/yesod

Tag: Christians

  • neighborhood watch

    …and when the neighbors show up at our front door, they demand entrance and will not leave. Too small to be a mob, but there are enough of them to force their way in.

    In the entryway, they shout that we are heathens and devil worshippers — they begin opening doors and ransacking the rooms. Books are thrown to the floor, pictures and knick knacks smashed, curtains pulled down.

    The ringleader is a middle aged blonde woman with the sinewy frame of someone burning away the calories with their fierce zealotry.

    She discovers “Lost Girls” on one of our shelves and shrieks her horror at “this filth and pornography” (which, admittedly, it is) corrupting the neighborhood.

    It goes downhill from there. I manage to trick them into not finding my office by use of a clever hinged double door — when it opens, it covers the office entrance completely…

    …I wake up, the sound of angry voices and slamming doors following me to the waking world.

  • nephew, demon

    [This is directly transcribed, without changes or edits, from a journal entry dated September 12th, 2001]

    And in my dream my three-year-old nephew [REDACTED] — plagued by depression and despair all his short little life — has finally given into his despair, twisting a length of picture hanging wire around his neck and hanging himself. I find his stiff body eyes open, jaw clenched. Although he is dead, his body continues to move and walk. He is speechless and his face is blank, almost hateful. We all avoid him, his stiff legged roaming across the floor, his baleful gaze. When his mother comes home, it is up to me to break the news to her. His mother, in my dream, is my aunt [REDACTED] — the mother of my cousin, I know, makes no sense — but she is full of cold rage and asks me why I didn’t take the wire from around his neck she blames me, I am certain of it and I can only point in horror to his animated corpse. Ignoring me, all business now, she takes the horrid little child and her arms raising him up and speaking quietly to him. She is a Christian fundamentalist and I realize that there is something far worse at work here then death. He twists away from her, in her arms, and stares at me with a blankly cunning look — and hideous, diabolical language pours out of his mouth like vomit, demonic and awful. He spews his bubbling, babbling talk at me and in growing horror I find my breath is gone, I cannot speak, I cannot pray any words of protection, my lips are numb and my tongue is thick in my mouth, and then, With ever-growing horror, I hear my own bubbling voice respond in kind, echoing his hideous demonic voice with my own.

    I wake in horror and dread, mouthing the words “Veni Sancte Spiritus” in my gasping, choking voice.