C'est pas Les Morts Qui Me Font Peur

My mother, Eileen, remembers the local storyteller, Manuel Gaudet, visiting their house in the wintertime. She would sit with her sister Lorraine, two little girls in their nightdresses, back to back on the oven door to stay warm. There on their perch, they would listen to his tales of ghosts, forerunners, and spell casters. One night she asked him if he was afraid to go out in the dark after his terrifying storytelling and he responded, “C’est pas les morts qui me font peur, c’est les vivants”, or, “ It’s not the dead who worry me, it’s the living”.

C’est Pas Les Morts Qui Me Font Peur

 “Two sleepy heads, ready for their beds

Sitting back to back on the oven door

Listening to, Old Manuel

And all the tales he’s bound to tell

Hey Manuel…

Are your stories true?

That one you tell

 About “La Vielle Dollar”

Hey Manuel, ça me fait peur

These awful tales…

That we have heard

Ce n’est pas les morts qui me font peur

It’s not the dead that worry me

Only the ones that still have breath

C’est les vivants, C’est les vivants

C’est les vivants, C’est les vivants

Hey Manuel…

Why aren’t you afraid?

Out in the dark

Les jeteux de sorts

Hey Manuel on n’dort pas bien

We hear a knocking…

Upon the door

Hey Manuel…

Are your stories true

No one believes in

Les fantômes

Hey Manuel, you’ll have to run

They’ll follow you

All the way home

Ce n’est pas les morts qui me font peur

It’s not the dead that worry me

Only the ones that still have breath

C’est les vivants, C’est les vivants

C’est les vivants, C’est les vivants

Deux petites filles, avant d’aller au lit

Dos à dos, Sur la porte du four

En attendant, Vieux Manuel

Et tous les contes, à son retour