Got a secret, can you keep it?
Swear this one you’ll save
Better lock it in your pocket
Taking this one to the grave
If I show you, then I know you won’t tell what I said
‘Cause two can keep a secret if one of them is dead…

Benjamin Franklin.

What a perfectly odd way to start a post.

“Benjamin Franklin”.

But I’m going somewhere with this, so bear with me. You see, probably the most learned and accomplished of America’s founding fathers was really on to something in practically everything he did.

For instance, in one of his papers he advised men to keep older women as lovers for a variety of reasons, the final of which being that they are, and I quote, “so grateful”.

In another essay, a satire of scientific pretentiousness, he advised Americans should “fart proudly” the very second we discovered a means to make flatulence… pleasant.

This was one of the most educated and wisest men of the era.

But the quote that stuck with me forever, besides that one about piling into bathtubs with French women, was published in Poor Richard’s Almanac, July 1735, under the pseudonym Richard Saunders, and it reads as follows:

“Three may keep a Secret, if two of them are dead.”

Smart guy, that Franklin broski. Spot on with that particular observation.

Which brings us to our latest Buttkickin’ Halloween Songs selection. You see, there’s something particularly unnerving about a beautiful woman smiling sweetly at you while casually suggesting that you might have to die.

Even more so when there’s two of them. And neither are French and have zero interest in piling into a bathtub with you. Far from it. No, these women are entirely too preoccupied with a deliciously sinister little confection about trust, security, and absolute certainty you won’t spill a freakin’ word.

We’re talking about Secret, an absolutely creepy little number from sisters Allison and Catherine Pierce, better known collectively as The Pierces.

Taken from their 2007 album Thirteen Tales of Love and Revenge (which right then and there should tip you off as to what you’ve veered into), Secret is an irresistible little slice of dark indie pop, with an almost old-fashioned cabaret sensibility. The sisters’ gorgeous, intertwining harmonies float over a deceptively playful arrangement, conjuring something between a Victorian parlor song, a children’s nursery rhyme, and the soundtrack to a particularly elegant murder mystery.

You know, the sort of tune you might hear emanating from an upstairs bedroom in an abandoned mansion, just before discovering that the house hasn’t actually been occupied since 1893, and in fact that salt circle around the house didn’t show up by accident. And the drywall is reciting poetry. In Sanskrit. Which is a completely dead language. But I digress..

Accordingly, it’s the song’s central conceit that really gets under your skin. Secrets, betrayal, and the rather inconvenient problem of ensuring that nobody goes around telling everybody what they’re not supposed to know.

So that’s the solution, right? Dead people are exceptionally good at keeping secrets. Unless, you know, you got a Ouija board and a dream.

Here’s an interesting little tidbit: Catherine Pierce got the idea after spotting a Benjamin Franklin quotation about the difficulty of keeping secrets printed on somebody’s T-shirt. And from that bit of eighteenth-century wisdom, she and her sister fashioned one of the sweetest-sounding musical threats imaginable.

It behooves me to mention that many may recognize Secret as the theme song from Pretty Little Liars, but since I never watched a scintilla of whatever the hell that show was, it’s new to me. So there.

But even divorced from its television associations, this is an astonishingly effective little exercise in musical unease. There’s something about the contrast between those angelic harmonies and the decidedly unangelic sentiment that makes the whole affair feel deliciously wrong.

Which is to say, my fine Hokeyfolk, that is exactly what makes it such wonderful Halloween listening.

No vampires, werewolves, ghosts, or trolls. And again, no rampaging extraterrestrial pudding.

Instead we’re left with two lovely voices, a pretty melody, and the uncomfortable realization that somebody knows something they shouldn’t.

And someone with a sharp kitchen knife (and a dream) will do absolutely anything to keep you quiet.

So sleep tight, my friends. Listen to Secret.

And whatever you do, keep your damn mouth shut. Or just tell it to the drywall.

You swore you’d never tell
You swore you’d never tell
You swore you’d never tell
You swore you’d never tell…