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Elvis in the Attic

By Catherine M. Morrison

We had an Elvis in the attic.  Again.

Echoing in the ducts, his voice woke me around 2 A.M.  I hopped from bed and headed for the attic–they always it up there.  A Vegas Elvis stood by a rack of old clothes singing “Blue Christmas” to them.

As I edged in the door, he segued to “Jingle Bell Rock.”  He waved me down to the front of his meager audience, conferring a special favor.  I settled cross-legged on the floor and enjoyed his tunes.

For months there has been an Elvis infestation all over town, but this was the first Vegas Elvis we’d got.  He worked the room hard, sweat dripping down the side of his forehead.  He was dressed in his trademark white jumpsuit with the spangles and beads and the big white cape he flourished dramatically.  The acoustics up here sucked, but even a big fat Elvis could rock the house.