I am being haunted. There are other stories of hauntings, but this is mine. I am going to detail the goings-ons here to preserve the history of what has been happening  just in case I am in over my head and the remedies I have to employ to rid my family of these spirits fail.

See what I did there?

See what I did there?

Let me start by saying the house in which I spent many years of my youth, and the house in which my parents still reside, is haunted. It was haunted before we moved in. Despite being creepy and scaring the ever-loving shit out of every member of my family at one time or another, the spirit in that house is not malicious. She is playful even, and from time to time will engage in light shenanigans. I remember one time my father was complaining about one of his shoes missing. Two weeks later it showed up on the front seat of his car. A few weeks ago my mother was making breakfast. She had a bowl of cereal and a bowl of fruit next to one another. She went out to the driveway to get the morning paper and when she came back her fruit was on top of her cereal. These are the types of harmless jokes the spirit brings to our house. Creepy, but never malicious.

I tell the above story as a showing of credibility, of sorts. I’ve lived among spirits, I am open to acknowledging their existence, and I do not deny them, despite being a hardline atheist. My veil has been lifted.

Background:

Both my daughters have seen what they referred to as “the man in the hat” in our house. In doing some research I found many children all over the world have seen this same character, and all reported good feelings associated with him.I have not felt any other presences in the house, nor has any member of my family open to such things. There have been no other instances until last week.

Current Events:

About six weeks ago, I saw a very creepy, shadow like figure lurking about my house. It was very low to the ground, something akin to what is below but without the red eyes or apparent indications of evil. It was a black outline, not outwardly hostile in any way. I informed it it was not welcome in my house and that it would be best to move on. It acknowledged me and simply vanished, I assume. I did not give it a second thought after that.

No red eyes, and no gravestones in the background.

No red eyes, and no gravestones in the background.

Sunday 11May2014:

Around 11 pm, I was sitting on my back porch as I am wont to do when it rains. My back porch has an aluminum roof and I sit out there and listen to the rain as I read to just veg. On this particular night I was sitting out there and it suddenly started down pouring very hard, very fast, and out of nowhere. It was raining so hard I couldn’t hear the game I was playing on my phone, and I remember having to turn up the volume, which seemed very bothersome to me. Suddenly, to my left and about ten feet away, I heard voices; a heated conversation. I looked but nobody was there in my backyard. The house next door to me is vacant, and there was nobody between me and that house despite the voices sounding as if they were coming from that very direction.

I got up and looked around, but there was nobody out, and even if there were, given how hard the rain was coming down, I wouldn’t have been able to hear them unless they were standing right in front of me. I could not make out their words, but I could hear the conversation. It was a man and a woman, the man was doing the majority of the talking. How I knew it was a man and a woman I don’t know, I just knew. I looked right at where the voices were coming from, and there was something there. Something.

I couldn’t make out shapes necessarily, but the falling rain highlighted something, or the absence of something, perhaps. The same way I knew it was a man and a woman told me there was something there.

More terrifying to me, however, was the realization that the voices were not coming from anywhere. Rather, the voices were in the rain. I know of no other way to say it except to say the voices were part of the rain itself. I went inside.

Almost upstairs I remembered I left the door to the screen porch open. I had to shut it so raccoons, etc. don’t make their way inside. The very second I stepped outside, I felt a very strong, definite, and looming presence to my left, staring at me, where the conversation would have been happening earlier. Whatever it was, however, was closer than ten feet, it was standing right outside the porch screen! I did not sense there was a body there, but rather a large head, or face, as if something twenty feet tall was bending down to look right at me.

Something like this is what I pictured in my mind.

Something like this is what I pictured in my mind.

I could feel how close it was as I traveled the ten feet to my porch door, refusing to be intimidated by its presence. I cannot say it was menacing me. I got the feeling it was more along the lines of questioning my existence in its world, not the other way around. I pulled the door closed, turned to my right (this way I wouldn’t have to face it), and walked back inside. As I did so, I could feel it staring at me from my right hand side.

Monday 12May2014:

I told my wife of these developments the next day. She related to me the following, which happened hours prior to my incident but as she went to sleep after, had no time to tell me that night.

Earlier in the evening, she told my child (G) to go brush her teeth. G walked upstairs, came back downstairs, and sat on the couch. When my wife asked her what happened to brushing her teeth, G said there was an old woman in the bathroom that told her she wasn’t done and to wait downstairs. My wife, of course, flipped out and ran upstairs as there are no old women living in my house. Upstairs she discovered an empty bathroom. Chalking it up to G trying to get out of brushing teeth, she didn’t pursue it until I related to her the story of the ghosts in the rain.

I tried asking her about the incident the next day after school. G’s memory had apparently rapidly faded, and my questions produced no answers, save for one. She repeatedly said, “the memory is no longer in my head.” This is not an acceptable response from a child her age. To date G cannot provide an accurate description of what was in the bathroom.

Tuesday 13May2014:

My oldest, M, was in the basement doing laundry. M came upstairs and asked my wife if she had ever felt like someone was watching them but nobody was there. Apparently, M felt as if something was watching M do the laundry. M did not feel threatened or creeped out enough to leave, just watched.

I had to contact a good buddy of mine, someone not only sensitive to such things but tuned into them. He told me he felt as if he was being watched when he was in our bathroom in the basement two weeks prior. The bathroom shares a wall with the laundry room, where M was.

That same night, I was laying down with my children saying goodnight to them. I heard my wife being dropped off from an event she had been at earlier in the night. I heard the van door slide open, and I heard her talking before coming in the house, but I could not hear what she was saying. She came inside, came upstairs, and asked me how I had gotten there so quickly. I asked her what she was talking about, and she asked me if I was just in the backyard. I informed her I had been laying down with the kids for about 20 minutes. She suddenly got pale white and almost passed out.

She said when she was dropped off she heard me calling to her from the backyard (using my nickname for her), which can be seen from the driveway, and trying to persuade her to go into the backyard. She said she told me no, that she was going in through the front door. She did not understand how I could get from the backyard to laying down with the kids so quickly. Easy – I didn’t. Whatever or whoever was calling to her from the backyard was not me. Whatever is around my house is emulating me. I don’t know that this is a bad thing, but it doesn’t feel good, either.

We racked our brains trying to figure out what could have brought about all of these things in such a short period of time, which may be the most disconcerting thing of all. Next door, and about three weeks ago, the property owner leveled all the trees in his backyard. It is the only thing we could come up with that could have been so drastic as to cause a disturbance like this.

Saturday 17May 2014:

I had a conversation with some people in the know, and they seemed to agree that laying waste to so many trees could very well have caused this. I kept a lot of the wood in my backyard for firewood, which develops the connection to my yard.

I addressed the spirits, and let them know in no uncertain terms I am not the one that cut the trees down. I informed them of who the perpetrator was, that they had no issue with me, that there was nothing for them here, and to move on. I made it very clear my family was to be left alone, and although we could exist in harmony with each other, they had no power over me or mine.
Later on that day I had a conversation with my mother, who was, at one point, a Wiccan practitioner. She suggested I burn some sage and say some specific words. I will do that. My family has always had a very strange psychic link. My mother has been in my head, psychically, when necessary. She has done the same with my siblings. She did this when I was talking with her on Saturday and at the end of the conversation said, “focus on the bathroom in your basement, I am getting very strange feelings from there.” I did not tell my wife about this feeling my mother had.

Sunday 18May 2014:

Following my conversation with the spirits, I felt better. I felt nothing Saturday night or Sunday during the day and I was in the yard all day both days. Sunday night, however, brought new terror.

Putting the children to bed, my oldest asked my wife to get something for her, which was in the basement. She left to get the thing, and I followed her out a few seconds later. I asked the girls where my wife had gone, and my oldest said she was getting something for her downstairs. As she was saying this, I was already heading downstairs. I turned the corner to see my wife’s head poking out of the basement bathroom door speaking to someone as if they were in the middle of the room, about eight feet from where my wife was standing. It did not appear as if her eyes were open. She said, “I told you, I will get it.” Then I said, “who are you talking to?” Suddenly she realized there was nobody there.

Upon talking to her later on that evening, she said she felt as if my oldest was standing right there. She did not remember seeing her. That she did not remember it is troubling. She does not think she saw her, but rather she felt M’s presence right there in the room.

Last night my wife and I decided it best to invent a call and response for each other. In other words, if she or I say a certain phrase in a certain order, and the other person does not respond with the proper phrase, we are not talking to the other person, but rather something else.

Thoughts:

That’s everything to date. My thoughts are many.

First, I realize a lot of this is open to suggestion, i.e., my own mind playing tricks on me. The reality is, I know what I heard in the rain, and my wife knows she heard my voice in the backyard. I know how I feel when the spirits are close to me, I’ve lived with them, and I know what I am feeling. Does the dark backyard make me a little uncomfortable? Maybe. Will I avoid it? No. I plan on sitting out there tonight and giving whatever is out there the chance to communicate with me.

Second, no matter the spirit’s intent, whether good or bad, the human body reacts the same to their presence – by feeling completely uncomfortable. So because the hair stands up on the back of my neck, or I get chill is not indicative either way of if a spirit is good or bad.

Third, I cannot let this go and continue to build, there has to be a meeting of the minds; this cannot get any worse. I do not believe the spirit has the power to visually manifest itself, at least at this point in time. This is why it emulated me in the backyard, and forced the feeling of M next to my wife downstairs. I do not want it to somehow gain that ability. I do not believe we are quite here:

Tree shapeAnd I hope we never get here:

monster

Fourth, my dried sage is en route.  I have specific instructions as to how to use it, which includes me reciting certain words. As I am not too keen on the possibility of raising an army of the dead, I’ll make sure these words are said correctly.

I’ll update this as things happen. Let’s hope there is no need for an update except to say they have moved on.

So there I was, doing yard work, keeping myself busy,and listening to my iPod. Normally when I’m this baked and doing yard work I keep it on shuffle, because the changing music matches my random thoughts. Out here I let my mind go, I enjoy the freedom of unstructured thought, and it tends to bring out what little creativity I have. Things were going well, Genius was doing it’s thing, there were two Warren Zevon songs back-to-back, “Don’t Cry” by GNR (which, coincidentally is a song I had with another ex-girlfriend (that I did not even realize was “our song” until I started writing this entry)), a Richmond Sluts song, some Nekromantix, a Brian Setzer song, and then the song at issue here.

This was a song of mine with an ex-girlfriend. We had a very solid relationship, and I never worried about her cheating. Not because I’m that awesome (I am), but because it just wasn’t in her character to do so. Our relationship was strange in that we never seriously fought in the three years we were together. Along the same lines, however, she wasn’t taking facials despite me titty-fucking her more than any person should titty-fuck another person. She had nice breastssses. At times I felt my manhood was lost in them, but that’s another underlying, cloaked theme for another post.

We enjoyed being around each other, and we were comfortable. There was no fire in the relationship, no fights, no heat!. There was no adventurous sex in the relationship (necessary author note: I don’t consider blowjobs, finger fucking, or eating pussy in public to be adventurous sex, these are simply prerequisites for dating me). When it ended, it ended. It was civil. There was crying on her part and none on mine. We talked it out. Very normal. She went through all the stages of denial. Rather quickly, now that I think about it. She should have mourned me longer. I’m going to friend her on Facebook and tell her she owes me a couple weeks of mourning, and to do the right thing. I’ll not accept anything less. I’m a catch, you see.

I found myself singing along to the words without having given it any thought. When the song ended, I started thinking about “my song” with my wife. Nothing came to mind right away. The only thing that is close to being “our song” is “Closer” by NIN [author note: when I asked my wife what “our song” was after writing this, she got a devilish look in her eye, a smirk ran across her lips, and she said  “Closer.” So, in the end, I am pretty awesome].

Technically it was before our first date, but we were heading out for the night so I hit a drive thru for a milkshake. Seriously, who could NOT go down on a guy driving a muscle car offering them a triple thick milkshake? Closer was recently released, and we were digging it, jamming to it with our triple thicks, and suddenly her shirt was revealing more than it had been earlier. The milkshake was working! We heard it three times on three different stations before we hit the beach around 2 am and quickly came to the conclusion a lack of bathing suits was not going to deter us from swimming. It actually provided for some ease of way into some pretty cool things that night. This is the song my wife and I associate with our relationship. But I digress.

I’ve never had a relationship with a woman (excluding those whose interaction was limited to casual sex) with whom I did not share a song, whatever the hell that means.This is not by my choice, mind you, but apparently all the women I have dated felt the need to concrete into our relationship the idea that a shared song brings us closer, or solidified us as a couple, or legitimated the relationship. Or maybe I’m looking too much into it, which has been known to happen every now and again.

Like most people, my relationship with music is very personal. Music falls second only to my sense of smell for being able to involuntarily provoke memories. Being able to do such a thing is magical and beautiful, and it’s why I love music so much. At times, I also find myself involuntarily revisiting feelings I had brushed away from my outer layers years ago. When those unresolved feelings sew discord or dissonance into my psyche, I look for the positive in the memory. I’ve spent too much time in the dark to focus on the negative.

Listening to that song, being as strongly tied to another person as that one was, invoked memories. We’ve only got one life to live, and our time on this planet is very, very finite. A person choosing to spend part of that limited life with another person, is giving that person one helluva gift, and not one that should be abused or trifled with. Rather, that person deserves focus, attention, and love. It’s no small feat, entering into a relationship with another person, and turning oneself over completely to someone else. The ease with which one can become jaded and cynical about love demonstrates just how huge of an undertaking that is, and shows us how fragile we all are at our most vulnerable.

I shared part of my life with that woman. I was inside that woman, and for the time I was with her, I was part of her family. Regardless of how it ended, we spent time in our lives together, and it makes for a bond, positive or negative, because we are  both who we are, for good or bad, because of that other person. When I was younger I loved wildly and furiously, and I offered myself to the other person righteously. I was there with them, even when they didn’t deserve it, and I expected the same in return. I never expected my love to be abused, shunned, or denied, and when it was, I accepted the lesson. With any luck, a person will fall in love a couple of times in his or her life, and will allow their person to see them fully, as they are, at that point in time in their lives. Who knows when that one, great love is going to walk into your world.

This is the beauty of time. I loved recklessly in my youth; uncontrollably to this day. I broke hearts, and I allowed mine to be broken. More than once I got into relationships I knew were going to end in fiery balls of shit on my chest, and they did. At the time I believed I needed to experience true heart break so that when it was right I would know it. I loved as fully and completely as I could at those times in my life. I left it all on the field, even though most of the women did not deserve such attention from me. If I am going to merge my life with that of another person, I am going to do so completely, without reservation or hesitancy.

“Having songs” with these girls was just something I did as part of the relationship. At the time I assigned no great importance to such things, despite my relationship with music. In hindsight, it could be I never felt any of these women were important enough to me to warrant associating them with a song (full disclosure here, none of the songs I had with girls were ever songs I would listen to). I just assumed girls liked having songs in their relationships, it’s neater than marking territory by peeing in the corner. It’s part of being in a relationship, like eventually having your girl’s friends offer to blow you. Maybe that’s  just me and my incredible luck.

For me, those songs allowed me to build memories I did not know I had until the time I spent with those girls was over. Maybe deep down I knew those relationships were not going to last. There was never a sustained spark with an ex the way there is when you find the one you’re supposed to spend this life with. So I built memories, I kept them, and sometimes they’re brought flooding back do the impeccable timing of my iPod’s shuffle.

Which brings me to my wife. We don’t have a song together. I like to think this is because this relationship isn’t going to end, despite my lascivious tendencies. I don’t need to build memories with a song because I’m going to spend the rest of my life building memories with her. Of course that doesn’t mean I don’t still connect memories to music, I do, but with her, like everything else with her, it’s just different. It’s better. I’m with her and she’s with me. It’s always been about her, and it’s always going to be.

 

Walk Into The Dark

Posted: 02/19/2014 in Letters

Dear you,

There is something very captivating about you. Be it a subtle look, a curve, a demure movement, or even a kept secret struggling against its silent restraints. You draw people to you because you are free, uninhibited, yet at times dissident and hesitant, but never timid. You are strong and resilient; irrepressible . In any world where determined men exist, you are not only a catch but a trophy, not to be paraded around and lauded, rather intimately celebrated in all your confines.  You want to tell a story, to reach out for help, but pride stifles you from doing so. You demand to be won; conquered but only by the one you deem worthy. Much like a submissive, you keep control. You are always the one in control, even working to your detriment, creating isolation.

 You see deeper into me than you should, given our few, brief encounters. Your intrigue is alluring. If only I could show you how you are seen through my eyes, although behind my eyes is rarely a safe place for anyone, maladjusted brute or otherwise.  I am an open book. You pride yourself on avoiding questions striking too close to truth. A conversation between us, one in which you were held to answering my questions and engaging on an honest dialogue would result in more than a little bit of arousal and carnal provocation.

Your quest for mental control is admirable. Despite being a romantic cliché, your eyes are haunted, and they prevent you from hiding away as you would like. Maybe it is just you with me, maybe it’s just me. I see it, though. I see it in all of its beautiful vulnerability. It’s your purgatory, I think, you hide despite not necessarily wanting to. It’s your dangerous intelligence.  It is your obvious struggle that makes me want to know you.

I say all this, but I apologize if it feels like I am dissecting you. Such is not my intention. My own savage tendencies compel me to live in a world of brutal truth. The natural consequence is that I am disarmingly blunt, which makes most people very uncomfortable. But, life is too short, especially the way I live it, to spend time spewing lies simply to make other people feel good about themselves. That is a maddening and worthless pursuit.

I know people so that I can understand them. Anything else is a waste of time. You either stand up for who you are, as a person, held open by truth, in which you are forced to see in the brightest of lights, those controlled by harsh realities that make up brutal honesty, or you do not. If you do not, we cannot exist together; my demands on people are exceedingly high.

If you can live your life removed from the bullshit of flattering mirrors and obligatory compliments, you will find freedom unrestrained. You will find yourself damaged and uninhibited, and damaged people are dangerous because they know how to survive. But here I find myself, against a backdrop of breaking dusk, the night full of possibilities, and the night has a way of making the unthinkable possible. This is especially true for those of us who live out here, beyond the stars; unrepentant for who we are, choosing only to live as ourselves and in the comfort of others like us, free of judgment and shame, suffering no derision for the world around us. Walk into the dark with me now, or stay sheltered and confined. We are who we are, with our middle fingers raised to the world.

 

I’m feeling uninspired but I feel the need to write, which is a strange position to find myself, but no stranger than finding myself in this position, which happens more than I would like to admit:

Crawl

Writing is not the easiest thing in the world for me (obviously, look at some of the stuff I have written), and not only because of my semi-sloppy handwriting. Truth be told, when I want to print neatly it is possible, but doing so prevents me from handicapping myself. What defense mechanisms? Unfortunately for this piece of paper, however, my thoughts happen faster than I am able to write them down. I am a trooper so I will drive on and attempt to bring joy to the world through my magnificent prose, my unnerving ability to say and do what others will not, and my more than impressive techniques with my dong. Actually I am not too sure about that last qualification, but it gave me an excuse to say dong. If you want to check for yourself, ask your mom.

I will stop here and give accolades to the Pilot pen company for producing the G-1 05, with which I will use to produce whatever the hell follows this stupid sentence.

I’ve come to realize the only way to break through a wall when I am not inspired is to write, so that is what this is. Writing is cathartic for me, but much of the time what I write is too close to comfort for me to publish. I’ve made some strides in that area as some of the stuff I’ve published on this site would never have seen the light of day a few years back. Being honest with my writing has made me a stronger writer. The other side to that is most of that stuff is difficult to put out there. Double edged sword and all that.

Truth be told, I don’t have a point to this entry. I have no inspiration right now. I don’t understand how I can draft what I believe to be masterpieces in my head, only to have them completely dissipate when I try to put it on paper. I can’t say it’s a writer’s block, but I don’t know what else it is. Whatever it is, I am sure a blowjob would fix it. Blowjob = zen.

Zen Alien