The supernatural is fun, reality is the evil scary thing traumatizing us. Scooby-Doo taught me all the monsters are just real people in shitty costume. I love ghost stories but the recent resurrection of haunting and possessions courtesy of The Conjuring franchise is boring. It follows the cookie cutter template of random, good hearted folks innocently but idiotically moving to a new home then weird vibes, a Ouija board, something about portals to Hell, shit gets real, the A team shows up and the sign of the cross compels us all. Total yawn fest. There's a manual, so to speak for all this paranormal activity. Nice family going through major life changes. New home for a new start. Emotionally charged teenage children. Weird history to new residence. The principal of three. Weird things happen to skeptic and believer dichotomy. Someone uses a Ouija board. Shit gets real. Someone calls in a priest or paranormal investigators. The reveal. The power of Christ compells us all. The aftermath. Hollywood ordered haunting. But that's not how ghosts work. All energy shares space. The spirit in your home is probably a former resident. That's when the living and the deceased interact, I avoid the living while I'm alive, I'm sure at shit going to avoid them when I'm dead. That might explain the absence of friendly hauntings. I'd gladly share a home with a spirit who opened and closed doors and windows to make sure my pets can freely enter and exit or stay locked inside for safety. A spirit to turn lights on and off could save on electricity. Having a disembodied voice saying 'over there stupid," whenever I can't find my misplaced car keys. Here's what I have; Millennial poltergeists. My house is haunted by two crotch demons of procreation. The male entity, a child spirit, throws things around, leaves a mess in every room and screams at random. The female entity, a young adult spirit, fills the room with a brooding presence upon entering, consumes most household groceries without replenishment, moans constantly, accounts for the strange glow of blue light caused by hogging all available Wi-Fi bandwidth and screams occasionally when interacting with the male entity. My children are neurodivergent, which is the same as demonic possession and leads to prolonged personal trauma for most adults house guests staying over, the record stay is six weeks in case anyone is curious. There is nothing PG rated about a day with my family. We're unrated nightmare fuel, probably banned from several conservative countries, low budget indie film horror franchise. Nothing surprises me, nothing shocks me and certainly nothing offends, insults or upsets me. I find fictional horror comical, I've watched The Exorcist about 637 times and it only gets funnier everytime I see it because in comparison to my real world horror movies aren't there scare, they're there to entertain. I love watching stupid people make stupid decisions that kill them off in gruesome fashion, I cheer for the monster, the evil guy in costume wielding assorted weapons. Some days I wish the power of Christ would compel them to move their unmotivated physical vessels away from the laptop screens towards the front door and out to the family car so we can leave for whatever it is we're already running late for; the school bus, dental appointment, witch burning in the village square. I obtained a Ouija board and reached but Captain Howdy won't take my calls anymore; there's a PSA in the afterlife warning the deceased of the dangers of Ouija. Most calls are from idiot teenagers or drunk people at Halloween parties but sometimes you might communicate with someone like me who just wants to talk; the problems of the living scare the dead. Does it scare them enough to lose sleep over?
When I sleep I dream. When I dream I heal.
Sleep heals the mind, calms the conscious, connects the subconscious. I dream regularly, locked somewhere in recess of my mind. They're pleasant recollections, I don't dig too deep into their mystical meaning. Pleasant dreaming is a mind healing. Conscious and subconscious do the work for healthy mind. Sadly my nightmares are more interesting. I'm haunted by the spirits of the technological devices that surround me. The spectres watching, listening, recording, tracking, documenting, trending; everything, all the time. My mobile device vibrates and moves by sudden poltergeist activity. The demonic blue glow of the screens stare into flash images of evil. Social media possession without exorcism. If there ever were ghosts in the machine they're gone now. It asks to be let in, simply swipe across the screen. Algorithm, the beast has a name. It feeds off the lives of humans attached to the internet.
What if, by random chance, life imitated art and I became part of my own supernatral tale. It started when the power went out. Everyone slept all through the house including the cat stubbornly perched at the foot of our bed in a strategic placement designed to prevent me from turning over. I can sleep heavy, I can sleep light, I can sleep through the day, I can sleep through the night but disrupt my sleep and you're spoiling for a fight. Standing in the midst of complete darkness waiting impatiently to jolt my consciousness from the deepest of sleep....
'The power is out, I need to go pee.'
Blessed little creatures are children, masters at resetting your circadian rhythm. My mind openly mocking in choral chime; early to bed and early to rise will certainly lead to one's untimely demise, shut up smart mouth, but the power of fatigue compelled me and back to dream land I went. Moving through the window out into the jungle, it's hot and stuffy like confined humidity of the cigar tube tunnel my mind's eye generates for this dream setting. We're moving, swinging through the foliage or traveling on a train it's difficult to discern. There was a critical shortage of some other resource that built the tension to a moderate level. I recall the wise elder, portrayed by the late Alan Rickman sharing his wisdom among the gathered faceless crowd. I continued to move, good lord it's hot and stuffy in this dream world, nevermind that I shall go on. We, my party grew in number, reached the sub station building thing with all the cables and pulleys and other random mechanical instruments tacked on. The siren sounded and...
Damn alarm clock always chimes in during the best parts of the story.
No comments:
Post a Comment