A Hawk’s Meal

Kelly was mowing their front yard when the snake landed on her arm. She figured it was from a tree, and it tightened its grip on her arm like a boa constrictor and lunged at her face hitting her glasses and cracking them. She ran right over her rose bush, the lawn mower spitting red petals and thorns, and she screamed “Help me, Jesus” twice, shaking her outstretched arm. Her disabled husband heard her and moved down the ramp of the carport with his cane as quickly as he could, hearing Kelly holler for Jesus.

Jesus didn’t come swooping down from heaven to save her, but the hungry hawk that had picked up the snake in a field of peas about a half mile down the road and then lost its grip and dropped it onto Kelly circled back and nose-dived toward her arm, its claws slicing her arm while grabbing hold of the snake. As Bud made his way to the yard, he waved his cane and hollered, “Get!” several times.

When the hawk had a firm enough grip, it took off with the snake writhing in the sky, and Bud got Kelly to the emergency room where she was treated for lacerations and bruising. The doctor told Kelly that the right glass in her eyeglasses was cracked and kept the snake’s venomous bite from her eye even though her readers had to be trashed.

Ghost of Lincoln

We never thought we’d see a ghost through binoculars in the White House from our view on E street by the South Lawn. We’d hiked from our hotel early in the evening with a light fog settling over the city. Along with our binoculars, we had a 35-millimeter camera with zoom lens, so we could get any close ups of the Obamas, but my friend Grant said, “Damn. That looks like Abraham Lincoln standing by the window.”

            “Let me see,” I said. “By God, you’re right. Get some pics. He’s wearing a dark suit and a top hat.” He took the camera, focused, and snapped about twenty shots.

“I hope I caught him. He didn’t move and then evaporated.”  

“We might even be on one of those reality TV shows if his image is on the film once it develops.”

“That would be cool.”

“Yes, it would.”

The Lincoln room was just a couple of windows to the right of the rotunda on the second floor. I’d looked at it online, since I knew those areas were off limits on our tour the next day. Lincoln may have been the most iconic of all the ghosts seen in the White House. He’d been seen by first ladies Grace Coolidge, Lady Bird Johnson, and Jacqueline Kennedy. He’d also been seen by Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, both of whom had been guests in the Lincoln bedroom. First lady Eleanor Roosevelt also reported feeling Lincoln’s presence as she worked in her office in the Lincoln bedroom, and President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s valet once ran screaming from the White House after seeing Lincoln’s ghost. Even the Ronald Reagan family had some experience with Lincoln’s ghost. The Reagan’s dog Rex stood at Lincoln’s door and barked and barked, and Reagan’s daughter Maureen and her husband had reported ghostly images when they stayed in the Lincoln room.

“Why would he haunt that area? It wasn’t his bedroom. It was his office and his Cabinet room at the time.”

“I’m not sure. I think Laura Bush redid the room, but the rosewood bed was purchased by Mrs. Lincoln along with some of the furniture. It was where Lincoln first read the Emancipation Proclamation to his Cabinet, and there’s a copy framed and hung on one of the walls. Of course, Lincoln himself had ghostly experiences there when he was President. He reported hearing the ghost of former President Jackson swearing and stomping around.”

“That’s wild and wasn’t there something about a child?”

“Yes, the Lincoln’s son Willie died at twelve from Typhoid Fever and had been seen by some staff of President Grant. Maybe he’s looking for his son or maybe he’s just thinking about the massive loss of life in the Civil War.”

“Most places aren’t nearly as haunted.”

“Why do you think that is? Age?”

“No, I think it’s because of the stress and the energy expended. Lincoln’s term had to be one of the most stressful. I’m sure all presidential terms have their own anguish, but his must have been incredibly difficult.”

“Yes, I think so.”

When they returned home to Illinois, the two friends had a great ghost story to share, and of all the photos snapped, one of them showed a grainy image of what might be perceived as Lincoln.

“Looks like that picture of Jesus someone saw on a slice of bread.” We both laughed.

“Or the Virgin Mary in a cloud.” We laughed more.

“Or what about that potato ship shaped like Elvis?” We laughed less because the joke was already getting old, and we both saw our reality show appearance evaporate just like the ghost of Lincoln.

“Yeah, they call seeing images that aren’t there pareidolia. Maybe we didn’t see Lincoln at all.”

“Maybe.”

Niles Reddick is author of a novel, three collections, and a novella. His work has been featured in over thirty collections and anthologies and five hundred magazines and journals including The Saturday Evening Post, PIF, New Reader, Forth, Citron Review, Right Hand Pointing, Nunum, and Vestal Review. He is a five time Pushcart, a two time Best Micro nominee, and a two time Best of the Net nominee. His newest flash collection If Not for You has recently been released by Big Table Publishing.