' Squeebishaw is? Well, we gotta do the dance. We gotta put in the work. We gotta invite the gangly bastard out of the trees. Of course.
"You sit under the orange moon, under the purple sky, you sit 'roud with your eyes closed. You need three things: goose, bucket, an' two penny."
So there's a shopping list involved. Good thing we're in a store. I can see a bucket from here. There's probably a goose out back. Hopefully they cost $9.98 so I can pay with a tenner.
"One penny go in bucket, one penny go in goose. It don't matter which end."
I assure you it'll be the front end, good sir.
"An' then you call on him, you call on him the way he like. You gotta sing his name, slow, you sing it slow and long...like you callin' your lover...but you gotta keep them eyes closed, you gotta keep them clamped shut. An' then he come. He come out the trees with his gangly bones...come with saucer eyes...come with snaggle teeth.
He come to you, he be with you, he be among you, Ol' Squeebishaw move among you, and you hear him breathe an' you feel him warm an' you smell him terrible...but you do not open them eyes, hear? You do not try an' see him or SLURP! SLURP! He eat them eyes like grapes an' then he gone, hear?"
We hear. Eyes closed or they're grapes, check.
And that's essentially where he leaves it. Takes us as far as he knows to go and then points us toward the park on the poster. Work 'em up to a fever and then walk away. Classic.
So we buy the bucket and sure enough, he has a goose on stand by. Two cents in my pocket and away we go. The sun's setting soon and that big orange moon will be in the purple sky before too long.
Nice little park. Lots of trees.
It's not often you have to get a goose to eat a penny and thank god for that because brother, it is a challenge. Much harder than putting one in a bucket.
We circle up. Bucket's in the middle, goose is wandering about making a rather awful honk as it tries to cough up President Lincoln.
Eyes closed.
For real, you guys, keep 'em shut.
Remember: SLURP! SLURP! Grapes!
He never said if the song had to be a solo or group effort so we all join voices with less than harmonious results.
"Squeeeeeeebishawwwwwww...
Squeeeeeebishaaaaaawwww...
Squeeeeeebishaaaaaawwwwww..."
And then...
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