"The Haunted John - A Story of Africa" genre: Horror Stories
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	Author Joseph Wallace ("A Gathering of Wonders," "Big and Noisy Simon") contributes the story; Keith Snyder contributes the music. Hear more stories by Joe at www.mp3.com/joewallace
	MP3.com CD: Keith Snyder Sampler - buy it! MP3.com CD: Obediently Self Entertaining - buy it! CD: THE HAUNTED JOHN AND OTHER STORIES   Label: http://www.mp3.com/joewallace
	Story Behind the Song Like THE BOBCAT and A PREPARED STATEMENT, this started as a post on an AOL message board. I didn't know Joe at the time, but I remember seeing this story about an outhouse in Africa and thinking, "Hmm..." Since then, I became his web designer, and subsequently his friend. When we rolled out his latest web redesign, I presented him with this recording as a gift. He was so thrilled with it that he's commissioned another one. Stay tuned... Lyrics This is Joe's original AOL post. Visit his own audio site at mp3.com/joewallace Subject: the haunted john Date: Wed, Mar 17, 1999 3:22 AM From: JosWallace We were camped on the shores of Lake Nakuru in Kenya, first stop on a six-week jaunt through East Africa. I was fifteen years old, it was my first long trip away from home, and I was spooked. Lake Nakuru was an eerie place to camp, because down at the edge of the lake stood a flock of flamingos. When I say a flock, I mean about four million flamingos. At dawn, as I lay in my tent, I could hear them all start to call at once--an endless gabbling and croaking, like a sound the damned might make in hell. The sound would rise and fall, and if you listened to it long enough, you'd begin to swear that the flamingos were conversing, and that if you just tried a little harder you could understand what they were saying.. Our first full day, we hiked along the lake's shoreline. As we approached the clearing where we would stop for lunch, I saw that someone had erected a pair of tiny outhouses--concrete-walled, tin-roofed structures, the kind with a splintery wooden bench with a hole over a deep, smelly pit. Now, this was better than the "bathroom" we'd dug for ourselves last night, so I hurried over to use one. But as I reached for the door handle, suddenly something threw itself against the door from the inside. Something big. Something that made the tin door shake. I took a step back. After a moment's silence, the thing hit the door again. I saw the handle rattle, but the door stayed closed. Then, as if enraged, it began throwing itself against the walls, against the door again, even against the tin roof. Hitting with such force that the roof lifted a couple of inches off the concrete walls before crashing down again. "What the hell is that?" one of us asked. "Is someone stuck in there?" "Hello?" I called, my voice shaky. "Do you need help?" At the first sound of our voices, the thing had stopped its assault. But only silence greeted my question. A waiting silence, as it was listening. "Oh come on!" someone said, stepping forward and yanking at the door. But the door was locked. And the act of trying to open it set the creature off. Again it crashed into walls, into the door. Again, in a paroxysm of fury, it slammed into the roof...once, then once more with tremendous force, before it fell still. "We have to see what's in there," someone said. "What if it's someone who's delerious, who's sick, who's been stuck in there for days?" They all looked at me. "Joe, you provoked it," they said. "You get to see what's in there." So that's how I found myself standing on someone's shoulders, a flashlight between my teeth, using all my strength to pry a corner of the tin roof off the concrete walls. Aiming the flashlight down into the small room, and seeing.... Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The outhouse was empty. There was nothing there. No man. No creature. Nothing. Unless.... I aimed the beam down through the hole in the wooden bench--and just for an instant I thought I saw something move down there, the slightest shifting of the darkness in the pit. Just that, and no more. I let the roof drop back into place with a clang, then jumped down. "Let's get out of here," I said. As we walked away, we heard it start up again, begin to slam against the door, the walls, the roof. But we didn't look back, and we didn't speak until we were out of sight of the clearing, and back within view of our camp. Joe (a true story for you all before I go away for a few days)

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