Family Values

I am drinking. My aunt is drinking. But somehow, drinking makes it easier to open up about the things that have occurred in ones lifetime. The embarrassing things. The bad things. The scary things. You see, I grew up in a haunted house. You name it, I saw it. Apparitions in white. Dark demon-like creatures that resembled grey aliens. God-like beings, floating in the air as if they were encompassed by invisible balloons. Phantom voices that laughed and spoke in complete sentences.

It was a never-ending childhood replete with nightmares. I can honestly say, I never slept a full night in my life. I lived in constant fear. Mostly, I thought I was alone. But tonight my aunt began to speak of the horrors she witnessed as a child a full decade before me, and guess what... the same shit... different person. So what does that say about our house on the hill?

Better yet, what does it say about those things you try your best to forget? I am thirty-three years old and I have many friends in the Ufological and Paranormal studies. They have written books about the aliens that have abducted them and the ghosts that have haunted them. I have read them all and yet I think, what if I stopped writing Science Fiction long enough to write about my experiences? What shadow would I cast?

I have seen things so crazy, perhaps they are too unimaginable. I know a pervasive darkness dwells in this world that people ignore because it is scary to look into the abyss that always looks back. And yet, there is NO scientist who will tell you it is there. There is no great authority that will tell you that the monster under the bed is, in fact, real.

Why?

Mostly because we thrive on lies. Lies keep us sane. Imagine if we all knew what the world was really about. Imagine if people really knew there was more than one god vying for their souls? Or that demons DO exist. Or that the world was once inhabited by things so old and forgotten that their names cannot be pronounced even by the most talented linguist?

The world is so old it's scary. The things that dwell therein are even scarier. Worst of all, if you come from a family notorious for knowing this, you're screwed. You can live a normal life for a few months at a time, until the things come back to remind you that they only have a voice when you are listening. Or that you only have a purpose when you are listening.

This is why I delve into the paranormal occasionally. This is why, no matter how badly I want to comment on a topic I hold back. I know that the longer I keep my hand on the pulse of ultra-reality, the more the things from my childhood will think they can invade my space.

You may be an alien abductee. You may have seen a few ghosts. I am not saying you don't know what it's all about, but take it from the girl who's seen Gods in my living room, a werewolf in a rural area, a fallen angel, a few full-on apparitions who can move objects, talk and leave behind proof, creatures that can, not only pull off your covers but leave scratches on your arms and more...

You haven't seen the half of it.

(Stay tuned.)