The Moonlit Road - Sleepyhead

Written by Craig Dominey

When I was a kid back home in South Alabama, whenever I would get real rambunctious and wouldn't go to bed, all my folks had to do was tuck me in and tell me about Ol' Sleepyhead - that crazy old woman who could never fall asleep. That story could always make me go straight to sleep the minute the lights were turned out.

The story goes like this - many years ago, there used to be this old couple named Flowers who lived on a huge farm outside of town. Mr. Flowers was a very prosperous farmer; with bountiful fields and lots of livestock. Even in the driest months, the old man still found a way to make lots of money off his land. And the more successful he got, the more his farm grew.

House

Well, you know what they say about having lots of things - the more stuff you got, the more you have to take care of. Well, Mrs. Flowers found that out the hard way. One hot summer afternoon, her husband had a sudden heart attack while working out in the fields. He died shortly thereafter, leaving the entire farm in his wife's care. The couple had no children, and Mrs. Flowers didn't know the first thing about farming - she had always left farm business to her husband. Now she was all alone.

Mrs. Flowers did her best to take care of everything, but soon it became too much to bear. The house became cluttered and dirty, the fields dry and weed-infested, and the livestock grew malnourished and skinny. What's worse, she became so consumed with what needed to be done that she couldn't sleep at night. She'd toss and turn, making mental lists of what needed to be done each day, and what bills needed to be paid.

Old Door

Mrs. Flowers tried everything to fall asleep. She'd take a hot bath, read the most boring book she could find, then count sheep in her head. And though she normally frowned on drinking, she'd occasionally crack open her husband's whiskey and make a hot toddy before bedtime - but nothing worked. She became constantly tired and listless, having very little energy to do her daily chores. Her skin turned pale, and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. It got to the point where she was nervous about going to bed at all. For each morning, the crowing of the rooster and the piercing beams of sunlight coming through her bedroom window signaled the end of yet another sleepless night. Friends who called on her were shocked at her appearance, and whispered to one another that she looked like walking death.

So in desperation, Mrs. Flowers decided to pay a visit to a local conjure woman who lived in an old shack at the edge of the swamp. Perhaps she could come up with some sort of spell or potion that would help her sleep. Most folks were scared to go near her, thinking she was an evil witch. But poor, tired Mrs. Flowers felt that all her other options had run out.

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