Posted on September 16, 2015
A Trick of Light and Shadow
None of this is real.
It can’t be. I don’t believe in ghosts. Or demons, or magic, or psychics, or anything supernatural. I’m a realist. Show me the observable, repeatable, verifiable evidence and we’ll talk. But anything short of that and I’m going to give whatever you’re saying as much respect and attention as I give to the wacky-haired Greek dude on the Ancient Aliens show.
That includes anecdotes. Especially anecdotes. Anecdotal evidence is not evidence; it’s just stories. People love ghost stories, although they’re hardly ever told firsthand. It’s always a friend or a cousin, or maybe Earl down by the car wash who tells them this super legitimate and believable tale of Strange Things, so I really should start believing in the power now, or else!
The point is, it’s all nonsense. Comforting bits of horror we tell ourselves to forcibly project some kind of cosmic will onto an uncaring universe, and I’ll have nothing to do with it, thankyouverymuch.
THAT SAID…I’m pretty sure I’m being stalked by supernatural forces beyond my control that want to murder, maim, or otherwise do physical and mental harm to my person.
I’m probably going to die.
There have been a few WTF? instances in my life, where I haven’t been able to piece together a believable scenario that would account for what happened. Not that I’ve ever looked too deeply into any of them, because even if the caveman fears of my lizard brain are completely unfounded, they’re still freaking scary.
I’ve had unlit candles explode for no reason. Cabinets apparently opening themselves, followed by plates being tossed out to shatter onto the kitchen floor. Night terrors. Sleep paralysis.
There are probably an entirely rational explanations for them, but they were all scary. The candle’s glass probably had an unseen fracture that just gave in one day, but it still exploded. The plates were probably not put back into the cabinet correctly, and were left pushing against the door that eventually opened, but they weren’t. That sort of thing.
But they still creep me out. The worst was the sleep paralysis, though. It only happened once, but it was absolutely terrifying. I woke up in the crappy bed of my old crappy apartment one night, unprovoked and scared shitless. I couldn’t move, and I could feel this ominous, entirely evil presence just…looking through me. I could see it in the hallway, a dim red glow and this sort of shadow that felt alive. Then, a face looking down at me in bed…
And that’s all I’m going to say about that, because just thinking about it creeps me right the hell out and I’m already barely functioning as it is. All that other crap was years ago, back when I was a stupid twenty-something. Like most self-respecting twenty-somethings, I was almost always up too late after drinking too much when I was that age, so most of the crap that happened back then was probably just a case of me being young and stupid. But I’m 40 years old now, and it’s happening again.
What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end. I’m telling you this up front so you’re not disappointed when the plot that doesn’t exist doesn’t develop in the way you’re expecting it to. What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries I posted online as things started spiraling out of control. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end. It’s just…life.
First, a quick primer: Brittany is my wife, and Trey is our son. (My stepson, technically. But I don’t go in for labels.) Stomper and Giles are our dogs, and Spooky’s our devil cat. We live in mid-sized city in Southeast Texas called Beaumont, and I hate it here.
Okay. Here we go…
JULY 31
2015
Late last night, after Brittany had gone to bed, I was getting ready to turn in myself when the dogs lost their minds.
Giles began barking like mad in his crate, while Stomper bayed and growled at the front door, pacing the room between outbursts and whimpering.
I assumed the neighbor’s dogs were loose again and had wandered up onto our porch, so I took hold of Stomper’s collar to keep him from darting out, then opened the door.
No dogs. Just stillness and the haze from marsh fires.
Then, I looked up.
In the space between two of the trees in my front yard was a shape. Not a silhouette or someone in darkness, but a shape. A vaguely human shape, but with slightly wrong dimensions. It was like a solid shadow, if that makes any sense. It was absolutely still and just standing there. Looking at me.
I glanced down for a fraction of a second to shove Stomper behind me and reach for the handle of the screen door, but when I looked back up, it was gone.
I walked outside, looked around, and there was nothing there. A trick of light and shadow, I guess. No big deal.
I went back inside, locked up the house and laid down to sleep. The dogs continued their protests, but mostly it was just whimpering. The angry, panicked barks had stopped.
I went to sleep.
This morning, I woke up and leashed up the dogs to take them outside. I stepped out onto my front porch, and the chair I sit in when I’m outside was completely turned around and moved.
Instead of sitting to the left of the door and facing the street, it was facing toward my house. And placed directly in front of my door.
As if someone had used it to sit and stare, waiting for me to open it again.
So…anyone want to buy a house?
Looking for more entries? Order your copy of A Trick of Light and Shadow, now available in paperback and as DRM-free e-book from Amazon. (Buy the paperback, and you get the e-book for free.)
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Humor | Nonfiction
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Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?
Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?
If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.
You're welcome.
Short Stories
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The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.
Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.
Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.
Always get back up.
Gaming | Nonfiction
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This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.
The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.
Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.
If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.
I'll try to not be boring.
Horror
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What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.
What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.
You've been warned.
Are you kidding me? I am completely freaked out now….and it’s broad daylight.
Sorry. 🙁
You need to move or get a priest. Personally, I would get a priest, move and board a priest at my new house if I were you. And I’m not Catholic.
Unless this all a lie. If it is, it’s good. I just locked my own doors and put my bible in my desk just reading it.
After the first one scared me to death in broad daylight, I decided I wasn’t going to read anymore. Obviously I cannot help myself.
Get a priest like that person says. And I’m not catholic either.
Holy. Crap. You could write a short story series with all this. My heart rate kicked up and I got all still. That is scary. Terror. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. It’s awful. Priest? Why not???
I’m embarrassed to say that I was sad to read your 10/3/15 post and your conclusion that everything was stress generated. Now, I’m happy again that you’re terrified. Sorry. Not sorry.
I’ve had some similar sensations, try this… St. Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle.
Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou,
O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits,
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen..
Stand your ground …Take control…Tell it to get out of your house!! Go back to where ever it belongs !! There are things we can not explain…Do what you would do facing any other kind of intruder..I am not dismissing this believe me. I am very concerned you and your family
This is madness…
We really need to talk. Home needs to be blessed. Evil Spirits removed from the property. You can also consider personal anointing since it appears one of the spirits has the strength to manifest into reality and follow you. He gathers strength from you, not the house. Been there just recently. And, recovering from broken index finger after a spirit assault. Tried to intellectualize it, finally had to admit consequences and accidents can not explain it away.
Just because you don’t believe in the supernatural, doesn’t mean the supernatural doesn’t believe in you. While I would have called in preachers to cast the demon out, you could paint your house in holy water, and it wouldn’t necessarily help you sleep better if you don’t have faith in it.
However, if you wanted, I would be happy to ask my stepdad’s church to pray for you and your family. I won’t do it unless you give me permission. You have my email.
I respect your desire for verified, observable data points. Maybe some of the techniques discussed in this Radiolab episode would help? Your sleep paralysis reminded me of his recurring dream.
http://www.radiolab.org/story/182747-wake-up-dream/
Did you ever figure out the tune he was whistling? I have the preacher from Poltergeist tune vaguely in my head. Thanks for that.
I wish you the best.
A fellow Bloggess fan
You need to contact me ! I can help you now! 3602657485……
Holy crap. I just don’t even know where to start. If this is fiction, you need to market the hell out of it. If this is not, what I desperately want to believe is some Orson Wellesian social psychology experiment, you need to call a priest, spiritual healer, or shaman.
Either way, you write like a professional, and I love reading your entries. Again, I say market this shit. You’ve got the makings of an amazing script!
I keep coming back to check on you. I’m not a fan of horror stories, but I’m genuinely worried about you. Not for your mental health. I don’t think you are crazy necessarily. I don’t know you. You could be. And that’s ok. Not really, since you don’t have health care and can’t get treatment which is a travesty. I don’t think this series of events is all in your head. I don’t think the scratches on your arm are from a knife. I’ve cut myself plenty of times with a knife (former cook). Knife cuts are clean. Your arm is scratched. The wound edges are jagged and torn.
There are too many “coincidental” things happening to be explained away. There are physical things going on, not just dreams or visions. So I am reiterating my offer of intercessory prayer for your family. You praying or using the artifacts of religion without faith would not necessarily help you feel better. But think of it in Buffy terms. There were plenty of people in the Buffyverse who didn’t believe. People were dying of blood loss constantly in Sunnydale. The doctors just accepted it because vampires weren’t rational. So think of those of us with faith in God as on Buffy’s team.
In my limited experience and only going by what you are writing here, I would tentatively say that you and your family are under a spiritual attack. Referring back to Buffy (Whedon did do some homework in the Bible), there are some who believe that demons in non-physical form do go after humans. There is spiritual battle imagery throughout the Bible. Christians are told to put on the full armor of God in order to do battle against spiritual enemies, not flesh and blood (paraphrased). Plenty of Christians believe in benevolent, benign angels. It’s really just the other side of the coin to believe in malevolent demons.
So I offer you some prayer warriors who will pray for your family. They will pray specifically for your son, your wife and you. I will be as specific or as vague as you’d like. I won’t send the link to your blog because of the profanity. Your blog, your words, no judgement. They just don’t use that language.
You don’t have to believe in it. We believe in it. And our faith matters.
Terrifying! If this is for real, I’d bypass the priest and go directly to Joel Olsteen. With that creepy smile of his, he’d scare the bejesus outta anyone/anything.
Seriously good story though. Keep thinking of House episodes-parasitic twin, Katrina victim (could be a plausible explanation because SETX, fungus among us).
If you aren’t scared enough, just let the hypochondria set in.
Dammit, if this isn’t a story (best scary story I’ve read), how can I help? Do you, Brittany, Trey and dogs need a place to stay? We have a guest house, or I could get you a place at a hotel. Maybe you just need to get out of your head/place for a few days. Really. I thought you were “writing” before, but if this is real, I am willing to help however I can. Not that it matters, but we are Catholic, and if you need to talk to a priest, I can take you to one.
Wasnt me that called the cops. I knew it! Jerk is right. Hope that next pot roast bites you in the ass.
No! Please don’t take away my pot roast!