Grimstalker

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In these woods, I am the boss. Least, this is what my fellow brothers and sisters say. Most days I am pretty easy going and you really have to go out of your way to really piss me off. When you do, well, let’s just say you opened up a frosty keg of Old Testament Retribution. Naturally, I’m not religious, and make no mistake, all religions say there is no room for my kind in any heaven. I will say look at the big picture of things, I can’t see my sorry ass sitting on some cloud playing a goddamned harp and that would be a living hell. Nevertheless, something about the unforgiving vengeful god that just gives me some righteous wood. You know what I am saying and if you don’t best mind your own business.

I love rolling with my kind like thunder through these beautiful black hills sporting our colors, our tribal colors that is. Ours is like no other and those fucking sissies that say they are some outlaw biker don’t know the meaning of, “The 1%.” Sure, just because we look human, act human, and on any other day, have empathy of a human, well, there is just more than just leather jackets, high octane, and the crack of an opening throttle. After all, happiness is a flick of the right wrist away. However, you see, there is more than what you can normally see about my kind. There is so very much more beneath the skin as they may say.

Human shell on the outside and our truer selves on the inside. Believe whatever makes you sleep better at nights thinking you know there is no such things as ghosts, phantoms, vampires, monsters, and my kind, the werewolf. Yeah, that’s fucking right, there’s all kinds of creatures walking day or night. We are your doctors, nurses, service men and women, the police, the fire fighters, and shit. But one goddamned thing you got to understand is that we are indeed only human on the outside. Inside of my kind is a blizzard of wrath that no man can contain though many have tried — tried and died. There’s a whole goddamned nation of a cemetery full of them. More scattered to the four winds in the form of shallow graves and rotting remains hidden away. Up here in the hills, there are more old mine shafts than people, and in the bottom of these are hills of bones who thought once upon a time that humans were at the top of the food chain.

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Listen, the moon does not hold its sway over my kind. Piss me off and have me in a corner, and I will show you the animal within from zero to spilling your guts in less than a couple of seconds. Not to worry, you’ll be plenty alive when your small and large intestines splash its payload on those new boots of yours. Also, let me clue you in on something else, religious relicts, crosses and such, spells and incantations don’t do jack shit either. Once upon a time long before you or I were a pup and then some, we overcame the silver bullet thing. I mean, in the spite of what you’ve seen in the shows, Hollywood, and shit like that, you’re in for one hell of a shocker when your silver hallow-points has no effect on us other than messing up our clothing. Not to mention, pissing any of us off.

Like I said earlier, I am a pretty easy going guy. I’d rather smile, laugh, smoke weed, and hang out at the Gallows talking shit, and meeting other members of packs from out of state sorts.

We all have specialties, I mean, you know, what we do in our more natural, or perceived in your eyes as, “Unnatural” we have our own names, handles, and skill sets. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking and you’re already wrong.
When we are in our natural state, we are cunning, fast as lightening and the weakest among us is as strong as any ten men you may want to chose. The brothers and sisters of my pack and those of my kind call me the, “Grimstalker.”

Trust me, every since I was a pup, I made it a profession in tracking down the free-range rubes that tend to get a little too close to things of ours, our business, our way of life, our land. Oh, for the fuck of Christ, trespassing on my land really raises the fucking hackles on the back of my neck.

Sitting up at my cabin here in the Black Hills you have to go off the beaten path, the roadway, and follow an old mining road and then turns to a path and a bridge over a small creek just to get to my land. I have no use for “visitors” of the human kind let alone uninvited assholes. Trust me in saying, I can hear a real dumbass walking up from the road far below. If the wind is blowing right, I’ll pick up the scent of the poor son of a bitch. Then your goddamned ass is all mine.

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This is where I turn from a guy catching some porn on the tube to my namesake. I jump up and already I can feel the change come on. I keep it in my pants if you know what I mean. Then on my way out, I grab my stainless mattock. It’s a custom job like a stainless tomahawk or one hell of a bitching hatchet with one unfucking-forgiving business end. You’ll never see it coming, you might hear it buzzing through the air and maybe, just maybe the sun will dance ever so briefly just before I take the top of your fucking skull clean off.

Again, you’ll be still alive when my gifting separates some of that grey matter of yours. Then as you slide down next to a tree, you’ll be sure to see me. Though because of the missing portions of your fucking brains, you’ll be not doing much else except look up at me as blood flows from your mouth and ears while shitting and pissing yourself in doing so. It usually happens to most people and I don’t hold that against anyone just so you know.

Then with my claws I dig into your exposed brain for a fucking taste and that is when you fade away right when I got a good paw full of your brains as your body has its fits, seizures, and shit. I’ll let you die as I eat and fetch my mattock right above your body pulling it from the tree along with the top of your skull and scalp. The scent of fresh blood in the air — your blood that is. You won’t know it, but very soon, day or night, we’ll be feasting upon your remains.

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A True Telling of an Egyptian Ghost Story

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I don’t believe in ghosts…

You see, I know they are among us. So, there is no voting, or thinking of the possibilities for me. There is a difference of knowing of the path and those like me that walk the path.

Having said this, I have been a lightening rod of the paranormal since I can remember. Yes, I have experienced the darker forces in this life. I also experienced things that I just cannot explain into words with the shocking reality that there is a whole other world that is somehow entwined with us. The only way that I can put it into any form of reference is the simple fact, you, yourself must experience these things and then we can talk.

Just take a moment and close your eyes and imagine you are on a highway that winds through the thick woods on a moonless night. Suddenly caught  in your headlights you see something that raises the littlest of hairs on the back of your neck. Your reaction is seriously impeded because of this supernatural or crypto zoological creature blinded by your oncoming headlights. You lock up the brakes and throwing yourself into a skid, and then into a stop right there in the middle of the road. Seconds later, you get out of the car to look. Whatever it was is not there anymore. You naturally want to doubt yourself as the adrenaline is almost causing you to get sick to your stomach. You may even look for any signs of tracks or evidence if you are so bold to do so. Alas, there is nothing, no evidence, nothing but that fleeting unexplainable experience that will change your mind, and of course, change your life forever.

This story is not a fiction to entertain. It goes deeper in life-changing events from the actual paranormal activities. Some believe in Angels and Demons, Heaven and Hell. I do not, I can not for there are too many signs and proof of an afterlife that goes far beyond any religion or the cold grave of our mortal remains. However, there are dark (malevolent for those who know the meaning) spirits and those of a lighter, much lighter spirits, (the Benevolent Ones). Some are perceived as angry as I experienced in Egypt of an Egyptian Soldier who stolen an American Cooling Fan. Whatever these people were in this life carries forward in the afterlife and may echo through eternity. The whole myriad of human emotions carry with this energy of the person. I have experienced this all too often in my past.

Now back to this story…

The young Egyptian Soldier knowing that his power source would not work for the fan properly thought that he could simply get some American electricity. In doing so, he caused his own demise. You seem, he attempted to tap into our power running from up at the hilltop I was at through the desert floor. These insolated lines carried a fatal 2400 volt of current. The Equipment I was using is classified but I can tell you it was dangerously old. The substation finally opened the troubling short-circuit before complete failure.

I immediately phoned down to the American side of this site and asked what the hell were they doing with my power I was generating and keeping things working. Those guys down there knew absolutely nothing about jack shit. I really thought the problem was coming from my fellow Airmen. They caused more blackouts than I could count while there on my tour of 181 days. Nevertheless, they informed me that it was not them (this time). However, my station up all alone sitting on a hilltop looking over a 4,000 year old trade route. I began thinking as my heart raced with the possibilities that one of the members of the caravan may have stumbled upon the power cables. Regardless, I just knew not to reset the substation which was too hot anyways — The main breaker would not reset because of the heat. It was that bad. There are regulations and standards that are emplace for safety. The pit in my stomach hit me hard, that I remembered clearly.

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Now, I grabbed my trusty big black Mag Light the kind that uses something like six d-cell batteries. The main base is far down and across the desert below noticed I was down. No strobes, the beacon red lights to warn air traffic of the doom of this high point. Besides, tradesmen used the light as a lighthouse as if the caravans where ships passing through the night. There were very seldom any caravans at night leaving or going to the nearby village. Still, I found myself hoping beyond all hope it wasn’t any of them.

I was radioed and told that help was coming as I have already begun to trace the path of these insolated high voltage lines lying on the ground on foot. Three thick black power lines on the sand — This was done a long time before I ever got there and so fucking against any American Electrical Code. These black cables were nothing less than the 20th century versions of Asps, the vipers of these ancient lands.

Asps, these venomous snakes that took countless of lives throughout the eons or in this case, sands of time in the most literal sense. Us Americans called these vipers, “Two-Steppers” for the simple fact that a healthy man would take about two steps after a single bite and fall to the ground and in seconds, die.

Meanwhile…

I saw better with my flashlight directed away from me and using the sky’s brilliance, you can actually see galaxies with the naked eye. I let my eyes adjust to the night and proceeded to easily follow the lines a safe distance away from them all the way down to the base of the desert floor. The trucks were coming up slowly from afar as I eventually came upon the scene, the problem, and the reason why the substation went down.

Just before my eyes about ten yards in front of me I can smell the burnt flesh, hair, and the rubber to include the complete destruction of the thick copper wiring. The odors would knock anyone around and was like hitting a wall. A very dangerous one at that.

I remembered that I turned my flashlight to the grim scene. There lying before me was a smoldering human charred body completely consumed by the deadly high voltage. His body must have burned completely through by the time I got down the hill. I did remember seeing a dim glow before I trekked down. I turned my attention to what I was doing so I wouldn’t end up falling off the path and leading to one hell of a gravity check at the bottom. Though this orange dark glow, well, it was gone by the time I hit the desert floor and I did not realize when I stood alone up there I saw the end of a life come to an abrupt end.

I stood there in silence as shook my head as I covered my nose and mouth. I then regained my composure and steadied my voice knowing by now there were many ears peeled to that frequency. I radioed the grave situation in to the group coming up in their vehicles. I could hear far passed them, a siren far off in the distance. But it the medics that would arrive would be too late.

The high voltage going to ground turned the sandy area around this low ranking Egyptian Soldier’s body about six feet in diameter to absolute glass.

The trucks from behind slowed down and before I knew it, ten people were standing around as two of the men removed their hats using them to puked in the meshed material that acted more like a strainer catching only the chunks of whatever they ate and as for the rest oozing out and littered the sand beneath them. I had to turn away as seeing them puke would affect me and my gagging reflexes were on high alert. I managed to keep it all down myself. Then a woman fainted and fell to the sand as no one paid any attention while fixated at the ghastly sight except for me since I was facing her at that point. I heard her whimper, then a gasp, and watched her body and the inevitable “thud” as she hit the sand.

It was all good, at least for me. You see, I didn’t like her much so I let her lay there in her frail state. She was a gossiper, and a pass-around type. “Promiscuous” had to be her middle name. I thought ever so briefly at times of when she arrives home to her family, she would be using that same mouth of hers to kiss her children and husband with – Damn… 

Besides, she kind of reminded me of the late Farrah Fawcett with all that feathered hair minus the great ass and wonderful breasts. She certainly had a pretty low public opinion of ill repute.

Then from behind me, “Is he dead…?” I turned from the fainted woman nearly rolling my eyes at such an idiot question to an obvious answer.

You know, some people say the dumbest things at times, and this is one of those times. “You wanna go ahead and check his fucking pulse, Hondo?” I quipped.

“Hey asshole, I out-rank you! I spent more time in the Chow Hall than you have in your entire career!” I chuckled at that as it showed.

“Yeah, I believe you, you fat ass bastard.” I was getting to the point that the entire United States Air Force was beginning to be overrun by a mob of ass clowns, and maybe just maybe, I should consider doing something else.

I turned and walked all the way back, first stepping over the fainted female the one without an ass – That should be a crime alone. I got to where I needed to be and waited for the word to reset everything.

Now, whither or not you believe this — I personally could care less. I will say, I wish it never have happened at all.

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It was a couple of hours later and from the top I can see that more people arrived to recover the body and a crew began repairing the lines. I knew that it would take them the rest of the night – I really had a vote of ill-confidence with the expertise of some of these Civil Engineers. I must explain, there are two species of humans on these classified operations, fuck-ups as being the Neanderthal Class and those of sharp minds and thinks way outside any given box that are in a constant state of frustration. I might add that I was totally unmediated.

I am the latter of these two groups.

Having said that thus far, as it turned out, it would take nearly a full day before the repairs would be completed and signed off as, “Good to go, Taylor. Throw that goddamned switch!”

Meanwhile, that late evening, I wrote up a classified safety and incident report right away. I wrote it in great detail while it was all fresh in my mind only after throwing my clothing in the wash machine standing in the nude still smelling fowl by the burnt body. I took a nice long shower but it just didn’t seem like it was enough.

After my shower, I remember my two kids, (Goats given to me as a gift by the people of a local village so they became property of the United States Air Force.) came inside and acting rather skittish. These goats were house-trained. I went back to my writing up the reports on an old typewriter — This was 1986 deep in Southern Egypt.

Late that night or early morning hours I began going to sleep as a gentle breeze from the west came through and was sweet and welcomed. Then before slipping off into a deep awaiting sleep, I noticed how bitter the breeze was then and turning colder by the second. Then as I noticed that we were not alone. I literally felt the angry spirit and with the atrocious strong odor, it pulled my sheets right off of my bed that I used to cover up at those summer nights as a second layer of fly protection with my Mosquito Net. Consequently, I never saw one single blood sucking Mosquito.

I watched the sheet ascend to the air high above me and then guided down by the invisible hand in scaring the kids (Goats) out of the building.

I grabbed the white sheet from the air as if someone was holding it. Something indeed was holding it other than myself. Knowing that this is the spirit that belongs to the charred man. I know he didn’t speak any English. Bad on my Arabic, I tried to convey my personal condolences of his death as I stood there literally naked. Besides, I figured this spirit saw enough naked men to include himself. I don’t know if it were because of my strong physique or the fact of my strong will or courage to confront this troubling spirit.

Perhaps a bit of both.

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For three days, I was plagued by this spirit and so were my kids. But, this isn’t the end but only the beginning of the paranormal events. Things just seemed to escalate and so did the ever-growing rumors spreading like an uncontrollable prairie fire from far below.

You see, this angry spirit also went down and hassled or spooking the shit out of the electricians and some of them abandon the job site driving as fast as they could back to the American side of the site. This was the reason as to the length of repairs. You see, the repairs should have been completed under two hours in daylight under a ghost-free normal environment.

Shit, I couldn’t get anyone to come up to the hilltop. The water delivery, rations, and such just was not coming up because of the paranormal activity. I had to drive down to pick up everything. The American side again, was ablaze with stories of the charred Egyptian Soldier.

Oh, I remember the whisperings going on as I came to get resupplied. I felt as if they were all treating me as if I had a plague or something.

The story of what happened kept getting better every time it was told. The stories took a life of its own as it grew further away from the actual events.

Moreover, others were also affected by the ghost and the rumors thereof kept building up some sort of hysteria as a direct result. You see, even the Egyptian Traders and their camels loaded down however, they didn’t stop. Nothing travels as fast as bad news  like cobalt-pressed lightening.

It seems that those who did not believe in the paranormal almost became ghosts themselves with accidents and mishaps. The stories, the sightings, the hysteria took a life of all its own. People were saying all kinds of shit. Even the Roman Catholic Chaplain had a bumper crop of souls that needed saving and record setting baptisms stemming from the paranormal pandemonium.  The American side of this site were in small numbers to start with.

Now because of my particular job, I can go off-site and visit the village and a limited few that could. I decided to pack up the kids and head down to civilization of sorts. I remember looking forward with meeting with the folks of the village.

Once I got to the village I found it all eerie quiet as I could feel all eyes upon me. I walked up to the village Sheik standing before the ancient Mosque he served. I told him pretty much of what he already have come to know. Still, I told him about it as exactly what had happened.

He then rode back with me to bless the exact site where the man died. He then demanded to see the Site Commander which is in the Egyptian Army side. An equal to a Brigadier General, this officer, a Muslim himself looked at me as I stood there outside my vehicle in attention and saluting. He, the general walked up to me in perfect English while returning my salute in his own lengthy convenience cursing the whole tragedy. I got the feeling from this man as if I were to blame for it all. Maybe I was a bit paranoid or something. I wrote it off as such immediately.

After all, I didn’t steal a fan and take a folding pocket knife to tap into a high-voltage power line. In any court of any reasonable kind, I was not to be at fault. That was what I was rationalizing and telling myself. Still, it didn’t help matters with me much.

Even the Egyptian Army had sightings of this ghost. One of the men, didn’t know the that the electrocuted man he was talking ever so briefly in passing was dead by some twelve hours previously!

That would definitely be a real shocker – pun intended.

The Sheik then blessed the remains that were in a body bag ion a huge walk-in freezer. The remains were to be sent to a village far to the north for the grieving family and those of his village.

Then the Sheik wanted to visit my classified hill top in which permission was given by the general who was the supreme commander of the old site that did the granting and in translation, I was under orders to do so.

I drove off as the general was covered in a cloud of choking dust. Yeah, I can be a real fucking prick at times. We then travelled up to the top of this facility of mine. I was the only Airman that was there. I had this bitch all to myself with the kids.

Now as the Sheik and I walked into the facility right there before our own eyes, he saw, and smelling the offending stench of burnt flesh that seems to take days to leave your nostrils – Well, I can see the Sheik was overcome. Both of us seeing clearly at the dark specter now slowly walking towards us. I earnestly was glad that the apparition showed up and was seen by this man of Islam, the ever frightening Sheik.

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Now, the Sheik was certainly stunned in awe and this is understandable as he shook like a leaf. It took him a couple of moments to regain himself and his purpose. He, by the way, spoke excellent English and said that this spirit is in suffering, as well as in an understandable mourning. Angry because he is no longer in the realm of the living but struggling to remain here just the same.

Consequently, I figured that the apparition was sticking around to exact his revenge. But that is just one man’s thinking there.

The Sheik did his spiritual bit — Though, I am atheist, I knew that whatever the Sheik was saying on behalf of the ghost, it was the ghost who was the believer and obviously gave it peace. Peace enough to evaporate, peace enough that the smell was suddenly gone.

As we walked outside in the light of day, the Sheik told me that he explained that I was not personally at fault and his death was not on my hands. He said some other religious jumbo as I drove him back to the village while he was praising Allah and all.

I do remember that everything quickly returned to normal and the animals came around and I guess about a week after that, the traders in their caravan came up to my humble abode to fuel up on good clean water and as usual, I fed them more than enough ham, “Meat Lover’s” pizza. I assured them that it was all, “Moosh Muquallah” in pronunciation from the true Arabic  meaning simply as, “No Problem.”

According to their faith, I was sending them all to hell once a week and twice on Saturdays as I taught them the finer points of Poker and Black Jack. Damn, they caught on quick and the same 500 pounds (Dollars) I alleviated from them in times before, well, they won it all back and then some.

Down on the American side, gambling was legal and we bet on everything to include the game of throwing horse shoes to live scorpion fights, Poker, Darts, Black Jack, and side-betting on Chess Games to pass the time in a makeshift club called, “The Grand Sahara.” The club was off limits to non-Americans and that was a good thing too. Fifty Cents for a can of Budweiser. The women would literally fall out of their clothing at those prices – We would even bet on that too. I mean how many beers will it take before she’s fucking some dweeb in a goddamned broom closet or worse.

Naturally, I was nothing less than a celebrity in a morbid sort of way with my fellow Airmen. Sure, I was and still, an opportunist, and sucked it all up in my 15 minutes of shame.

As for the Egyptian people and my experiences, I loved the people. I had them in the best Reeboks you can buy fresh out of Germany. Eventually, the entire small village was sporting Reeboks.

Good footwear is essential no matter where you’re at.

I’ll stop here on this high note.

After all that I did, minus my ham thing in which not a single motherfucker knew about by the way. I was considered a part of that village and the people thereof. These memories, good, and the very little of the bad that I took from Southern Egypt. I shall treasure and never forget as long as I shall live. As to the strange events, solidly etched into my brain as another episode of the paranormal.


Please take a few minutes and tell me your experiences with the paranormal in the comment section below. Also, let me know what you think about the telling of this story in the written word and how I may improve upon it.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Douglas S. Taylor

 

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A Fools’ Circle…

November2015

I see ISIS has already killed 250,000 of Muslims in Syria, Iran, and Iraq. The CIA did a great job engineering Obama’s dream of, “By Any Means Necessary…” So now those in fear grows into Islamophobia and this fear is spread across the sea of the innocence. Yes, Islamophobia is spreading like a virus of condemnation among the mind-numbing mentality of the Walmart Nation and from the fear mongers they cast upon these coals of white-hot lustful hatred to anyone calling themselves Muslim.

As Adolf Hitler first killed his own, so has ISIS governed by the guise of of another Holy Jihad. Though the true cause is the lust for war and obeying their true god, the CIA who beckons instability in the lands of the former Great Persian Empire and before the Ghosts of Babylon. The rotting bodies of innocent Muslim men, women, and their children shown proof of paying the ultimate price by the bloody hands that guide this wretched army of killers among their own.

ISIS who is blinded by their deadly ambitions are only a fragment of the lethal deeds of the United States Secret Societies in Government shrouded in treacheries upon treacheries that knows of no bounds.

For the Corporate Powers that be have used another successful wedge to drive into the people of America that is still in a deep coma called, “The American Dream.”

OutAlive

The witches of the CIA conjure spells and casts upon the empty minds yet another Middle Eastern Boogiemen. ISIS enabled, fueled, and armed with murder seared into their dark hearts stretch out to a northern land and strike against the innocents who dwell among the brightest cities in Europe.

Terror once again reaches the people of Paris yet again. Though Obama, a marionette of his masters plays the role of Arson and a Firefighter upon a tightrope. Instability in the Region of the Middle East and Syria by his tightest focus is his ultimate endeavor.

I see into the plans of the masters that govern this world and its marionettes called governments. Yes, Obama is fascist owned and operated. That is the Mindset of Corporate America’s Greed Empire. Get ready for the next False Flag coming soon, very soon to a major city near you.

Will it be the ancient city of the Romans?

Will it be the ancient city of the Anglo-Saxons to surely be leveled by the black hand, the dark instrument of the CIA in ISIS?

Who is to say?

Parasite

Yet the signs are out here in the darker corners of the Internet as the NSA is once again completely blind while distracted in spying of the millions of Terabytes of data being stolen from you and me here in America.

Among the ashes of the dreams dined upon filling your belly. Your heroes for distorted tales of phantoms – Ghosts.

You shroud yourselves in a cloak of paranoia, fear, and as the drums of hatred pounds the enchanting morbid beats under a brooding sky compels you further down a path that will destroy your way of life ever so much more.

There you are caught listening and watching upon bated breath the words of wretched pariahs as they fleece you from your last dollar, your last freedoms, your last drop of blood.

Drunken with power, the taskmasters of this world will stop at nothing, and yet you are entranced into the malevolent spells feeding into the doom and gloom baring the fruits of bitter dread.

So easily without a rational thought amongst, you give up your sons, and daughters to a slaughter of another war without hope but only filled with the deceptive falsehoods you believe as truths.

This is a game I see with plans within plans and a game I shall no longer entertain…

FBI
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Late Night with the Supernatural

Created by Douglas S. Taylor for DarcWorX

Standing in the shower just minutes after midnight as the steam filled the bathroom and the humming of the exhaust fan is the only thing I can hear above the jets of the water hitting my coiled and powerful body. My head directly under one of the jets as the body wash and shampoo ran down ever ripping muscle glistening under from the light above. I thought about the former’s days events that brought a sigh of accomplishment and then like the brooding clouds coming across the bleak horizon. Yes, my mind’s processes were changing again as my eyes darken to the black shining onyx orbs as I can see them go from my natural green to this horrific scene. As I looked into the shaving mirror, even my face didn’t quite look like my own. My thoughts became not my own, and the special senses I have deep within my body arose.

There in the shower I saw a beautiful young woman naked and not a hair on her body as she was sitting now on her kitchen floor. My mind’s eye so sharp and vivid I could not break away from the new settings and the realities that came with. There is no need to fight this off. These sorts of things never can be quilled or swept under a mat. I have been through all of that shit before and know that this, this “gift” would have to run its course as my mind could hear music from her home. Perhaps in another room. I turned my head slightly in the shower as if that would bring aid in hearing the song. It worked as I instantly recognized it as, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult that this tune is far older than the now weeping woman began sobbing. Before her is two black candles freshly lit  as I can smell the sulfur from the match lying next to the matchbox and small ashtray smoldering.

I could see the Ouija Board sitting as squarely as everything else so carefully with such purpose. I can smell her body and in the air is a sickness about her. From a birds eye view I can see the large knife to her immediate right of her quivering body. The illness, this sickness, is far from alien from me as I know the scent of depression, sorrow, and the acidic smell of desperation coming up in the invisible vespers to my very nose. There is something else, something far more nefarious that began to run up my spine as I recognized it as the very essences of death itself. I have smelled this so many times in the past on other people who did not know that their life would come to a complete and utter end before the day is through.

SoFar

As for this woman, her baldness became obvious to me. She was slowly withering away as the cancer spread throughout her body like a roaring flame. She would, by the course of the disease, had maybe a week. Though as I can clearly see, she would be dead in just moments using the knife beside her. Not only can I see this, but I can feel all of this as if I was “connected” to some of her thoughts drowning in hopelessness, uselessness, disparity, and the sickening pain of her body trying to fight off the inevitable.

There in this moment she used the Ouija Board  to connect with her loved ones in the past who have died decades ago of some of the same that is killing her. I wanted to reach out and embrace her so she would not die alone. The shear misery of being alone especially in your last days, hours, minutes, and moments has its own crushing wave of disparity. I watched from above in her final moments as she seemed to be conversing in gentle whispers saturated in tears to her mother that died so many years before.

I just wished that I could be next to her as my own heart began to crack as the song on her radio changed to Velvet Revolver’s “Fall to Pieces.” I could see no other living soul in the room, no pets, and only a dead plant in the kitchen window – How fucking fitting…

After just a few moments of her mind aloft in some state that I cannot follow, I know the time is near, and again not a fucking thing I can do about it. Feeling dreadfully helpless I just watched her say her last words as her nose and tears were running down her body. There at the moment when when she stabbed herself with the knife and feeling her suffering lifting away from her my eyes began to water and there in her final moments as her life left her, I saw another bright light next to her bright energy drawing close to her. Now fascinated I can see it was a soul of another that came for her. I can see the soul of the woman that just died as a young child with blue ribbons in her thick blonde hair embracing her mother, the soul of her mother. Then there were other orbs of energy of loved ones passed so long ago lofting down and like her mother, embraced the little girl with such love.

Every painful to watch however, in this instance there is a bittersweet feeling as the strength left me as I slid down the wall of the shower crying uncontrollably as I can see that this woman wasn’t really alone. I looked and can only see the shell of her body and the candles were blown out. There was nothing more to see as this connection ended as abruptly as it began.

I gathered my thoughts and emotion as I realized looking back into the mirror that this “gift” more of a curse left, and my eyes returning to the bloodshot green eyes.

I remember as I shut off the shower on how beautiful in spite of the circumstances, a beautiful ending or maybe a beginning for this woman in the afterlife. I began singing strongly the very words from Velvet Revolver’s “Fail to Pieces” loudly. I sang it often, it is one of my favorite melodies froth with emotion that sometimes chokes me up to this very day. As for this evening I was singing without issue as I dried myself off and in the audience of my pets who may not understand the words specifically, yet they do understanding more than we all let on, don’t they?

COSS
FBI