EVPs Captured in the Old Fort

Addison Zeller

She says:

Some skies just hang up there like cracked ice.

She says:

It’s not like before. I know who I am. I don’t have doubts. Even asleep, I know who I am. But I hear things. Close or way off. A train rushes by and I wonder: Is it in my head? Is it real?

He says:

I don’t want to go out. I splintered myself trying to open those damn heavy Spanish fucking doors.

He says:

We’ll clean it up and hang it up. I like this painting. The spear he’s holding, tassels under the nib there. Little mustache. It’s a good picture. Fur on his hat. The coat of arms? I don’t know Spanish enough to figure it. He was a conqueror, or a reconqueror.

She says:

Hotting up tonight. Good I’m out. Not trying to sleep under a blanket.

He says:

Story is they used to do a cavalryman in the dance. One of them dressed in blue and put on a white mask and they called him the cavalryman. But when he put on the mask, he acted wrong. There wasn’t anything he could do. He’d act wrong and they tried to take the mask off, but it wouldn’t come. So they tried to tear off the mask and parts came with it. So they stopped doing that dance.

They say:

A massacre’s happening down there.

Who’s being massacred?

It’s terrible. Terrible.

Who? Who’s being massacred?

He says:

This man, he talks by not looking you in the eye as he thinks aloud. He uses other people’s voices like his own thoughts to concentrate ideas in his head. He finds it more useful than looking at you directly. It has secured him advancement on the merit of his proposals.

He says:

This man’s face. It’s a face that makes you cry when he smiles. Hate to see a face like that.

He says:

Poor bastard still thinks he’s going somewhere, he’s got a chance. But he’s dying out, it’s obvious. Like a bug on a string.

He says:

He’s identical to his father. I knew his father when that boy was born and that man looked the same. Walked around the same, talked the same. Died used up, floppy. Like a torn leather belt. You watch his son now.

He says:

I’ve been cleaning out my father. He can’t control himself now, so I have to clean him out twice daily. I have to crane my head over his shoulder and look down and feel around in there, scrubbing and cleaning. This morning I got a bad sunburn. When I have to clean him, I can’t look away or hold him up without wincing.

They say:

It’s them hunting all right.

You sure?

They were out last night, they’re out again.

How do you know?

The hooves—hear ’em?

What do you want me to do about it?

I’m not saying do something, it’s just something to remember. There’s no point going out. I’m not saying that. Just wait till something else comes along, then remember it. Then you got ’em.

He says:

I saw her all right, but she’s not some whore. She didn’t even know what to do. Just played with my fur down there.

He says:

I had a letter from her. It was a letter like the one she writes when I daydream, except I picture her saying it direct in the open, in an easy way I can accept, no holding back, and everything perfect. Why’d she write it now? Knowing where I am? And saying don’t reply.

She says:

I don’t sleep. I always get up, pat around, and wind out in the courtyard by the fountain. I don’t even know what these birds are.

He says:

I can’t speak to where they came from, but they show two rods out there on special occasions. Two staffs of power, from the King of Spain and President Lincoln.

He says:

He can’t lower his head now. Neck doesn’t work that way. Those stupid eyes make it worse, like he’s scared you’ll hit him. You know he’s got the power of life and death? But you feel bad seeing him. A man like that’s in over his head. He must think every day: I’ll find a reason not to kill myself. I’ll find one. Every night thinks he has.

He says:

Look at him. Totally spent. Walks past a horse, it swats him like a fly. No weight left.

He says:

Came back totally different. Flattened. Every inch shorter.

He says:

I know you write a letter sometimes, not that anything’ll come of it, but because it’s how you’re feeling and you want somebody to know. If you throw it out there, it’s alive. And you don’t have to worry about it, since it’s so far gone away. It won’t get more alive.

She says:

I’m happy here. I’m happy here. When I come out and sit out here. Something about these tiles. And the water, when it’s on.