my life, and my story, living with the dead

The story I’m about to tell you has haunted me for over 32 years.

I grew up playing hide-in-seek in a dimension so paper-thin that I was challenged at times figuring out who was alive and who the fuck was dead. A peek into this sheer veil can instantly send you flying straight into your worst nightmare. Neatly dressed in the blackest shades of horror, death itself slowly seeps down from the walls, and it’s coming.

Death is coming for you.

The darkest of nights can not describe the descent into shades so vile and so evil, as if Satan himself morphs into one of the most depraved beings, right before my eyes.

The lone and infamous hallway in Stephen Kings’ book can easily sum up my childhood, but unlike the book, I can’t turn the page to escape my reality.

This is a biography, of sorts, of my life living with the dead.

Ironically, the hallway scene isn’t in the book, but imagine for a second, you’re busy thinking about life’s simple things, like tacos, and how delicious they are and the next, Hell itself comes busting out of the wall. Apparently, Hell appreciates a good taco, but he’s not here to take my order because blossoming before my eyes, and beyond living human comprehension morphs this grotesque, solid black, incredibly long, and I’m sorry, but please pass this beast some Listerine, faceless, tongue.

Tongue.

Yeah, lick your lips, that kind of tongue. I personally think the decay on this beast should have its own zip code, and I think he really wants my taco. Sir, would you like that soft or hard?

Just what kind of taco are we talking about here? My souls’ taco, or my taco, taco?? Don’t go thinking about “that taco” not “that taco,” you sick little fucks.

The taco, Satan, is dreaming about is the one in my … soul

Just as my tongue is about to send this death creature back to Hell, it licks my face, kinda like a puppy. But there is no puppy. This shady, whore licking puppy, slithers out and licks me. Bless this beast, because it crossed the line and breached my space. I’m thoroughly upset now, and just as I’m about to send this creature straight back to Hell, this sneaky bastard sneaks up and wraps its filthy self around my neck.

Bloody hell.

While I was heavily distracted by my new dazzling necklace, I can’t yell, and I definitely can’t scream, as I can’t believe what’s staring back at me. In an instant, my hallway has become Satan’s dining room. Crawling out to greet me are more faceless, zip code owning, slithering tongues. Don’t worry; there’s no regard to age, sex, shape, or color. There’s absolutely no tolerance for discrimination in Starvation Hell. Floating out of every crevice, light switch, vent, and hole, are more wretched, faceless fucks. They are simply in a state of constant starvation. They have been gathered in this state for millions of centuries, and this is how they will live out the rest of their existence, or until all eternity ends, which is never. They can’t eat, because they have no face, and this is what perpetual Hell is people. Hot sauce, anyone?

Apparently, word got out that its taco Tuesday, as millions of these slithering shit shows are now pawing and licking at my entire body. Their blackness has now become my color. My entire body is now one complete void. I’m in the blackness beyond the blackness. There are millions upon trillions upon zillions of them. I can’t count them all. It’s impossible and infinite. In sick irony, and while these rascals were busy setting the table for my soul’s taco, which means, my very essence, I was slowly being eaten by their mesmerizing and agonizing moans. They are trying to lick-eat me to death. Just how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? I just really want to know. Anyone?

Along with the black cloak blocking out the light, I’m lost. I’m in nothingness. This is where nothing lives. I can tell you this much, no one is having tacos not anytime soon, because someone just opened door #3, straight from the cafeteria doors to Holocaust Hell.

And on your right, we have the infamous Starvation Holocaust Hell; this section has been highly recommended for those who wish to lose some weight, because this particular little café will never have food, let alone tacos. Deaths menu that is. Cold platter of nothingness.

Oh, and very warm welcome and on your left, this lovely patch in Hell is where your nightmares never lived.

Tacos and tootsies aside, I think I go into a state of shock, of sorts, especially when such darkness suddenly tries collecting on your taco, I mean, my soul. It’s unnatural, at best.

While my auto-pilot irrational brain wants to scream out for my taco, my sensible side is yelling, “fuck you Satan, now I’m gonna be late for class. And straight ahead, we have my high school drama. Are we hungry yet?

I have two feet in two worlds, and suddenly and without warning, these butt munchers are trying to lick their way to my soul’s taco. In an instant, I just stepped inside their world. Just like that. My ears. My ears instantly have front row seats to their silent, horrifying screams. Screams so silent that it’s deafening. Faceless, endless, deafening screams.

With their screams beckoning me, I’m drowning in their sheer desperate, shrieking madness. Endless black voids, neatly frozen for all eternity, spinning out of control. Talk about static negative energy. I definitely do not recommend this place. Airbnb would probably agree with me. I would not want to be caught up in a vortex of bottomless blackness, where nothing lives.

One moment I’m racing to class lost in a world filled with delicious tacos, and the next, I’ve got a VIP pass into this swirling, black symphony of death. While I’m being lullabied by their well-choreographed moans, wailing in perfect unison like a record stuck on repeat, then this happened. It ain’t good people.

This is where prayers come in real handy.

Voluntarily, my chest responds by instantly tightening up, as my entire being absorbs like a sponge, wave after wave of immeasurable and indecipherable pain. Emotional, bottomless pain. Physical, agonizing, endless pain. Pain that we humans have yet to experience. Endless. Bottomless. Pain. Non-existence, in a world that never lived.

While this death creature and his starving comrades were busy trying to steal my taco, I had been on my way to German class. As I’m blindly led straight into this non-existent world is when my heart-stopping, “I think I’m going to fucking die,” high-pitch screaming comes roaring out of me. God bless you and your ass if you happen to be in my way because you soon won’t be. I get a touch hangry, you might say. No one is taking my taco, and I’m not fucking around with Satan’s extended family and friends.

Instant screaming and running. Trust me, my blood-curdling shrills will stop you in your tracks, and you’ll drop whatever you were holding, and there’s a high probability of a tiny squirt, involuntarily, of course.

I know my family had it the worst. My poor, poor Granny. If you happen to be around me and you hear my shrills, you know I’m running, and fast. As I’m rushing past, I’ve become very familiar with the stunned, frozen faces of fear that most people have given me throughout the years. Their eyes spoke, save me. Their eyes are also wondering if, they too, need to start running, but they are frozen, frozen, in such a state of fear.

It’s safe to say that my brother, Cam, was completely gray by age 13. I know I was. My insane screaming comes as natural as breathing and blinking, and later I joked that I should trademark that bitch.

Real honesty here. With great reluctance, I had to borrow a book by Stephen King to correctly quote his infamous hallway scene. Apparently, everyone else on the planet has watched Stephen Kings’ movies, and have read all of his sensationally thrilling and horrifying books. Nope, not me. Crickets.

Understand that as a child, I was strange as fuck or more like, extremely odd. I saw people and ancestral creatures, straight from Black Death itself that no one else could. I was highly animated, horrifying my family on a daily basis. Their faces repeatedly told me to shut the fuck up.

I accept my quirks and have embraced my weirdness. I don’t do TV. The energy vibration alone that comes through these bastards will make me crumble. I’m extremely sensory sensitive, especially anything using electricity. I use energy’s sound vibration, like my own wavy energetic ripcord to the other side.

My brother terrorized me as a child with his intense love of anything sci-fi, which in my opinion is just twisted fantasy nonsense. Planet of the Apes. Fuck that shit. I especially hated watching, alas, under a blanket, these deranged, sadistically intelligent apes, running around speaking perfect English, while viciously clawing and attacking their way to stardom. All in costume. Someone’s hiding in there. Peek-a-boo if you dare. To this day, I can’t watch the reruns. They frighten the shit right out of me, even at 51 years young.

Later on, I’ll be sure and tell you about this little adorable, golden-haired eight-year-old girl, who looked like she had just walked off the set of “The Little House on the Prairie.” Literally, the most horrifying event, and I was just eight years old myself. This is the case where I learned what it means, “don’t judge a book by its cover.”

My Stephen King movie never has an ending. In my movie, the after-takes, most being over-the-top dramatically ridiculous, and while most were scary as fuck, my movie reel continues playing long after the lights flick on and y’all walk on the fallen popcorn. Welcome to my reality, and the movie of my life.

Squirrel moment.

Before getting back to Satan and my wonderful childhood, I have to tell you that as a 52-year-old woman, I’m in love with the word fuck. Forewarning you now if you have been offended, I apologize, but you ain’t seen or heard anything remotely offensive yet. Forbidden words will be used here, very randomly, and quite frequently. Close the book and walk away. To whom I’ve offended, go in peace knowing that I’ll continue, neck-deep in good ol’ fuckery, giggling the entire time, while telling the rest of this crazy bunch, the rest of this story, and how true love unfolds neatly between Heaven & Hell, the black abyss, sassy paranormal lassos, oh, and one dead wife. This is going to take a lot of energy, lots of tea will be consumed, which means a fuck ton of potty breaks, and at random times, watching me some squirrel porn. Smiling.

But back to my miserable childhood. By age 8, I’m a gold medal Olympian, when it came to suffering through the worst deaths imaginable. I was a very open child, and back in the day, I was like free coffee at Denny’s. Instantly the whole street is lined with spirits looking for help. I didn’t know this at the time, and I sure didn’t know how to protect myself, you know, shield myself. I act like a lighthouse to these souls, most being innocent and just needing a bit of guidance. I know they’re innocent lost souls now, but not back then. Back then I just screamed at everyone to leave me the fuck alone. Until I learned how to protect myself, I had to suffer through your everyday laundry list ways to die; from stabbings, heart attacks, regrettable suicides, pretty much every way to die, I experienced them all by age 8. Drowning. My first drowning was in kindergarten, and I strongly do not recommend dying this way. It’s unnatural to have water in your lungs, period. It hurts like bloody hell, and you don’t die fast enough. Agonizingly long time for it to stop hurting.

Fuck (insert long exaggeration) me. Drowning rates worst death ever.

Wear the silly life vest; you’ll thank me later. I apologize to the family and friends of drowned victims. I help some the victims on the other side acknowledge, and importantly, accept their death. Tragic and sudden deaths are shocking, to both the recently departed, and the family and friends. I do not want my words to be void of empathy for your loss and how they died. My sincere condolences. In my own way, I’m passing on information straight from the victims, to warn others to wear the damn silly life vest. RIP and namaste everyone.

Despite growing up between phantom tongues, and trying my best to learn German, these two worlds hadn’t prepared me for what was about to happen.

This day and this event, 32 years ago, has forever been etched inside my soul’s memory.

I had just arrived at my boyfriend’s dorm room and was about to sit down when the next second, my stomach finds itself on the receiving end of some sort of paranormal lasso. Instant, high-pitch screaming. Unfortunately for my trademark screams, I’m silenced, as no sound will come out of my mouth. My lips are sealed tight. I’m trying my best to scream out the most inappropriate words, but I can’t get my mouth to open. My hands frantically pull and grab at this invisible madness that was busy making itself at home. With it freshly anchored around my stomach, my hands continued to rake and claw at the naked air, again and again they came away with absolutely nothing. Zero. Nada. Nothing is there, but something is most definitely there. I’m super fucked.

While this supernatural being was setting out the welcome mat, widespread, unstoppable, and ridiculous heart-stopping panic consumes me as I realize to my horror, that I’m being dragged out into the hallway. I have rag-doll strength against this incredible force. It has intelligence. Pray. Yank.

Start praying harder. Jesus, please take the wheel, I’ll behave, I promise this time. While I’m waiting on Jesus to help a girl out, I’m muted like an impaled worm, and being forcibly yanked down this hallway. My eyes are screaming, “what the FUCK!”. I’ll try reasoning with it, maybe strike up a deal. I got nothing. Obey.

Yank. Fuck YOU. With every kick, every dirty word my mind spat out, and every slap and claw I gave it, it yanked on me that much harder, that much stronger. I swear with each yank, I felt this growing “impatience.” Like, don’t make me pull this car over.

Paranormal intelligence, with an attitude. Fucking perfect.

Paranormally speaking, I’ll know instantly if entities are a threat to me. I’m terrified beyond reason, and I want to run out of my skin. Even though I don’t feel threatened, my unrelenting, ridiculous panic, reaches record levels as I realize I have no control over where it’s pulling me. I’m in a high rise, and I instantly understand this beast has the strength to fling my muted ass right out the window. Sweet Lord, baby Jesus.

I’m sure my eyes went saucer size at the thought of going out a window, and I react violently by throwing my head back and trying to mouth words that would make any sailor proud.

For all my resistance and muted swearing, I’m dragged, yanked and pulled, down to the other side of Haggett Hall, and abruptly stopped, more like dumped, right inside this random boys room. My mind is scrambling to reason why all the paranormal theatrics when my gaze settles on this boy. With a slight squint and with one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, I look at him. That’ weird. He’s just standing there, looking at me. Blank stare. His expression is completely void of emotion. No salutation, no greeting, and he definitely didn’t show any teeth.

So we’re both standing in the middle of his room, just staring at one another.

One minute I didn’t recognize him; the next, his face seems vaguely familiar, and then reality hits me that I’m standing inside this boy’s room. No knocking. No, I’m just standing there, with my uninvited self, muted, paranormally hogtied, and freshly dumped inside his room. Now I’m left staring at this now familiar face. His eyes. Jesus needs to help this boy right now. He hasn’t said a word, and his mouth refuses to crack a smile. Things are not making sense.

All I wanna do is throw my head back and scream. I must have asked this boy a hundred times, “what is this?”. He answers my questions with the same blank stare.

Its incredibly unsettling, this speechless-stare off that’s happening between us. What’s further troubling, this boys’ gaze is intensely vacant, but penetrating at the same time. Once our eyes locked and for the briefest of time, I believe, time actually stopped. This exchange is beyond weirdly intimate. I’m still trying to speak, but my mouth refuses to form words. I still can’t open my fucking mouth. Paranormal glue is for real people. I swear, this has the feel of one of my “spicier guardians,” but I’m not sure why they went all muted-dramatic on my ass for.

What’s perplexing this boy appears not to be able to speak either. My brain is also running rapid-fire, scrambling to figure out who the fuck this boy is, and why my guardians dumped my ass off, like some sad muted worm.

I still can’t move, still can’t open my mouth, and all I can do is stand there and stare into this boy’s eyes.

Blink. His face all of a sudden seems very familiar, and I’m instantly asking him, “oh, I know you, right?”. I quickly answered my muted self; “yeah, I know you, you’re the boy that went to high school with us, right?”. Right? Shit. I’m horrible at names. Period. Even if you told me his name, I’d forget it in 3 seconds. I’m like a goldfish when it comes to names. I have absolutely no clue what this boy’s name is.

I can’t pull my eyes off his. With my mind finally quiet, I take in his boy’s eyes. They are the kindest eyes I have ever seen. I want to giggle when I look at his big bushy, bushy eyebrows, eyebrows just like my own set. I prided my egotistical self with my 80’s, Brooke Shields, naturally dark and thick, woolly-like caterpillar eyebrows. The bushier, the better. Quickly ignoring his matching set of caterpillar brows, my eyes quickly scan down to his thin lips, and then I turn to trace the outline of his face. So weird. I have exactly the same thin lips and the same oval face. We have very similar noses. So, fucking weird. I’m so engrossed over this boys matching face when I felt something shift, and I immediately didn’t like it.

He has to be in shock, or so that’s what I tell myself when I suddenly feel his electric, very nervous energy come straight through me. After all, I’m this random girl who just dumped herself right in his room. But that’s not entirely abnormal while living the dorm life. Good lord. He must think I’m here to rape his ass. It was after all the late ’80s in Seattle. Two words. Green River. Sweet Jesus himself couldn’t help this boy if he thinks I’m here to rape him. Now I’m just getting silly. Snort.

While I’m thoroughly enjoying my silent banter, I realize how close I am to him. I was dumped right in the middle of his room, exactly right in front of him. He was standing there, almost like he had been waiting for me. As I was pondering this very strange placement, without warning my stomach belches out this low, but steady vibration. Good golly, its come to take me back. Sorry, but I’m leaving, I said to the boy with the caterpillar brows.

Angry, cyclonic chaos erupts from inside my stomach. Instant confusion. This sassy lasso just scolded me. My best interpretation; “stop fucking around and concentrate.”

Fucking great.

Then this happened.

Time. Time seemed to slow way, way down. With our gaze locked on one another, and in a slow-motion fog, my hand lightly pausing over my cursing stomach; this next moment has left me in a state of shock, and haunted for the last 32 years.

Now I understood why my guardians super-glued mouth shut and hogtied my ass. I can’t believe whats staring back at me.

I think I should tell you the rest of this story a little bit later on. I’m about to get ahead of myself and tell you the climax and how this story ends before I even tell you the beginning.

I’m the type that will wrap up your gifts, adorn them with these over-the-top, beautiful bows, and the second your hand touches it, I’m yelling out what’s inside. I can’t help it. Its one of my many faults.

With that said, I’m going to learn from my mistakes and not unwrap this story until I have you right where I want you, on the edge of your seat.

You’re about to fall paragraph by paragraph, page by page, in love with this real-life, modern-day, supernatural Shakespearean with an orgasmic, fairy-tale ending, love story.

As this love story unfolds, its tangled and pleasantly sandwiched in between vibrators, the black abyss, sassy paranormal lassos, and one, terribly cruel birth mother. Oh, and one dead wife. True love awaits. Go get your tissues now. That’s all I’m gonna say.