The one with the floral crown grabs my hand and leads me outside. She takes me to a tree and gently pushes me against it. She then wraps herself around me laying her red head on my back and I am sandwiched between her and the tree. The information is flowing so fast I feel as if my head may explode. She is the protector of plants and trees. She shared with me the knowledge of every single plant in these woods and how important they are. Even moss and mistletoe is vital to the stability of the forest. There is another growl and it is closer than the last, but I now know what it is. I know everything there is to know about these protectors and their enemies.
The beast was, at one time, a Nymph. It was said she was the most beautiful of all Nymphs. Her beauty caught the eye of one of the gods and in his narcissistic self-indulgence he laid with her. His goddess became furious and had her turned into a bear. After many years of begging the goddess to be turned back, she made a deal with a demon. The demon promised to restore her beauty if she destroyed all the nymphs. He also would make her the ruler of the entire forest. He made her monstrous and very large. She is as powerful as three bears. Huge paws. She also, is hideous. Although she resembles a bear she looks more like a monstrosity. She is powerful but she can only kill a nymph when it is hurt or weak. She hides deep in the shadows, just lurking, waiting for an opportunity.
I also know what our dying nymph is and needs. She is the protector of animals. When the deer started getting sick she became weak. She needs sunlight and the power from the three other nymphs to save her. That’s why they were opening the window treatments. I know we must hurry. She is also the only one who can heal the deer. I run back in the house to see that she is opening her eyes. Kodak jumps up on me as if he is happy she is wakening. I look over to see that Bethany’s hand is now being held under the water. Forever, her and I will have this bond of knowledge. I pick up our sick nymph and make my way to the door. Bethany runs past me and opens it and expresses we must hurry. She knows what I know. We are to face a battle very soon.
I place the nymph on the ground in the full sunlight. The three others surround us. All the animals are very attentive to what is happening. Just as I watched last night, these nymphs collected the energy from the top of their heads and the bottom of their toes and shot it out to the sick one. An electrifying ray radiated from each of them into her. Their glow all dimmed as the energy left them. Just as she was coming to, the others were losing their balance and one fell. Growling is coming from the woods. I guess it to be about 75 yards away. We will have to face this monster. It will stop at nothing to get to these delicate creatures in their time of weakness.
Thanks to the sun, they all begin to regain their composure. The nymph over animals is no longer grey, but is fully illuminated again. An 8-point buck comes over and nudges her toward a sick doe. She seems to glide to the animal and places a hand on it. Energy moves from her and enters the deer. She dims but very quickly lights back up. As she moves to the next one. We receive our unwelcome demonic visitor!
It is even more terrifying than the images that were communicated to my mind from the nymphs. I scream for Bethany to go into the house and bolt the doors. Kodak is by my side and I instruct him to go in with her but he refuses. This beast pushes a tall pine tree down with little effort as it advances upon us. The nymph continues to heal as if she trusts that I and the others can handle the grisly adversary. I grab an ax leaning against the porch. Before it can take one step forward, the wolves attack. Never have I seen anything so vicious as the fight between the wolves and this monster. Blood splatters on me as they come close to where I am standing. While the animal nymph is still healing, all the bucks that are standing charge after it. Each wolf has a bite and the deer are piecing their antlers into it’s flesh. Kodak attacks.
I watch in horror as the beast throws him against the house. He lets out heartbreaking whimpers. Next, every small animal in the vicinity strikes. They are biting and clawing as they run up and down it’s body. Then lastly, comes the birds, dive bombing our enemy. It is fighting with all it’s might throwing them off one by one, only to have them attack again. Finally, it falls to the ground with a huge thud. The ground shakes. The three nymphs approach and hold hands in front of it. An intense blaze shoots from their eyes and hits the beast. It is a different form of energy than I’ve seen from them before but no doubt energy. I take the ax and barbarically cut off the beast’s head. As it’s dead body lay there separate, she slowly transforms back into her original state. There is no doubt that she was at some time a beautiful nymph. Her body turned to sparkling ashes and rose, dissipating into the sun.
The nymphs are holding one another as they try to regain their strength. I fall on the ground next to kodak as he is dying. I love him so much and it breaks my heart to see him in so much pain. He has been with me through thick or thin for 8 years. I scream, begging the nymph to save him. She comes over and lays her hand on Kodak and before I know it he is licking my face. As I stand, Bethany runs out and jumps into my arms. She lands a passionate kiss on me. I would do it all again just for that one kiss!
We all went around, picking up the wounded animals and bringing them over to the animal nymph. She was healing each one as fast as she could in-between having to recharge her ability. As the sun began to set, all the creatures had left except for the deceased. They had died before they could be healed. Thankfully, there were not that many but their nymph mourned their deaths as if they were family. I expressed to her that I would give them a proper burial. She put her hand on Kodak and he raised up and put his paw out for my hand. Through him she told me of her gratitude. And everything about her filled my mind just as with the others. I know all the animals in the forest. What they eat and how they contribute to the habitat. The beautiful forest protectors left.
Bethany and I will have been together every day for a year since our time with the nymphs. Our vast knowledge of the forest and its eco-system has helped us to protect and respect what has been so freely given to us. Bethany made a breath-taking garden and we have many animal friends that live on our property with us. We sit on the porch with them many of days and watch the sun go down. We never saw the nymphs again……. Unless you count that glow we sometimes see through the darkness in the woods.
Grey Misty Stone
Monument beneath tree, I arrive to thee, nefarious you seem, grief-stricken dream, entrenched stone face, remains share space, expensive rock, ominous spot, India afar, shipped from you are, sorrow talk, you appear to mock, death despite pleas, pernicious disease, ironic willow weep, heartsick demeanor keep, sculptor haunts me, inconspicuously, grave mound, sacred ground, death leaves, left behind grieves.
Spirit not here, only body and stone near.
The Ghost Within My Dementia
This bloodcurdling darkness sends chills through my soul. Am I dreaming? Or is my mind trapped in a supernatural delusion? I sense that my eyes are open yet I am blind. The murky pitch-black that confines me is so thick, I feel that I can literally hold it in my hand. My eyes are heavy as if they are jam-packed with mud. Panic overcomes me as this grimy void seems to crush my torso. Gasping for breath, I realize that suffocation is inevitable. A massive dark energy seizes me. A sinister force hell-bent on eradicating my mortality is pulling me. It’s as if a suction is violently dragging me through a black hole. A tornado! That must be it. I hold on for dear life vowing to not surrender to this wicked force of nature, hoping that it does not know my history of giving up. I scream, “You cannot have me!” My fear is fiercer than I have ever experienced.
Startled, suddenly I awaken. As my mind comes to, I discover that I am lying in my bed safe in the sanctuary of my room. I let out a sigh of relief as I realize that I can breathe. Not one thing is out of place. The haunting portraits on the wall stare me down as if to communicate through telepathy that I am such a fool. The bright light of the day is permeating through the window piercing my head. Its radiant blaze saturates half the room. I escape its brilliance and move into
the shadows to get dressed. Although God and I are not on good terms, I find myself praying, grateful that it was all just a dream. Standing in the bathroom with lights off, I have just enough light from the bedroom to see my reflection in the mirror. My hair is no longer winter wheat but is now white. I barely recognize myself. My lanky, frail existence and dark circles under my eyes remind me of a zombie from a horror movie. I wonder how old I am today because I gave up keeping track many years ago.
With an excruciating headache, I find myself preparing my breakfast. Having no memory of walking to the kitchen causes me anxiety. An utter sadness surfaces as I remember I have dementia. It has robbed me of my confidence and has left a puny and frightened shell of what once was a lively woman. I am imprisoned in its cruel clutch. The quick rush of panic causes me to drop an egg. It splatters across the floor and I think of that old nursery rhyme where the broken could not be put back together reminding that there is no cure for my ailment. It will only get worse. My mother suffered it and after watching her own mother deteriorate from it, she just couldn't bear the devastation this unwelcome nuisance brings. I am sure it has been an undesirable heirloom that has been passed down among our women from generation to generation. The thought of my mother brings her image to me. She is standing just a few feet away. Her head tilted to one side and vivid rope burns around her neck. Her grey hair is long and looks greasy and stringy as if it hasn’t been washed in decades. In her youth, she kept it braided and pinned up. She is holding out her arms to me. The urge to embrace her is strong but I know better. My mother is dead. I would rather her be haunting me then then the undeniable truth that my dementia has progressed to the point that I am experiencing delusions.
Out of the corner of my vision, I see a black shadow crawling beside me. It is just my black cat, Slim which relieves my sudden anxiety. I am confused at first, thinking I am seeing another apparition because my Slim has been missing for couple of days. I pick him up and cradle him in my arms pleased that he is home. Before I can put him down he is already standing at the backdoor. The hair raises on the back of my neck. It is unadulterated fear when my dementia toys with my mind. It frolics with its perverted intention to devour every last brain cell I have left. I open the door to let Slim out. As I am telling him to please return home and not make me worry, I notice that an eerie fog has descended upon my back yard. It reminds me of the thick black force from my dream. I must be imagining it. Slamming the door quickly another heinous symptom of my dementia, rears its ugly head. Vertigo. I plummet to the floor. I lay there for a moment with the realization I may lay there for days before someone will find me if I cannot get up. Slim snuggles up to me and I close my eyes to rest.
I open my eyes to find myself in my recliner. Vodka drink in hand. Once again, I have lost track of time. I find it alarming but I do not panic because I am already buzzed. I look over to see my mother sitting on the couch shaking her lopsided head in disapproval. I am where I want to be at that moment drinking my calming concoction. If she truly is a ghost and not just a figment of my imagination, how dare her judge me after what she did. I throw her a disgusted glance. After the hell she put me through and the nightmare I am going through now, I am justified in a little alcoholic satisfaction. Yes, I am aware that it will expedite the progress of my illness. I don’t care. The depression sets in reiterating that I am alone with just the illusion of my mother, my dementia and my alcohol potion. I have pushed everyone away. As if Slim is keen to my thoughts, he jumps up in my lap to remind me that I also have him. I curse my mother! Her wretched apparition vanishes. Continuing to drink, I notice that my glass has become heavy. Are my muscles deteriorating along with my mind? The struggle to lift the glass exhausts me. I close my eyes to rest.
Awoken violently I strain to understand what is happening. My mother has her gruesome pale face with blue lips right in front of mine. Her hands are firmly on my shoulders and is shaking me savagely. I am frozen in fear morbidly terrified. When she realizes that she has my full attention she points upstairs. I can hear the water running. I try to cross the living room but my feet sink into what I imagine to be thick memory foam instead of the mahogany hardwood floors. I am stopped suddenly. It is as if there is an invisible force field keeping me from going upstairs. I look back to find my mother with her head in her hands sobbing. Vertigo has overcome me again as I nose dive to the ground. Just about the time my face is to hit the floor and be split open, I hear what sounds like a gunshot. It is a thunderous noise that echoes intensely through my head. At that precise moment, or so it seems, I awake in my bed safe and sound under my quilt.
I shudder as I summon up the horrid events of my dream. Pain is throbbing viciously through my brain. The bright sunshine blaring through the curtains is not helping. My mother has now joined me and is standing at the foot of my bed. She is peering down at me with a pitiful stare. The cockeyed way she is holding her head aggravates the hell out of me. “Go Away!” I yell. Just as quickly as she appeared she disappears. My delusions are getting worse. I decide that coffee and Xanax is what I will be having for breakfast and make my way to the kitchen.
On the kitchen table is a note. Today, appointment with Dr. Stone, 1:00 pm, 3200 Amber St. Suite 103. Not remember writing this, I strain to nail down who Dr. Stone is. Nothing rings a bell. I’ve never heard the name. Realizing I must have, to have left myself a reminder, anxiety comes over me that I could forget something so important as a doctor’s appointment. Lord knows I need it. I look up at the clock. It is already noon. Standing up too quickly, I become dizzy. As I regain my composure, I look down to see that I am already dressed. There is no time to release myself into a full-blown panic not remembering putting on my clothes. Grabbing the note, my purse and keys I proceed to the door.
All at once it is as if I am moving in slow motion. My arm is heavy as I lift it to open the door. I look up to the ceiling and beg God to not let this disease take away my strength. I am so afraid of the thought that it may steal my motor skills one day but for now, I am able to turn the doorknob. As I try to open the door it is as if a massive, heavy force is keeping it closed. Using all my might, I finally win the battle. The sunlight vigorously penetrates me all the way down to my inner-being, as if my head was not hurting enough already. It is now pounding so strong that I feel as if my brain is trapped inside a grandfather clock about to explode any minute from the constant tick tock hammering throughout the wooden and glass enclosure. Should it begin donging the hour, my head will literally disintegrate.
I try to step over the threshold. It is as if the invisible force field is back. I am determined to go to the doctor. Finally stepping one foot beyond the doorway my heart begins to beat hard and fast. I experience lightheadedness as I straddle the entrance. A chill comes over me yet I am sweating. My arms are covered in goosebumps and I feel like I am leaving this physical world. I know all too well these symptoms because I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder many years ago. It was after I found my mother’s asphyxiated limp body swinging. Pee dripping off her legs under her nightgown to the puddle on the floor. The smell of the release of her bowels. Her eyes open, dilated and clouded over staring ominously at me. I am having a panic attack. A mother of all panic attacks. A full blown one as I call it. The word agoraphobia enters my mind. Oh, my God, I have now developed the fear of leaving my home. Tears burst from my eyes. Strange how I can remember reading about how many people with dementia develop this phobia but I can’t remember getting dressed. As soon as I step back into the house, my mother's ghostly figure, with those same haunting eyes, slams the door shut. It makes a loud bang as if a fire cracker has blasted beside my ear. I drop to the floor and pass out.
Opening my eyes, I sense that my hair is wet. I must have profusely sweated during my “full blown” curse that I am continuously plagued with. Every time I have a panic attack, I feel like it will be my last day on this earth. Still lying on the floor in front of the door, I run my fingers through my mop to remove the stragglers stuck
to my face. My hair is drenched as if I just came in from a storm. Trying to sit up, I see my hand is red. Oh my God! It’s not sweat, it’s blood. I turn my face to a scarlet puddle that has obviously come from my head. I am terror-stricken as I madly search my head for a wound because I must have injured it when I fell this time. I’m surprised I’m still alive by the amount of blood on the floor.
Disregarding my history of giving up, I desperately try to stand and make way to the phone but cannot. I start crawling towards an end table in the living room that the receiver is sitting on. The thick, sticky, body fluid is acting as an adhesive pasting me to the floor. I persevere and make it to the table. My hand is so weak as I strive to reach for the phone. Picking it up, it rings startling me. I answer hysterically screaming for help. I happen to catch a glimpse of my other hand. No blood. Baffled, with phone still in hand, I look over my dress to see that there is not one spot of blood on it. I’m embarrassed as I remember that someone called and is still on the phone. Putting the phone back to my ear, I quiver as I whisper, “hello?” Dead silence. I look up and pray it wasn’t my daughter, Ashley. The last thing I need is for her to think I’ve lost my mind. I wait for the phone to ring again. Nothing. I wait for an ambulance in case the person that was on the other end of the phone called them. Nothing. Relieved after much time, I pull myself up into my recliner. There is already a cold cocktail with ice on the coaster. Although, it scares me that I am so disoriented that I don’t know how the drink got there, I pick it up gratefully.
Ominous Tales Page 4
