Need For Tweed

Just an old Story Teller

 

A NEED FOR TWEED

HOWDY FOLKS,

Happy Friday to ya.... One thing I have noticed about this Place is Not many people read this anymore? Oh Well, I'm gonna keep writing my stories anyway.. Who knows? Maybe someday my kids will tell um to their kids and so on and so forth.. I remember when I was young there were some great Story Tellers around these parts. There was an Old Black man by the name of Mr. Tweed.

Mr. Tweed lived back behind my Grandfathers house. We use to sneak over there every chance we got just to hear him spin a tale.. That fella had a talent for getting even the most rambunctious kid to sit still in wide eyed amazement while telling his tales. Most of his stories had something to do with farming because this is pretty much all this man knew. His Grandfather was a Slave back when they still had things like that. This Dude could make a Hog Killing Story sound like the greatest adventure on earth. I remember on more than one occasion that I told myself I wanted to grow up and be just like him..... Well, I'll never be an old Black Man for obvious reasons so I guess the story tellings the next best thing.

When I was a kid, Mr Tweed was already older than dirt. I think he lived to be over 90 years old.

After his death me and Bruce went to stay with my Grandfather for a while. We was probably around 12 or 13 years old at this time? We were both pretty sad when we found out Mr. Tweed had passed on. He was usually the highlight of our stays with Grandpa. So we decided that we was going to go into his old house and get us something to remember him by.

Mr. Tweed's house was just an old shotgun shack on the backside of my Grandfathers land. He worked for my Grandfather in his younger days but after he got a little older, Gr amps just let him live out his life there.

Bruce and I had plans of turning that old shack into the greatest Fort on earth but this was around the time that we both discovered girls and it just never panned out.

Bruce and I had decided that we would camp out close to Mr. Tweeds old house this night. We set our tent up right beside the old fire pit where we had heard many story's told. As night began to fall around us that Old Shack kinda took on a whole different look. I will admit it was really kinda spooky at night. That old house would make the most horrible creaking sound when the wind would blow.....

"AWE BRUCE THAT'S JUST MR. TWEED WATCHING OVER US?" Y'all think he believed me?

Now we had been sitting inside our tent telling tales and trying to one up the other with scary things. The batteries in both our lights had worn down to just a soft glow. We was daring one another to go inside that house. Folks I truly believe that this is the night me and old Bruce both figured out we was chicken. Now Mr. Tweed was always one of the nicest fellas one could ever meet, but who was to say his Ghost would be equally as nice? Would you want to find out the hard way?. Well... Neither did we!

I think it was well after midnight when we both finally dozed off? We woke up to this loud banging sound coming from inside that house. It was a pretty windy night this night but we could both hear it over the howling wind.

thump.......thump........thump............thump......"WTF IS IT BRUCE?"

Our first thought was to just run like the dickens back to the safety of Grandpa's house.. But that was clean across a quarter mile of pasture in the middle of the night... Besides... It was DARK! So this quickly became Not an option to us. We chose to just arm ourselves with a weapon of our choosing instead and wait it out until morning. So I'm sitting there clutching my trusty old Swiss Army Knife while Bruce is holding a piece of fire wood that probably weighed just as much as he did. And this is exactly how we stayed, for hours, until the sun came up.

thump.......thump........thump....."WTF IS THAT BRUCE?"

 

With the rising sun our fears faded. We finally had the nerve to find out what had us both so frightened the night before? We determined that the sound was coming from the back of the house. Turned out to just be a lose board slamming the house with the wind....."SEE BRUCE.. I TOLD YA NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF.".....wink But we never camped there again all the same.......

If your wondering just what I took that day to remember Old Mr. Tweed with?.. Just look at the photo above.. That old Plow belonged to Mr. Tweed... OH the stories I bet it could tell?

Sometimes I sit out by that old Plow and close my eyes and to this day, I can still hear that old man talking...

Y'ALL WEAR YA SMILERS......kuntry.

 

 

Reviews

[1809 Black Plague Decem..]

Hi Kuntry, thank you so much for submitting this piece; it made me tearful; just woke up in this bitterful cold and must say to a nice warm story. God bless Mr. Tweed. :) ---mishel

[Sara Muschweck]

This is an amazing story told with ease, you made me laugh at the two of you sitting there afraid of the night noises, and tear up at how you wanted to remember "Mr. Tweed". I lived in the south and know how the racial lines are still divided, it is heartwarming that as young boys you looked past skin tone and saw a great man sitting before you. Great write.