We all have our little rituals - clapping twice when someone sneezes, swearing at a single magpie or crossing yourself when a black cat crosses your path. Tonight we look at the ritual of a man who hasn't seen anyone other than the postman and the midnight cashier for nearly twenty years.
He lives in a small brick house eight miles into the woods, a ten minute walk from the nearest road and over thirty miles from the closest town. He isn't alone though, despite what other folk say about him and his near-hermit lifestyle.
It's something more than a fox but less than a wolf, somewhere closer to a man than a beast and the only thing that stops it from trying to break into his house every night is the old song "A Change Is Going To Come" he sets up on the same record player his dad got him for Christmas.
As soon as the sun starts to set he hobbles out to his porch, opens the lid and gently places the needle at the start of the track. As it plays he heads back in, locks the door, closes the windows, barricades the fireplace and waits for that telltale clicking of claws against wood as it settles down to listen.
It always feels like the longest nine minutes of his life, those tense moments where it shuffles about to get comfortable and he wonders if the day has come when the song stops soothing it and it decides to finally end him. A deep, guttural sigh shakes the air around him and he finds himself mirroring that sigh.
When the final note has ended and the air is filled with the gentle crackle of the needle winding down he knows he's made it another night. The creature won't leave his porch but it won't try to attack him if he moves from his crouched position behind the sofa and heads to bed.
One day the record player will break beyond repair and the song won't play.
One day the song won't work any more and those claws will shred him apart like wet paper.
One day his luck will end, but not tonight.
He lives in a small brick house eight miles into the woods, a ten minute walk from the nearest road and over thirty miles from the closest town. He isn't alone though, despite what other folk say about him and his near-hermit lifestyle.
It's something more than a fox but less than a wolf, somewhere closer to a man than a beast and the only thing that stops it from trying to break into his house every night is the old song "A Change Is Going To Come" he sets up on the same record player his dad got him for Christmas.
As soon as the sun starts to set he hobbles out to his porch, opens the lid and gently places the needle at the start of the track. As it plays he heads back in, locks the door, closes the windows, barricades the fireplace and waits for that telltale clicking of claws against wood as it settles down to listen.
It always feels like the longest nine minutes of his life, those tense moments where it shuffles about to get comfortable and he wonders if the day has come when the song stops soothing it and it decides to finally end him. A deep, guttural sigh shakes the air around him and he finds himself mirroring that sigh.
When the final note has ended and the air is filled with the gentle crackle of the needle winding down he knows he's made it another night. The creature won't leave his porch but it won't try to attack him if he moves from his crouched position behind the sofa and heads to bed.
One day the record player will break beyond repair and the song won't play.
One day the song won't work any more and those claws will shred him apart like wet paper.
One day his luck will end, but not tonight.
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