Tag Archives: horror

Imagination

My mother (when she was alive) had always accused me of having an over-active imagination. I don’t agree. I just happened to experience some things that other people find weird but for me ordinary. I didn’t ask for it nor fantasize about it. Who would want to imagine such things anyway? For all of the things I had experienced and seen, people might think that I believe in mystics or such phenomena but the truth is I don’t. I don’t believe in ghosts or anything supernatural, I don’t even believe in heaven or hell but I do believe in the parallel universes. I really think that there are other dimensions out there apart from this one and sometimes they collided with each other that’s why some unexplainable incidents happened. I believe there are portals to other worlds, other planes so different yet similar to ours and I am convinced that every so often its inhabitants somehow find their ways into this world and create havoc because they are scared maybe? Perhaps confused? Just happy to be here? Or simply to our understanding, evil. I don’t know. 

Here are some examples of what I have experienced so far. I let you be the judge if indeed I have an over-active imagination. For the record, it is not all of it, it’s only the icing on the cake.

Have fun reading and I hope I will not alienate you from visiting my space again. Till next time? 

Witch_IV_by_love_chizue

Images: Witch_IV_by_love_chizue

Living With C-PTSD Following An Abusive Relationship

For many years I was in an extremely destructive relationship with someone who has NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) and during that time I was regularly subjected to a variety of emotional, mental and physical abuse.

Every day I walked on eggshells, living in fear of saying or doing something that might trigger an aggressive response.

Many people might wonder why I, or anyone else, would remain in this kind of environment, but by the time I fully recognized that I was in extreme danger, I was already badly emotionally and mentally weakened and debilitated.

I was living in terror waiting to be attacked at any moment and yet I did not feel as though I had the strength or courage to remove myself from it.

Abuse doesn’t always happen overtly and it isn’t always easy to recognize. Often it is a covert, insidious, invisible drip that slowly poisons the victim’s mind so they don’t trust their own judgment, is unable to make life-changing decisions and feels as though they don’t have the coping skills necessary to get help or leave.

It took me a long time, and everything I had, to pull myself from the bottom of the deep dark hell I existed in and to get myself to a place of safety.

By the time I walked away, I thought that the nightmare was over. But in so many other ways, it had only just begun.

The terrors of the taunts, torture, and torment that had become my normality didn’t subside. They remained alive and relieved themselves in the form of intrusive, regular flashbacks.

Many months after I had left the relationship I discovered that I was suffering from C-PTSD, (Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.) C-PTSD is a result of persistent psychological trauma in an environment where the victim believes they are powerless and that there is no escape.

C-PTSD is slightly different than PTSD, which is brought on by experiencing one solitary, traumatic incident, or it can develop due to an accumulation of incidents. Although both C-PTSD and PTSD both developed from my experiences, I identify more with C-PTSD, as it was the effects of the prolonged exposure to repetitive and chronic trauma that I felt I couldn’t escape from that affected me the most.

For many months after leaving the relationship I struggled to sleep at night, and when I did I often woke trembling after experiencing terrifying reoccurring dreams. On many occasions when I did eventually sleep I would sleep solidly for at least 24 hours, in such deep slumber that I would struggle to wake from it and when I did I would feel fatigued, spaced out and as though I was numbly sleep-walking through the day.

I was easily startled and panicked at the slightest sudden movement or loud noise.

I was ultra-sensitive, on edge and highly alert most of the time, which I believe was my mind’s way of forming some sort of self-protection to keep me aware so that I avoided similar potentially dangerous situations.

At the mention of certain words, names or places I felt nauseous and dizzy and would become extremely distressed. A painful tight knot developed in my stomach every time something occurred to remind me of the trauma.

I still have difficulty remembering large phases of my life, and for a long time I struggled to stay focused, and my concentration abilities were very poor.

I would get upset easily, especially if I was in a tense environment. I had constant anxiety and was regularly in fight-or-flight mode.

I didn’t eat properly. I had no motivation and suicidal thoughts regularly flooded my mind.

I had lost my spark.

One aspect of the aftermath of the relationship that affected me most was the daily gaslighting that I endured. This left me finding it difficult to believe anything people would tell me, and I analyzed, questioned and dissected everything.

Forming new relationships, whether friendships or romantic, was almost impossible as I struggled to trust people’s intentions and felt scared of possible underlying, hidden motives and agendas for their words or actions.

I dissociated from most of what I had been through and pretended, even to myself, that the abuse wasn’t as serious as it was. Partly because I felt ashamed that I had not left sooner and also because I wanted to defend and protect the person I was involved with, as I still cared for him. Therefore, I rarely mentioned the relationship to anyone and froze and shut down through stress (sometimes resulting in a meltdown) if anyone tried to talk to me about it.

It got to the stage where I withdrew completely as leaving the house became overwhelming and a major ordeal because I wouldn’t/couldn’t open up and connect and I felt terrified of everything and everyone.

One thing that became apparent and harrowing was that although I had gained enough strength to walk away and I felt empowered by the decision knowing that it was the right choice for my emotional, mental and physical health, I was suppressing all my emotions and feelings and I was far from okay on the inside.

There were many rollercoaster emotions trapped inside me and trying to ignore and contain them was doing more harm than good. In many ways, the ending of the relationship had signaled closure to one phase of my life and had opened up a new chapter that was going to take a little time to get used to.

It appeared that while I was in the relationship I had become so used to enduring a wide variety of narcissistic behaviors that they had almost become normal and acceptable. Stepping away from all that I had known felt like I had walked from one planet and onto another and I hadn’t got a clue how to navigate it on my own or how to relate to anyone on it.

I soon realized that unless I started to focus on healing myself, I would remain a victim of my previous circumstances as the build-up of emotional injuries, wounds, and scars needed urgent attention. Otherwise, they would seep out and silently destroy sections of my life without me being aware that the past was still controlling me.

It was up to me to rebuild my strength and confidence, otherwise, I would end up alienating myself and causing further damage.

I had a lot of inner healing work and restructuring to do and trying to convince myself that just because I had left the relationship everything would be okay, was not going to be enough.

The first and most significant step I took was admitting and fully accepting that the carnage I had experienced was real and had a huge impact on my emotional and mental wellbeing.

I had been surviving by a fragile thread in a domestic war zone and for far too long I had been intimidated, manipulated, lied to and threatened, amongst many other toxic and dysfunctional behaviors. The whole relationship had been an illusion and resulted in me having serious trust issues as well as losing the will to live. I not only struggled to trust other people, but I also realized I had no faith at all in my own intuition, perception or judgment.

Finally, I gave myself permission to take as long as I needed to heal, even if it meant I would spend the rest of my life slowly putting the pieces of my life back together. I came to terms with the fact that there is no timescale for healing and there was no hurry.

I allowed myself to grieve the relationship and the loss of the person I had separated from. This was extremely difficult to do as I had so many mixed emotions due to the scale of the abuse. For a long time, I denied my grief, as it was complex to come to terms with how I could miss someone who had been responsible for vicious behavior towards me.

One of the hardest parts to dealing with this grief was feeling as though I could not talk openly to anyone, as I believed no one would understand how I could remain in such an abusive relationship and still miss many aspects of that person and the life I had with them.

The reason getting over this type of relationship can be so difficult is that many narcissists display both “Jekyll and Hyde” type characteristics, one minute appearing extremely loving and affectionate and the next crippling, cruel and cunning.

It is not easy to explain that I deeply loved and badly missed one side of the person I was involved with, and disliked, feared and never wanted to hear his name mentioned at the same time. Even thinking about this can make one feel a little crazy as it does not feel natural to love and hate the same person.

One essential step toward healing from narcissistic abuse, I believe, is finding someone to really confide in and who doesn’t judge or question anything that is said. Being free to talk openly and comfortably without having to over-explain is vital to start putting the accumulation of experiences into some sort of context. If there isn’t a friend on hand, it is worth taking time to seek out a good counselor with an understanding of C-PTSD deriving from abusive relationships.

The most important thing that helped me to heal was focusing more on healing and rebuilding myself. Although I took time out to research and gain knowledge and understanding of the type of abuse I had been subjected to, I spent far more of my time indulging myself in whatever felt good for my soul.

Slowly and surely I rebuilt myself, formed new friendships, learned to trust people and forgave all of the past. There are still days that it haunts me, but there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel and although it can be difficult to believe that when you start walking through it, as soon as you take the first steps of acceptance the path ahead begins to become clear.

Healing comes by taking one small step at a time, with gentle, loving care and without hurry.

~ Elephant Journal via Alex Myles


Sadly it happened to me. It took me twenty years to wake up and gather all the courage I could muster to walk out and leave for good. Though not every instance of the story above is similar to mine -some of them are better a lot is worse- the experience is similar though different in context. I still suffering from the consequences of my bitter past. I still lock the door and sleep with a big knife under my pillow. I still have nightmares and trust issues and still blame myself for everything. I have no hope anymore that it will get better in time. I am too old and learned to live with the traumas. But who knows… maybe miracles do exist. I’d like to experience a day without me being in a fight or flight mode. I wonder how it is to feel safe. Normal and safe. – Bebong 

Injured woman leaning sadly on wooden wall

Enamored

… with the works of H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, and Stephen King. I can sympathize with and relate to them personally. I might not write in the same genre but in the dark corridors of my head dwell the same horrors, the same twisted thoughts that are more real than reality itself. I adore this trio. I love how their minds work. They are the pyramid of my belief in written words, in the power of writing, in the beauty of story telling. They are the corner stones of my passion for creating tales, my source of inspiration. I will be forever in awe of their talents.

Witch_IV_by_love_chizue

Witch_II_by_love_chizue

Once Upon A Time

For many years I was in an extremely destructive relationship with someone who has NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) and during that time I was regularly subjected to a variety of emotional, mental and physical abuse.

Every day I walked on eggshells, living in fear of saying or doing something that might trigger an aggressive response.

Many people might wonder why I, or anyone else, would remain in this kind of environment, but by the time I fully recognized that I was in extreme danger, I was already badly emotionally and mentally weakened and debilitated.

I was living in terror waiting to be attacked at any moment and yet I did not feel as though I had the strength or courage to remove myself from it.

Abuse doesn’t always happen overtly and it isn’t always easy to recognize. Often it is a covert, insidious, invisible drip that slowly poisons the victim’s mind so they don’t trust their own judgment, is unable to make life-changing decisions and feels as though they don’t have the coping skills necessary to get help or leave.

It took me a long time, and everything I had, to pull myself from the bottom of the deep dark hell I existed in and to get myself to a place of safety.

By the time I walked away, I thought that the nightmare was over. But in so many other ways, it had only just began.

The terrors of the taunts, torture and torment that had become my normality didn’t subside. They remained alive and relived themselves in the form of intrusive, regular flashbacks.

Many months after I had left the relationship I discovered that I was suffering from C-PTSD, (Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.) C-PTSD is a result of persistent psychological trauma in an environment where the victim believes they are powerless and that there is no escape.

C-PTSD is slightly different than PTSD, which is brought on from experiencing one solitary, traumatic incident, or it can develop due to an accumulation of incidents. Although both C-PTSD and PTSD both developed from my experiences, I identify more with C-PTSD, as it was the effects of the prolonged exposure to repetitive and chronic trauma that I felt I couldn’t escape from that affected me the most.

For many months after leaving the relationship I struggled to sleep at night, and when I did I often woke trembling after experiencing terrifying reoccurring dreams. On many occasions when I did eventually sleep I would sleep solid for at least 24 hours, in such deep slumber that I would struggle to wake from it and when I did I would feel fatigued, spaced out and as though I was numbly sleep-walking through the day.

I was easily startled and panicked at the slightest sudden movement or loud noise.

I was ultra-sensitive, on edge and highly alert most of the time, which I believe was my mind’s way of forming some sort of self-protection to keep me aware so that I avoided similar potentially dangerous situations.

At the mention of certain words, names or places I felt nauseous and dizzy and would become extremely distressed. A painful tight knot developed in my stomach every time something occurred to remind me of the trauma.

I still have difficulty remembering large phases of my life, and for a long time I struggled to stay focused, and my concentration abilities were very poor.

I would get upset easily, especially if I was in a tense environment. I had constant anxiety and was regularly in fight-or-flight mode.

I didn’t eat properly. I had no motivation and suicidal thoughts regularly flooded my mind.

I had lost my spark.

One aspect of the aftermath of the relationship that affected me most was the daily gaslighting that I endured. This left me finding it difficult to believe anything people would tell me, and I analyzed, questioned and dissected everything.

Forming new relationships, whether friendships, or romantic, was almost impossible as I struggled to trust people’s intentions and felt scared of possible underlying, hidden motives and agendas for their words or actions.

I dissociated from most of what I had been through and pretended, even to myself, that the abuse wasn’t as serious as it was. Partly because I felt ashamed that I had not left sooner and also because I wanted to defend and protect the person I was involved with, as I still cared for him. Therefore, I rarely mentioned the relationship to anyone and froze and shut down through stress (sometimes resulting in a meltdown) if anyone tried to talk to me about it.

It got to the stage where I withdrew completely as leaving the house became overwhelming and a major ordeal because I wouldn’t/couldn’t open up and connect and I felt terrified of everything and everyone.

One thing that became apparent and harrowing was that although I had gained enough strength to walk away and I felt empowered by the decision knowing that it was the right choice for my emotional, mental and physical health, I was suppressing all my emotions and feelings and I was far from okay on the inside.

There were many rollercoaster emotions trapped inside me and trying to ignore and contain them was doing more harm than good. In many ways the ending of the relationship had signaled closure to one phase of my life and had opened up a new chapter that was going to take a little time to get used to.

It appeared that while I was in the relationship I had become so used to enduring a wide variety of narcissistic behaviors that they had almost become normal and acceptable. Stepping away from all that I had known felt like I had walked from one planet and onto another and I hadn’t got a clue how to navigate it on my own or how to relate to anyone on it.

I soon realized that unless I started to focus on healing myself, I would remain a victim of my previous circumstances as the build up of emotional injuries, wounds and scars needed urgent attention. Otherwise, they would seep out and silently destroy sections of my life without me being aware that the past was still controlling me.

It was up to me to rebuild my strength and confidence, otherwise I would end up alienating myself and causing further damage.

I had a lot of inner healing work and restructuring to do and trying to convince myself that just because I had left the relationship everything would be okay, was not going to be enough.

The first and most significant step I took was admitting and fully accepting that the carnage I had experienced was real and had a huge impact on my emotional and mental wellbeing.

I had been surviving by a fragile thread in a domestic war zone and for far too long I had been intimidated, manipulated, lied to and threatened, amongst many other toxic and dysfunctional behaviors. The whole relationship had been an illusion and resulted in me having serious trust issues as well as losing the will to live. I not only struggled to trust other people, but I also realized I had no faith at all in my own intuition, perception or judgment.

Finally, I gave myself permission to take as long as I needed to heal, even if it meant I would spend the rest of my life slowly putting the pieces of my life back together. I came to terms with the fact that there is no timescale to healing and there was no hurry.

I allowed myself to grieve the relationship and the loss of the person I had separated from. This was extremely difficult to do as I had so many mixed emotions due to the scale of the abuse. For a long time I denied my grief, as it was complex to come to terms with how I could miss someone who had been responsible for vicious behavior towards me.

One of the hardest parts to dealing with this grief was feeling as though I could not talk openly to anyone, as I believed no one would understand how I could remain in such an abusive relationship and still miss many aspects of that person and the life I had with them.

The reason getting over this type of relationship can be so difficult is that many narcissists display both “Jeckyll and Hyde” type characteristics, one minute appearing extremely loving and affectionate and the next crippling, cruel and cunning.

It is not easy to explain that I deeply loved and badly missed one side of the person I was involved with, and disliked, feared and never wanted to hear his name mentioned at the same time. Even thinking about this can make one feel a little crazy as it does not feel natural to love and hate the same person.

One essential step toward healing from narcissistic abuse, I believe, is finding someone to really confide in and who doesn’t judge or question anything that is said. Being free to talk openly and comfortably without having to over explain is vital to start putting the accumulation of experiences into some sort of context. If there isn’t a friend on hand, it is worth taking time to seek out a good counselor with an understanding of C-PTSD deriving from abusive relationships.

The most important thing that helped me to heal was focusing more on healing and rebuilding myself. Although I took time out to research and gain knowledge and understanding of the type of abuse I had been subjected to, I spent far more of my time indulging myself in whatever felt good for my soul.

Slowly and surely I rebuilt myself, formed new friendships, learned to trust people and forgave all of the past. There are still days that it haunts me, but there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel and although it can be difficult to believe that when you start walking through it, as soon as you take the first steps of acceptance the path ahead begins to become clear.

Healing comes by taking one small step at a time, with gentle, loving care and without hurry…

Author: Alex Myles

Injured woman leaning sadly on wooden wall

Come Up To The Attic

Come up to the attic, come one and come all.

Climb the steep ladder, its right down the hall.

I promise, I’ll hold your hand, and you won’t fall.

Come up and play with the rest of the dolls.

 

Come sweet little “precious”, your new journey’s begun.

But, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up to the attic, we’ll play dress up sweet angels.

Don the brightest of pearls ‘round little necks that’ll strangle.

 

Wrap ‘round slender waists flowing sashes that’ll mangle.

Fluffy boas ‘round bodies that’ll clutch if not handled

Prance streets with bright costumes, dirty school girls to nuns.

Please, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

 

Come up to the attic, don the make-up of time.

Cover up with blue shadow those heavy eye lines

Replace blotches with blushes, bruises hidden, skin fine.

Bruised lips ‘placed with red ‘stick, stash borrowed from mine.

 

New look beheld by dank alleys hidden from sun.

Oh, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up to the attic, and play romance games, honey

With grown men that give gifts of sedative candy

 

Bring you to rose-petal rooms with lights that are dimming

And lay you on holy mattresses that are ever so comfy

Now, just lie there pumpkin, let the men have their fun

No, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

 

Come up to the attic, and play with sharp things.

Poke ourselves with needles, for a moment they’ll sting.

Make you shake, make you tremble, make your ears ring.

Shoots down your spine, make your bones rattle and sing

 

Then dance for more in the streets from Monday to Sun.

Hell, darling don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Now come down to my basement, and see what’s in store.

See angels fall from flight, to scratch the blisters that sore.

 

See the doves turn to crows, into scavenging whores

See pumpkins turn ill and rotten, fall dead on the floor.

See the dolls wander aimless for futures so bleak.

And I turn away while mascara runs down on porcelain cheeks…

 

~ found poetry

49

Daily Prompt: Eerie

The Damn Chest

I was on vacation for four months that year. To avoid the usual holiday misery, I decided to rent a place for myself (but I took my mother with me for safety precaution, hers; not mine) and pursued the peace I was desperately longing for; away from everything, but mostly from the people who wanted a piece of me one way or another.

So, there I was in my two-bedroom, cute, pink bungalow in the middle of a park (which serves as a multi-purpose function hall for private occasions such as weddings, baptismal and such) minding my own business, singing karaoke, roaming around the gorgeous garden, walking along the beach at sundown, chatting with the people who managed the place, life was indeed almost perfect.

At least I thought it was; till one stormy night.

I got it in my head to wade in the water to bring warm clothing, money, and food to ‘someone unfortunate’ who was always hanging around the town’s rotunda.

I said to myself: the person will have some difficulty doing the usual routine of begging for the things s/he needs in that kind of weather. I reckoned I have the means and the time to make a difference even for a day so I thought: why not. The gesture seems noble enough but in hindsight, bad idea. The result was: an unpredicted asthma attack!

So, wheezing, coughing, labored breathing, I tried to find sleep but to no avail. Then, all of a sudden from nowhere, I heard someone whispered: “There is a chest. Go! Look for it! It’s there!” There was no use searching for another person, my mother was sounds asleep and it was 2:00 o’clock in the morning; I was the only one awake for miles. Besides, the voice was clearly only in my head. I tried to concentrate and listen to it. (More like ‘feeling’ for it) After few minutes, I woke up my mother.

Armed with a big bolo, I began dismantling a portion of the wooden wall in the upstairs bedroom saying to myself: I can afford the damage. I could if I don’t get too carried away. And so I went on, thinking: if my hunch turned out to be wrong and I was only hallucinating (I had the right to be, I was having high fever) and the chest is not behind this part of the wall, I could end up breaking the whole thing for no reason at all.

After creating a sizable hole, I lit a candle and shone the light in the cavity I found behind the wall. First, I saw nothing. It was too dark to see anything, but I was too stubborn to admit defeat; I cannot be wrong. (not after I wreck the wall of a rental place) when my eyes were finally adjusted to the darkness I saw an outline of something rectangular; I asked my mother to lights more candles (she, by the way, was trembling) And there it was, old and grey; the darn chest.

It was difficult to haul the casket out; simply because the hole I created was directly above the stairs. There was simply no place to put my feet on to balance myself and the thing was humongous.

Asthma was forgotten, I tried to hold my feet steady on both sides of the baluster and with all my strength, hauled the darn coffer out! (The voice said I will find my picture there and things I needed to further help unfortunate people) I thought: you bet.

Ignoring the rattle of my mother, I opened the chest and what I had found???

Lying inside the chiffonier was a bank book, an insurance policy, an SSS insurance policy complete with all the necessary papers to collect the money. What on earth I’m going to do with all these??? I thought to myself.

There was also a glass box with pieces of jewelry (that looks white gold or silver to me) no picture of me but a hand-drawn likeness of eyes, nose, and lips! No actual face but the resemblance was striking. I immediately stopped digging. (I never reach even half-way into the chest, too creepy even for me) and stared at the damn thing dumbfounded.

The next morning, I went to the owner of the park and told them my story.

They confirmed the name I saw on all the papers. According to them, the person was the original owner of the house. But there was something they could not understand, the place was sold three times over already, and the man whom the crate belonged to had died recently; a week ago to be exact. They said he has one daughter only; a teacher. Whereabouts? Unknown!

I tried to find the daughter or any relatives for that matter. My search turned out fruitless. All the time I was doing this, the house smelled like a rotten flesh. I know the smell; I used to work as a nurse. But I was the only one who could smell it, strange.

I have questioned myself about the darn trunk: Why on earth he hid the chest from his family? Why he never remove it from where it was when he sold the place? And the million dollar question of course was…why me???

I left the house and the country case still unsolved. The chest… I left it in the care of the people that manage the park. I have no idea what they did with it. I’m not even sure if I want to know.

Sometimes, I wonder… why these things always happening to me???

bigstock-Chest-of-treasure-32660807-520x393

Maybe next time

Where to begin?

Today, (3:51) for the first time, I really start to consider a probable solution for my on-going problem. (Insomnia) I never even toy with the idea before, but months of not being able to sleep at night and being drawn to bed at dawn forced me to think the unthinkable.

As long as I can remember, I have this strange bond with the night. I could be dead tired working whole day, but when the sun goes down, I feel re-charged! Energetic! As if there is some electric current running through my body. I feel excited, euphoric, alive and almost happy!

When it gets dark, I feel so different, like I suddenly possess some extra senses and the other five are working much, much keener, sharper, stronger. It makes me restless. I want per se to move, to do something, to channel energy and whatever it is that is happening to me. I started taking long walks at an early age, later, it manifested in different strange ways and habits; like hanging around videokes, doing graveyard shifts, combing the whole areas for fiestas, outdoors parties for no matter how recluse or introvert I am, I cannot be confined. I hate discos and closed places. I need to be in the middle of the people in open areas, I need space!

What I did  when I was younger was organized get together in strange places in the middle of the night, like playing spirit of the glass in town cemetery, breaking in empty houses, sitting on the roof of some school building watching the moon, sleeping in churches, and spending nights in catastrophe areas. I remember when a whole subdivision collapsed due to some engineering faults, the place looks like some ghost town but to me it looks beautiful! I did everything in my power to be able to get in there even though the place was heavily guarded. We spent few nights there, me and a group of young kids. Till some few years ago I always surrounded myself with pretty, young people. I like them around me. I fed on their innocence, energy, enthusiasm and zest. They inspired me and heal my wandering soul in some ways.

obsesion-12583

When I get older and circumstances rendered me almost prisoner, I turned to books, and later in writing. I often let myself be locked in, in a library or museum. The time I spent there was one of the few happiest moments in my life. I felt like a kid in a candy/toy store.

When situations unable me to continue my odd nocturnal habits, I contented myself by redecorating my house or rearranging furniture in the middle of the night till dawn. Of course it wasn’t the same, but I’ve got to do something, anything. In worse cases, I sorted out my closet and watched old films. Very degrading.

Today, lying next to D. I think the unthinkable; what if I give in to inevitable? What if I taste blood? Before, I would not even consider it, I thought the idea would repulse me, but no, it was… tempting. I closed my eyes and imagine a warm blood sliding across my tongue through my throat, the thought is sort of inviting, exciting even. I could almost taste the fluid, and contrary to what I expected, it brought smile on my face.

I reached out and touched D.’s warm body, it felt good! I looked at his neck and felt the main artery underneath, it pulsed and throbbed  under my fingers, I thought… would I like the taste? Would it be liberating? Will I find my true calling? Could it ease my nerves? Can it cure my restlessness and insane wanderings?

I removed my hand from his neck reluctantly saying to myself: “Maybe next time. Maybe next time…”

10563218_713217388750439_1857542706475325062_n2

Over The Edge

Someone said to me that only those you truly (love) care about can drive you to the brink of insanity. I disagree. Even random strangers, co-workers, neighbours, people in the streets, bosses, supermarket clerks, authorities, door-to-door salesmen and religious visitors; the government and the ones on the news can drive anyone raving mad at some point. And drivers on the road. Especially drivers on the road… Oh, Lord! Please don’t make me start with that. 

cxlk

Nightshift

“The thing under my bed waiting to grab my ankle isn’t real. I know that, and I also know that if I’m careful to keep my foot under the covers, it will never be able to grab my ankle.”

~Stephen King

Don’t laugh, but what he said is true, at least for me. There are some things that I do obsessively, like before I go to sleep, I will check the bathroom, the dressing and the two guest rooms for any sign of intruders. Then I will go to my own bedroom, look under the bed, switch on the night light (can’t sleep without) lock the door, be sure that my phone and my knife are under my pillow and start making a nest. I have a big hotdog  pillow on my right side of the bed and two more square ones on my left. These I believe will keep a Ju-On or anybody from laying next to me. Then there is another set of pillows against the open headboard of my bed to keep someone from pulling my hair from under the bed. I never forget to bunch up the sheets/comforter around me and fold them under my feet because like Stephen King said: to stop that thing from grabbing my ankle…

hide_under_the_bed_by_TaffyToy2

images: taffytoy2 & chemical babygirl

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By unanimous vote, they elected me to be the one who was going to go back home and get some lunch. They were all adults with the exception of few children around my age. But those are direct descendants, I was the intruder, therefore, I had no right to protest. It never occurred to me to say I did not know the way, it was my first time there, I was not familiar with the terrain and the place was not exactly highlighted in the map (besides, there was no map) in fact, it was in the middle of nowhere and if I remember correctly, quite a long walk from where we came from. Why people had to wash their clothes in God’s forsaken place where the water was so brown and dirty the surface was adorned with floating unspeakable, I had no idea. But who am I to complain? I was only eight years old and knew nothing so, off I went.

It was a glorious day (like most days in that part of the world) the sun was beating down my neck and there was a slight breeze which I was grateful for it provided some respite from all that heat. I have chosen the path to follow from crisscrossing beaten tracks by feelings alone since I had no idea where to go. In my thoughts, I was more or less halfway when all of a sudden from one second to another it went dark. Not so dark that I could not see anymore where I was heading but dark enough to think that from noon the day shifted suddenly to a beginning of an evening.  So far so good.

After few hundreds meter, I found myself on a sloping path that leads to a river. Some river. The water was ink black and the trees that were standing on its banks were twisting violently in the wind which for some reason did not affect other vegetation surrounding the area including the ones behind me. I will tell you this because it’s true. When one is so young and one’s mind is not yet corrupted one doesn’t feel easily afraid.

Though the situation might look bizarre to most people, to me that was just another day in paradise. I have been brought up not to ask questions but follow instruction blindly or otherwise, all the hell will break loose, so, I waded in.

There were various things in that murky water. All of them floating against the current. One was a small coffin which passed directly in front of me I could not resist opening the already askew lid. Lying inside was a small child of around five years old in a fetal position, eyes closed; I quickly replaced the lid and sent the box on its way.

I came out into an old abandoned cemetery. It was so dilapidated that some of the graves were broken and lying open. By that time, it was already raining so hard I was soaked through and through. I didn’t remember when it had started because I was so engrossed with the idea of reaching home and completing the important task of getting lunch for these people that I didn’t care much about the rest.

Negotiating my way between broken debris, I felt the hairs on my neck suddenly standing up and I knew by instinct that I was not alone anymore. I looked up and saw a baby boy of around 6-8 months old, bald and naked perched on top of a broken high concrete wall, smiling malevolently at me, eyes blazing.  Most people would run by then but not me, I started walking slowly in reverse instead keeping my eyes on the baby. What happened next will be forever engraved in my memory as long as I live. When I thought he could not see me anymore even from his peripheral vision, I decided to turn around and was about to run when the evil-looking infant twisted his head and turned it around 360 degrees to my direction.  My mind corrupted or not suddenly screamed at me to run and I did_ as fast as I could.

My feet brought me to the adjacent newly built memorial garden. I saw that there was a burial going on. I sought refuge from the rain under the rose bushes and watched. A very kind lady noticed me and came with her umbrella. She motioned for me to come with her inside the vehicle which was parked a few meters away. I refused.  She begged, cajoled to get me out from my shelter for seemed hours to me, but in the end, she gave up and drove away with sadness in her eyes. She told me I was pretty.

The rain stopped and I hopped on top of the low wall surrounding the property to find my way home. I like walking in that small tight space. I pretended I was on a balance beam. After a while, a cat joined me. S/he walked on the front of me and once and a while throw me side glances as if to see if I was still following. When the wall ended, we both jumped off and I was amazed to find out that I was home! I never see the cat again.  

To this day, I am still wondering… how things would’ve turned out if I have made a different decision in the past… like going with that (kind?) lady?

2009march510