A/N Sup? I'm binge watching Hogan's Heroes, as it is too hot to go outside; on Season 5. Yay for wasting your time watching TV! I'm gonna miss you when I get to Season 6, Kinch! Ahem, so anyway, here's an entry for the 2017 Short Story Speedwriting Contest AND for the Cardigan of Doom challenge by AnotherJounin. Cheers!
Me day 'ad gotten off to a typical start. Rollcall, breakfast, plottin' against the Nazis, you know, the usual. But at mail call, things started to cock up. In the mail, I 'ad gotten a package from me sister; beaten and bruised by the many hands I'm sure pawed through it. Inside there was a sweater, and unfortunately, I recognized it at once.
"Get it away from me!" I yelled, almost fallin' off me bunk. Several 'eads jerked up at me outburst. I'm sure they thought I 'ad lost the plot. "Ce que le diable est mal avec vous? J'ai presque eu une crise cardiaque*!" LeBeau fussed. "Yeah," Kinch joined in. "What's wrong Newkirk? Did one of the girls you dumped send you a stink bomb?" Laughter ensued.
"Oh, you're 'ilarious Kinch. I'm laughin' so 'ard me chest 'urts," I said, grumblin'. Carter's voice floated up from under our bunk. "But really Newkirk, what happened?"
I leaned over the edge of me bed to look at 'im. "It's the Cardigan of Doom. Me sister sent it to me, and now we are all gonna die."
Another shocked silence resulted from me statement. Then Olsen guffawed (the big wanker). "Cardigan of Doom? Really? I would have thought you'd love another sweater in this weather, what with all your griping." Someone yelled from the back of the barracks, "He's always grumpy, no matter what the weather."
"I wouldn't wear this thing if it was brass monkeys* outside. It's bad luck it is." One of the boys looked at me curiously. "How so?"
I cautiously lowered the sweater to the floor before I turned to answer. "The Cardigan of Doom has been in me family for three generations. Me great-grandmother made it for 'er 'usband right before 'e left 'er for another bird. She was actually givin' it to 'im when 'e told 'er, and she was so gutted that she cursed it. Three months later the cardigan came back with a newspaper clippin' that said 'Newkirk and New Wife Die in Fire. Only Thing Left: Sweater.'"
"Apparently, 'is 'ome had caught on fire and burned to the ground, only leavin' the sweater me great-grandmother 'ad made for 'im."
LeBeau scoffed. "So?" I gave LeBeau a look that should of sent tingles up 'is spine. "So, 'e was wearin' it when the 'ouse was in flames. A neighbor saw 'im wavin' out of the window while the 'ouse was an inferno around 'im. 'e still 'ad it on."
"It got sent from family to family, but it always ended back at me great-gran's feet; with a letter or note tellin' of the terrible death of the recipient. Eventually the old lady died, and the cardigan got passed to 'er son by the unfaithful 'usband. 'e died in when a burglar got in the 'ouse and stabbed 'im. Since then, the cursed jacket 'as killed every person who 'as owned it for more than three months. There have been suicides, murders, accidents, mobs, and once, an incident with a moggy*. But the outcome 'as been the same every time. Death."
I viewed the room, lookin' for smiles. I found none. I climbed down and gingerly picked up the blanket between two fingers. "What are you going to do with it?" Foster asked nervously.
"I dunno," I said. "I can't burn it, because it never burns. Can't sell it, or I'll curse some unlucky chap. It won't do to bury it, in case someone finds it."
Kinch still looked suspiciously at me then at the sweater. "Are you just kidding Newkirk? Cause if you are … " "You think I'm just having a laugh, do you? Well, then you just take it and see how well it suits you." Kinch shook his head. "Naw, I don't really like sweaters; too scratchy."
I smiled at him. "Of course mate, I know you're not scared. You just don't like scratchy sweaters."
Colonel 'ogan came into the room still readin' a letter. 'e stopped and looked up from 'is corespondence; frowning at the wide eyes of Carter. "What's wrong fellas? Did we get bad news from London?" Kinch shook 'is 'ead. "No sir. Newkirk was just telling us a scary story that involved his sweater, the Cardigan of Doom."
The Colonel stared. "The Cardigan of Doom." I nodded me 'ead vigorously. "Yes sir. You see me sweater was cursed … " "I don't want to know," 'ogan said. "Don't tell me. I don't want to hear." 'e turned and went back into 'is quarters.
We finally decided to throw it in a pond nearby. As we watched it sink down, the men who came with me let out a collective sigh of relief. We got back to the barracks just in time for evenin' rollcall. A few of the men 'ad a 'ard time fallin' to sleep that night, but eventually they drifted off. I 'owever, stayed awake. I 'ad killed two birds with one stone that day. I'd gotten rid of the manky* sweater Mave 'ad knit me, and pulled the biggest I'd ever accomplished. It took me quite a while to fall asleep, as I couldn't 'elp plannin' for the next April Fool's Day.
Oh that Newkirk! I wonder how long he worked on that prank. Or was it?
The Cardigan of Doom's story is based off of the ghost story surrounding a painting called "The Crying Boy".
According to : "The Crying Boy" is one of a series of paintings featuring tearful children staring out at the viewer. Mass-produced and widely distributed, copies upon copies of "The Crying Boy" have entered the world since the 1950s.
But in 1985, something strange happened. Stories began circulating — stories of prints of "The Crying Boy" being found in the ruins of burned houses, utterly unscathed. No fireman would allow a copy of the painting into his home, and people began to speak of them as something unnatural. Something evil.
*What the heck is wrong with you? I almost had a heart attack!
*A really bad storm or really cold weather
*A cat; mostly used for street or alley cats
*Disgusting or terrible