This happened in the old house.I chanced to go out into the hallway, when suddenly I saw a figure lying on the crossbeam. It resembled a person, was black as coal, and was long, about twenty feet, almost the length of the crossbeam. As soon as it caught sight of me, it hid I don’t know where.
Linda Ivanits, Russian Folk Belief p. 169. 1989 M. E. Sharpe, Inc. Armonk NY and London England
So the house now is exactly as it was, except that now there is this coal-black telephone pole waiting somewhere in it, waiting to get another nap and scare the bejeezus out of me.
Maybe we should run down to Ikea and get a coat-rack and some candles?
Oh sure. That would make the place just perfect.
Except that there is a coal-black telephone pole that is really sleepy
and irritated that I stirred it from its sleep! Screw Ikea!!!!
I don’t know where it’s hiding. Where would you hide,
if you were a 20 foot long sleep-deprived telephone pole?
It’s not in the new house. It’s not in the cable television studio.
It’s not in the wind-powered eco-friendly green generator
that creates 50 megawatts of Earth Love.
No, it is definitely hiding here in the Old house.
What is it, the dirt floor?
The single-layered pane of glass keeping the telephone poles out?
I left a trail of candy hearts leading to the 4-car garage McMansion next door.
Go hence, evil telephone pole,
and find thence whole worlds of potential creep victims for your stunts.
Din’t work t’all.
I set up a burnt log with long eyelashes and lipstick, and a skimpy blouse and bloomers.
It was leaning against the shed, and I waited across the yard behind the logpile
with a vodka bottle full of kerosene and a wooden match.
Din’t work t’all.
What would make a hiding burnt pole happy? Right?
I fashioned a twenty foot long bed of straw and lath, with some music. Les Baxter.
And a tall cool glass of Bactine (for the burns).
Then I ran as fast as I could into the woods while the old house turned into a tornado of fire,
and everything was finally OK.