The others started dancing around, tapping the floor with, what looked like, very badly decorated mops, with boots on.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Matty kissed Bill's cheek, laughing.
"Welcome to Tuckamore Bay, my love. Best get your ass in gear and get some beer on the go."
She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the kitchen, where two cases of beer were on the table.
"What the fuck is that?" Bill half laughed.
He stood in the doorway to the small kitchen, watching the festivities in his living room.
Matty put an open twelve pack of Molson Canadian in his arms.
"That, my love, are the Mummers."
"What are Mummers?"
"They are the mystical folk that appear every Halloween hight and go house to house, offering music and dance, in trade for a cold beer."
"What are those mops?"
"That be their ugly sticks. They ward off evil spirits and make a lot of obnoxious noise."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Bill laughed.
"Evil spirits? They would be busy in this village."
The Mummers started chanting, "Beer. Beer. Beer."
Matty slapped Bill on the ass.
"You best be going and handing out them beer, me son."
Bill went from Mummer to Mummer, opening a beer and passing it to them.
Each one responded by slapping his shoulder and shouting, " Tanks, me son."
YOU ARE READING
Tuckamore Bay
General FictionMatty Dove had 18 months to try and find a buyer for her late grandmother's lighthouse. A buyer who, she hoped, would not only buy the lighthouse, but love the village so much that they would invest time and money into saving the community. In 18 mo...
any Mummers 'lowed in
Start from the beginning
