405

405 By Neil Sherwood

The number on the door was 405. Donna slipped the shiny key into the deadbolt, turned it to the right and opened the door to our new apartment. I had jammed my way in between her and my sister, placing my hands on the door and pushing my ass outwards to keep my sister from getting in front of me. I used this tactic so that I was first in the new pad, therefore improving my chances of calling dibs on the best bedroom.

The cold, empty space looked huge to me. Green shag carpet led the way to bedroom 1, then, 2, then 3, then back to 1 where I laid claim to the bedroom before my sister knew what was going on. It was a simple bedroom with a small, sliding door closet to the left of the entrance and a window on the opposite side that looked eastward over West Edmonton. Jasper Place High School and its football bowl lined 165 Street. Three blocks down 165th was to be my first school, Afton Elementary.

My sister and I are Irish twins. She was 4 and I had just turned 5 when we moved into Cambridge West Apartments in 1977. Across the street from the apartment complex to the west is Misericordia Hospital, where I was born, which became a part of our extended playground.

The previous occupants were evicted. The neighbors said they were Satan worshippers. “There was loud music, parties, orgies, chanting, criminal behavior, dope smoking, you name it!” The neighbors would say. “They were Black Witches!” And in those days Satan worshippers and Black Witches were feared and there was evidence that these people, in the news anyway, would sacrifice dogs and cats in parks and leave behind bizarre makeshift pentagram alters that were of great concern to police and citizens alike.

The occupants below 405 told Donna that they did their ceremonies above their son’s room - my room. They’d have to bring him into their bedroom and put earmuffs on him to shield him from the evil above.

Allow me to repeat that, the Black Witches performed their ceremonies in my room.

___

When I was young, I enjoyed Sunday School. I liked the stories, the art and coloring, being around other kids my age and being away from Donna. She would be nicer on Sundays and wouldn’t leave at night to do whatever the fuck it was she did, leaving us alone and locked in the apartment.

Our church service was in the gymnasium of the elementary school I attended. Sundays were the only days that she would walk us to school.

The minister was very kind to me and my sister. He always slipped me and my sister a fresh piece of fruit. His name was Mr. Frolick. He had perfectly combed, shiny black hair. I was always amazed how his hair looked just like my corduroy pants.

___

The dreams began right away, and they were always the same, the exact same. The reason why I can’t explain as to what the dream was like in writing is because there is nothing on Earth like it. There is nothing in life I have read, seen, experienced, studied, thought about, visualized or imagined that is like it. My mind has never been able to comprehend that place, that world. No drug or hallucinogenic experience good or bad has ever had an affect that resembled the place my nightmare took me. But, for context, an explanation is quite necessary. The best way I can explain it is it was like a stream of living lava moving downward very quickly on a bio-mechanical conveyor belt heading to the gates of hell. The stream was composed of the newly dead but there were no bodies or ghost like creatures - just - FEAR - all the fear of every one of them as they realize what is happening - and going to continue to happen for eternity. I’d move along the stream looking at it from above, this ... this river of souls in shock with pure amplified fear surrounded by evil. I could feel all of this terror combined in this unexplainable dream or portal or...? I was taking on the horror and angst of the newly damned.

I’d go mad. I’d become possessed. Sometimes I’d wake for a few minutes realizing I was tied to a chair. I’d buck and try my best to break free from my restraints so that I could run from the evil, it was so real I could not distinguish between dream and reality and it would not let me go in either state. I’d be screaming louder than you’ve ever heard a little kid scream. Sometimes, police would come and sometimes it would be paramedics. When Donna was there, she’d introduce violence to the picture by shaking me just shy of breaking me. No matter who tried or what tactic was used nothing woke me out of that dream. The dream ended when the dream was over, that never changed.

In the middle of the dream I’d be pulled from the evil and find myself flying towards a beautiful country home. It was yellow with white trim, 2 stories with a large porch situated nicely on a tidy, bright green lawn. I’d fly over the barn of the same color and gently land on the porch in front of a large bench swing. I’d prop myself up on the soft cushioned chair. I’d look over how the property settled into peaceful hills. I’d then look to the left and see that there was a small girl, my age, in a yellow dress sitting next to me. We had the same platinum blonde hair. We never spoke, just held hands and in that moment, I’d be free of all of the suffering I was experiencing just minutes before. Visiting with the little girl felt like it lasted for 5 dream minutes, and then it was over, and I’d be pulled back into my front row seat of what I am convinced was - hell.

If what I felt in the first part of the dream was pure evil, then what this girl brought me was pure peace. People who witnessed me going mad would say that insane chaos would turn into serene calmness. No one was ever able to wake me through this break in the action, and that’s just what it was, a break, so that the kid doesn’t break. The evil knew that there was a limit, when too much was too much. But, just as quickly as I was pulled into peace, I was pulled back into Hades.

I’ve always believed that there is a blonde woman out there, who also had a portal to hell through dreams, then found her peace next to a blonde boy on a country porch. I was to bring her the same serenity, if even for a few minutes, and in this shared experience we will always be deeply connected. I truly believe that she is out there.

In the early days, I had the dream once or twice a week. Sometimes, Donna would give up and take me back to my bedroom flailing and screaming. Occasionally, when this happened, I’d sleepwalk out of the apartment, down the hall, through a fire door, down a second hall and through a door on the left that led to 4 flights of stairs that I’d walk down. I’d open the side exit and head left down the sidewalk to the back alley, I’d head north then east on 165 Street for 3 blocks, then through the opening in the fence and across the field to my school - to my church.

I’d wake up while it was still dark. I’d be confused, cold, filled with residual fear and not knowing how I got there. I would walk back to the apartment complex in my pajamas. I’d open the front door and press the white button, marked 405, until Donna answered it.

If it was too cold out, I’d find myself sleeping in the front lobby. I never made it to the school in weather that could have hurt me. No matter if I could make it to my church or make it to the lobby, it was clear, a survival mechanism, that no kid should have to implement, was called upon often, and it lead me away from that room whenever it could.

About 6 months after we moved in the dream became even more real. I was having the nightmare but silently, meaning either I wasn’t making any noise, sleep walking, or perhaps I was just being ignored. I suddenly awoke and my eyes opened wide. In the far corner of the room, in front of the sliding door closet, was a being that stood from floor to ceiling. It was dark red and best described as a demon or the devil himself. I was frozen with fear. I saw my little arm move the blankets off of my body, but I wasn’t moving it. Then my arm propped my body up and I swung my legs off the bed and stood me up, but I wasn’t the one moving my limbs, my limbs were moving me. My feet moved the 10 steps or so towards the entity until I stopped right in front of it. My head moved to the left revealing a large eyeball that was moving down the wall, leaving blood in its trail, and stopped when it met my eyes. My head then moved so that I was looking up into the demons’ faceless head. As my head moved so did my right arm, towards the blood red ghost until my fingers touched it.

Fade to Black

I woke up in the hospital. I am not sure how long I was there. I was to stay for a couple more days of observation. After I touched the demon, I remember nothing. I can only infer that it was far too much for a 5-year-old to handle and that I snapped. I can also infer that I was probably close to death that night due to extreme shock.

While I was in hospital the minister from the church and a few other senior church members visited apartment 405. I was told that they anointed the walls with holy oil, but that’s all I was told. When I got home, I had noticed that 4 out of my 5 belongings were gone: 1 Swamp Thing comic book, Darth Vader action figure, a Storm Trooper and Hans Solo were taken, and only C3-PO remained. The gold droid was not deemed as a potential portal to evil, everything else was. The group of men came to visit a few times and would pray with me in my room. For a few nights, a couple of them stayed late in case there was a nightmare. I now had a crucifix on one wall, a cross on another and a C3-PO with no one to talk with or annoy except for Jesus hanging on the cross.

We moved a month later to 305, the apartment below us. The people who moved out of there were probably fed up with all the noise from above, starting with the Black Witches and ending with me leaving it vacant for us to move into.

The nightmares slowed down with the move and would continue to dwindle with time. My last one came in the second month of grade 9. Donna had just abandoned us, leaving me and my 13-year-old sister with an empty house, an empty fridge and 15 days left on rent. My friend’s parents, the Ollenbergs, took me in. Within 3 weeks of Donna leaving I had my final nightmare, the exact same one that I had when I was 5. Although, I had experienced that nightmare several hundreds of times, it was never less scary, it was always more fear than a person should be exposed to. During my last dream, when Mrs. Ollenberg and my friend Craig tried to wake me out of it, they were doing it with compassion. For the first time in my life, people were dealing with my trance like state using love instead of violence. Because of the care and calm approach that they used; they were the first ones ever able to stop the dream before it was completed. Never again did I go through – that – hell.

By the time I was 6-years old, I had been exposed to unbelievable horror, poverty, physical, mental and emotional abuse, and a parent that showed zero love. I am convinced that if my sister and I were dogs or cats living in that situation the SPCA would have pulled us immediately, but for some reason, when child welfare would show up, they didn’t do a thing. I remember hoping they were there to take us away from her and feeling disappointed when they didn’t. Then, there was the male baby-sitter from apartment 105, a teenager with a strange name. (How I have tried to remember his name over the years!) This fucking sicko started a campaign of unspeakable sexual assaults that would last for 2 years. It was all just too much for a small child