The Return

I do not bring you this story in the midst of a cool Spring day, basking in the breeze and relaxing on the porch of my Virginia mountain home. In fact, we’ve come out of a record snowfall and brutal cold directly into the hot, dry days of a false Spring. It is already in the 90’s this first week of April and…shit, the phone just rang and no-one was there…not once, but twice. He doesn’t want me writing this and if it were night, I would stop. It is night when he is most active. You probably think it’s just a coincidence that my phone rang less than a minute into writing my story with no-one on the line…twice. Or that I keep having to go back and add all the c’s after I finish a paragraph…even though there’s nothing wrong withthe c. This happens on my pc at work as well. As I said, it is in the 90’s and dry. I cansummon the strength to write this now as I care less of the circumstances I may be creating for myself. It is a down time in the ups and downs of mylife. I may not have another chance when my condition will permit this. A few years ago, my home became haunted. I know the day he entered and the day he left some 3 months later. The energy in the actions he took increased as the days passed, from radios coming on by themselves to things falling over to seeing my name appear on screen while watching television. On the final night, he held me face down in my pillow while I slept. I awoke to feel a great weight lift and I glimpsed a shadow move across my room. It took me 3 screams before I had the breath to make a sound. This happened at 3:33am on the final night. It had been building to that night. The night that he was able to collect nearly enough energy to kill me. I suppose that I am telling you this story as some sort of evidence should he win this time. That this is what occurred when the questions come. When they find me laying peaceful in my bed with no apparent reason to be dead. He arrived 3 nights ago. His communication tool of all things was a stapler. I used it to staple my tax papers together and set it on the coffee table. A few moments later something pressed the front of the stapler; not hard enough to disperse a staple, but hard enough to get my attention. I wrote it off as a sticky spring, just like you’re doing right now. However, the next day as I was visually looking for my keys on the coffee table, the stapler was pressed again. I hadn’t touched a thing nearby. I dismissed the sticky theory considering more than 12 hours had passed, but I ignored it none the less. That night, as I was dozing off, something began jiggling the doorknob on my bedroom door. During the night as I was coming out of a deep sleep, I heard what sounded like a voice coming through a bad phone connection, interspersed with a metallic sound which interfered just enough to keep me from comprehending the words. It lasted only a few seconds. I believed I was dreaming and was nearly fully awake when it repeated almost identically. The third time it happened, I was fully awake. I raised my head and waited, but it did not occur again. I am sure it was talking to me. It wasn’t as if I was overhearing another’s conversation. I glanced at the clock. It was 3:33am. So, the days pass and the nights pass slower and I await the next connection, the next step that will eventually lead to that final night for he or I. He is back and though I would rather see him gone, I am ready. I have seen more of the dark than he realizes.

Deckard

I began writing poetry when I was a teenager and it truly saved me from a destructive path. 'Time Heals' will be on my grave stone'. I have 3 incredible kids who are the greatest gifts that God has given me. If I have advice to give to aspiring...

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