Ain’t life a Bummer.

Heh, that’s what Jimmy and me reckon. Least since that night in Killamanarcky when the parson chased us all. Him in his nightrobes a-yelling and a-screaming, waving his lantern like it was God’s hellstick. All of us a-rolling in drink, taunting him like the goose feather he was.

Heh, young ‘uns. We were lads, Jimmy and me. Ain’t been no orchard or pumpkin patch we didn’t raid. Parson said a few things ‘bout that too. All his a-preaching on coveting. Guess me and Jimmy coveted his daughter.

Reckon she coveted us too, if that afternoon in the barn meant anything. Old Parson, he went apoplectic over that, swore to high heavens and low hells he’d make us pay for defiling his blessed fruit.

Happen his blessed fruit din’t agree with him. Slipped out the window most nights, till she got rutted.

Parson killed her when he found out, babe and all. Forsook his religion and cursed us. All that a-dying and a-hurting he spoke on us. Then hung himself.

And he’s a-chasing us still.