Do I really need to describe our village in the Kaatskills? I think not, for Diedrich Knickerbocker said it all when he told the tall tale of my ancient relative Rip. Not that I'm closely descended from Rip, quite distant in fact, but then us Van Winkles are an extensive tribe, at least in the these mountains.
Now, life in these parts being generally dull, restricted, and boring, I left when young to seek elsewhere, if not my fortune, at least a more stimulating existence. My return after many years has been prompted by the hope that an extended visit will provide a relaxation from the baleful attentions of various arms of the law.
Unfortunately accommodation is scarce hereabouts - at least for a man of my repute - but I have finally found lodgings just outside the village in what, while once a grand residence, is now regrettably somewhat dilapidated with its plank siding faded to a silver grey. Nor is it clear how the centuries-old, sagging roof manages to keep the rain out.
Not withstanding its imperfections it does have one, or if you're going to quibble three, great attractions. Not the ample charms of my landlady, The Widow Frow - though the village elders openly lust after them - but the allure of her nubile daughters.
(You may wonder why I prefer to pursue the delights of the daughters in preference to the freely offered charms of their materfamilias. Well, I must admit to an overwhelming preference for the younger, inexperienced specimens of the weaker sex. I find that assisting them to discover and explore the joys of their burgeoning bodies gives me greater pleasure than any amount of bed games with seasoned ladies. Indeed it is a preference that has proved of great value, leading to my career as a recruiter and trainer of staff for a number of those shady, and mostly illegal, establishments that exist to satisfy the natural urges of men.)
Now triplets, particularly identical ones, are somewhat uncommon and those who are truly lovely exceedingly rare. Thus the Frow progeny are precious and, having just graduated and still being uncertain as to the careers to adopt, are clearly in need of guidance. A guidance that I am just the man to provide. Indeed as soon as I saw their curvaceous, blonde beauty I conceived the notion of installing them as the main attraction in a discreet, selective establishment servicing the carnal proclivities of moneyed men. That is after I'd exercised my artistry in providing their comprehensive, and lengthy, training in the requisite erotic skills.
Unfortunately there is a problem, as not only do they seem ignorant of the arts of dalliance, they display no inclination to further their education in my bed. Which is strange since with their dam monopolizing the mature men of the village they are left to choose between inexperienced striplings and yours truly. And while I could accept that, in their ignorance, they might initially find the local lads more attractive they seem to lack interest in even those callow dudes.
One minor complication is their being truly identical, as alike as the contents of a packet of three. I can't tell them apart. Nor do their clothes help, for they appear to share a common wardrobe, and what one wore today another will wear tomorrow - I think. Added to which their names give me mental anguish every time I hear them - I ask you, Faith, Hope and Charity. Who would lumber today's swinging maids with such outmoded appellations.
Now whilst armies may march on their stomachs, in the war of the sexes battles are won with intelligence. Thus my first task is to acquire some. This is proving simple, requiring only a hidden microphone or two connected to small, battery operated, recorders. The thin wooden walls of the ancient mansion with their creaking crevices and knot holes render the wires easy to secrete. I have already become accustomed to retiring each morning to the woods, there to play the previous day's recordings on my Walkman.
Very boring most of them are, but I have learnt, to my astonishment, that the girls still retain their virginity. (This, no doubt, will lead you, as it does me, to wonder at modern youth. In my day the garnering of maidenheads was a prime mission for any self respecting boy.)
Not that they are uninterested in fleshly delights. Indeed they often refer to the various means they employ to relieve their sensual needs and express a longing for male assistance. However it would appear that they have been forcefully imbued with that outdated morality - the need to remain "chaste and pure" until wed. It may explain their hesitation in seeking satisfaction within masculine arms and seems to be socially induced, since The Widow Frow herself hardly presents an example of restraint.
Currently the snag is finding a strategy that will entice them to a cherry popping session - with your profligate correspondent, of course. But wait, a remark last evening about the appearance of a new ghost in the next village suggests a ploy. Excuse me while I rush off an e-mail to an old colleague.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My friend Hap has, as usual, come up trumps. Between us we have hatched-up a special page for a web-site to which, when the time is ripe, I can refer Mother Frow. But that is for later. Of immediate use is the spool of fine, virtually invisible filament which he has secretly sent. A mischievous ghost is about to become manifest.
Items are to move to new locations, disappear, or best of all crash to the floor at fortuitous moments. Doors to open without human agency. Most will be the result of my clandestine perambulations, others of a length of the filament jerking an item from its place at a time I estimate will occasion the greatest shock.
As I anticipated it takes only a couple of days before The Widow is seeking my advice. 'Mr. Van Winkle - Robbie. What is happening?'
'You've acquired a mischievous ghost,' I inform her. 'Why don't you ask the Parson to exorcise it.'
'That sanctimonious sod. Half a chance and he'd have his halo custom made.'
'Well it's his trade. And in case he fails I'll do some research on the web.'
He arrives the next afternoon, his derision at our ignorance only held in check by an itch to delve in The Widow's panties. I am ready. I have prepared my piece de resistance. Over the mantel in the dining room is a huge daub, an abysmal attempt by some untalented painter to emulate Landseer's 'Stag at Bay'. I have cut its supporting wire and replaced it with a length of my filament, the ends of which lead through a convenient hole in the ceiling to my room above.
Retiring to my chamber I eavesdrop as the cleric's mumbled litany progresses through the house. At last it reaches the dining room. I pull the filament. There is a crash, a shriek, and hurried footsteps exiting our abode.
I rush to render assistance and discover my ploy is a masterwork. The painting slid down the wall a few inches until the bottom hit a projection. At this the top tilted out and it landed fair and square on Parson's bald pate, the canvas splitting down the middle and encircling his narrow shoulders. Mother Frow tells me he bolted as if hounded by a horde of shrieking Valkyries.
Later, when her hoots have diminished, she looks at me, 'That's the best laugh I've had since I put old Frow in his grave.'
'Great. But what about the ghost? Parson may be tops at bothering God but he's obviously dead useless at controlling ghosts.'
'I don't know. Any more ideas.'
'Well I did come across something on the web. Hang on while I get my laptop. . . . . Here we are - try WWW dot ghosts R Us dot com. Look under troublesome spirits.'
I'll save you the trouble of logging-on. Here is the page Hap and I concocted:-
A POLTERGEIST EMANATION or
BEING AFFLICTED BY A MISCHIEVOUS SPIRIT
The presence of such ghost or spirit is not to be considered a real haunting since it is well attested that it is only active in those residences wherein there is at least one young female. It is to be considered that the 'ghost' is an unconscious neurotic emanation from this female.
In the majority of instances the girl is an adolescent and the disappearance of the errant spirit can efficiently be obtained through counseling.
However occasionally the vehicle for the manifestation is a woman on the verge of maturity. It is to be noted that in all such cases the female has invariably retained her virginity long past the customary age of deflowering. In this event the initial treatment is for an experienced healer to undertake the removal of her maidenhead. (It should be noted that whilst this treatment is regarded as effective by itself, in every instance on record the patient has so enjoyed the remedy that she has requested that it be frequently repeated.)
