Transcript
Speaker: The Bones of Fred McPhee by Eve Bunting There's a skeleton high in our sycamore tree, high as high can be. He was hung up there by my sister and me, high in our sycamore tree. His bones are white and he's long and lean there in our sycamore tree. His teeth are the biggest we've ever seen, grinning at Jesse and me.
Speaker: We brought him home from the harvest fair and named him Fred McPhee. He looks so scary dangling there, high in our sycamore tree. He isn't real, but it's hard to tell. He's plastic, head to toe, but all of his bones are joined so well, no one would ever know. At night, when the wind howls overhead, with ghoulish ghastly glee,
Speaker: Our skeleton dances the dance of the dead there in our sycamore tree. We'd like to take a peek out back, but who knows what we'd see? We hear those bones go clickety -clack, the bones of Fred McPhee.
Speaker: Our old dog, Sam, once snapped at flies around our sycamore tree. Now Sam stays home and the flies don't rise. It's such a mystery. Our rooster used to crow all day up in our sycamore tree. Now the rooster's gone and the hens won't lay since we got Fred McPhee.
Speaker: A great horned owl with yellow eyes sits in our sycamore tree. When we look up, those gleaming eyes are all that we can see. We'll let Fred hang till Halloween. He won't come down before. We'll hide him where he can't be seen till Halloween comes once more.
Speaker: The dark is dropping like a cowl. There's no star to be seen. What's wrong with Sam? We hear him howl this night of Halloween.
Speaker: The morning's bright and filled with light. But where is Fred McPhee? His bones have vanished in the night, gone from our sycamore tree. Did someone come by dead of night with only the owl to see? Did someone come by pale moonlight and cut down Fred McPhee?
Speaker: There's a mound below that's long and lean beneath our sycamore tree. And the mound is brown, not frosty green. We know what it might be. We know it's a grave out there on the slope beneath our sycamore tree. But who could it be that cut the rope that held up Fred McPhee?
Speaker: The grave sinks low, and we mark the spot with pebbles and shells from the sea. We hope that Fred will like it a lot, and sleep contentedly. But, when the wind howls overhead and shakes our sycamore tree, we hear them dancing the dance of the dead, the bones of Fred McPhee.
