This Old Witch-House!
Feb. 27th, 2007 03:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI was pulled out of a dead sleep by the sound of someone screaming next to me. I rolled out of bed immediately, snagged the bottle of Jamesons (or "Bedtime Juice" as Grandma always called it) right off the nightstand, holding it by the neck I smashed it against the wall and began waving the jagged remains menacingly at the shadows as I growled out the words: "Ok, who wants Daddy to tuck them in?"
A few minutes later I discovered that I was alone in the room and it was only then that I realized it was in fact my own screaming that had disturbed me from my nocturnal slumber. This wasn't the first time either i'm sad to say. A delightful one night stand was perfectly ruined a few nights ago, when my 'dancing partner' woke to find me naked (save for a novelty minature fez that I was wearing) strangling and somehow simoultaneously copulating with her purse as I screamed hysterically in my sleep. She was naturally outraged (and not a little upset that my performance with her handbag was more impressive than any erotic display of affection I had offered her that evening). I didn't know what to say when she finally snapped/slapped me out of it. To be honest I had not even known that I owned a minature fez. The next day she posted about it on the LiveJournal and completely blew the whole incident out of proportion. On the bright side though i've gotten a lot of Add-On requests since then and ... ahem... but that is not the tale of which we speak of now!
I took a long swig off my bottle and remembered that I had just smashed it against the wall just a little while ago and I had been gulping air for the last few moments. I threw the remains of the bottle into the hamper, sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the bridge of my nose in utter frustration. I could no long deny it. The fever visions have returned. Whether it was the fever that bought on the visions or the visions that bought on the fever or even if it had anything remotely to do with my downing fistfulls of random anti-depressants and washing them down with shots of cheap whiskey before bed that I was subjected to this unmitigated parade of nightmares.
I laid there for a few minutes quietly debating as to whetherI should return to bed in a desperate attempt to barter for more serotonin before the sounding of the alarm clock or (since this vociferous interuption had left me in a rather agitated state of tumescense), to engage in that sweet, sweet sin of Onan which has always proferred me a quick release and soundful rest in the past. When suddenly I was made aware of a most disturbing noise coming from somewhere within the room. I can only describe this hellish cacophony by asking you to imagine the sound of a book that was somehow perpetually tearing itself into smaller and smaller pieces. Now imagine that each page is made of skinned human flesh and that each word was some foul demonic curse inscribed by the criminally insane. Yes dear reader, a book much like Anne Coulter's Treason: Liberal Treachery from the Cold War to the War on Terror only a little less frightening and much better written.
I reached clumsily for the light switch only to be rewarded with a brief flare of illumination before the bulb popped plunging back into the premorning darkness. The sound spiked up in volume presently and a sinister chant could be made out just under the infernal din. I could track it now to its source easily. It was coming from within the small alcove veiled by a Hindu tapestry behind my bed. I took a deep breath, found my lighter by chance as much as instinct, lit it and nervously approached the alcove.
The noise grew louder and seemed to echo down the empty corridors of my mind (hey wait a minute...). I could hear the words dripping off the chant , a poisonous refrain mindlessly repeatedmadness breaks through the levees of thought: "A Zulu Guitar -A Zulu Guitar -A Zulu Guitar" ... no wait... that wasn't it... I think it was "Sulu's Baton- Sulu's Baton-Sulu's Baton"... no,no, no that's not it either hang on a second... ah wait here we go: "Chuthlu fhtagn...Chuthlu fhtagn...chuthlu fhtagn!"
I cannot say how long I stood there before the veil, wrestling with a preternatural fear that had seized me: My heart pounded desperately in my chest in a desperate attempt to escape my chest and start a new life as a railroad engineer in Boise, Idaho. A sheen of sweat covered my body, not unlike Tom Waits before his first drink of the day and a scream of terror waited patiently in the lobby of my lungs. Finally, when I grew tired of internally metaphorizing the narrative of my thoughts and the heat of the lighter was beginning to burn my thumb, I grabbed a fistful of the tapestry and yanked it back.
I was met with the most horrendous visage I have ever seen in my thirty odd years on this planet (including the four I spent in the Service and the two months I worked as a Proctologists Assistant... that's temp work for you, huh?). Crouched in the doorway was a leering goblin of a withered old woman. A monstrosity of unbearable countenance resembling a cross between a deforemed junkie drag queen (think Dee Snyder in his Twisted Sister heyday) and something that crawled out of the asshole of the living dead!
I pushed the nausea back down and bought my lighter in closer for inspection. Her eyes were the milky white of the blind. Her lips moved mechanically as drool dribbled down a slightly bearded chin, ash colored hair fell in clumps around her tiny shoulders. There was something on her shoulder hiding behind the curtain of her hair. Suddenly a rat peeked it's face through the strands, it bore a minature human face that looked me up and down with beady little black eyes. It sat up on its hind legs and squeaked: "S'up man? Hey, you holding right now? I hate to mooch but my man is out of town right now but i'll getcha back.."
I step back away from her, let the flame go out and gently return the tapestry back over the alcove. I step gently into the kitchen to make myself a strong drink. Then another. I pop open a bottle of rophynol I keep around the house in case of Jehovahs Witnesses or Trick or Treaters and pop four or five of them down in a dry swallow. Then I make myself that third drink I promised myself. Stumble over to the sink, climb up on the counter, lay myself down across the drying plates and pass out.
My last thoughts before a chemically induced oblivion settles in is: "I'm gonna have to talk to the landlord about this..."
To Be Continued*
*...unless I decide that some other random impulse has seized my imagination and suddenly you're reading about my imaginary tantric adventures in the Paris of Hemingway or more musings on the Zen Path of Hoboism... y'know... like whatever, right?
A few minutes later I discovered that I was alone in the room and it was only then that I realized it was in fact my own screaming that had disturbed me from my nocturnal slumber. This wasn't the first time either i'm sad to say. A delightful one night stand was perfectly ruined a few nights ago, when my 'dancing partner' woke to find me naked (save for a novelty minature fez that I was wearing) strangling and somehow simoultaneously copulating with her purse as I screamed hysterically in my sleep. She was naturally outraged (and not a little upset that my performance with her handbag was more impressive than any erotic display of affection I had offered her that evening). I didn't know what to say when she finally snapped/slapped me out of it. To be honest I had not even known that I owned a minature fez. The next day she posted about it on the LiveJournal and completely blew the whole incident out of proportion. On the bright side though i've gotten a lot of Add-On requests since then and ... ahem... but that is not the tale of which we speak of now!
I took a long swig off my bottle and remembered that I had just smashed it against the wall just a little while ago and I had been gulping air for the last few moments. I threw the remains of the bottle into the hamper, sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the bridge of my nose in utter frustration. I could no long deny it. The fever visions have returned. Whether it was the fever that bought on the visions or the visions that bought on the fever or even if it had anything remotely to do with my downing fistfulls of random anti-depressants and washing them down with shots of cheap whiskey before bed that I was subjected to this unmitigated parade of nightmares.
I laid there for a few minutes quietly debating as to whetherI should return to bed in a desperate attempt to barter for more serotonin before the sounding of the alarm clock or (since this vociferous interuption had left me in a rather agitated state of tumescense), to engage in that sweet, sweet sin of Onan which has always proferred me a quick release and soundful rest in the past. When suddenly I was made aware of a most disturbing noise coming from somewhere within the room. I can only describe this hellish cacophony by asking you to imagine the sound of a book that was somehow perpetually tearing itself into smaller and smaller pieces. Now imagine that each page is made of skinned human flesh and that each word was some foul demonic curse inscribed by the criminally insane. Yes dear reader, a book much like Anne Coulter's Treason: Liberal Treachery from the Cold War to the War on Terror only a little less frightening and much better written.
I reached clumsily for the light switch only to be rewarded with a brief flare of illumination before the bulb popped plunging back into the premorning darkness. The sound spiked up in volume presently and a sinister chant could be made out just under the infernal din. I could track it now to its source easily. It was coming from within the small alcove veiled by a Hindu tapestry behind my bed. I took a deep breath, found my lighter by chance as much as instinct, lit it and nervously approached the alcove.
The noise grew louder and seemed to echo down the empty corridors of my mind (hey wait a minute...). I could hear the words dripping off the chant , a poisonous refrain mindlessly repeatedmadness breaks through the levees of thought: "A Zulu Guitar -A Zulu Guitar -A Zulu Guitar" ... no wait... that wasn't it... I think it was "Sulu's Baton- Sulu's Baton-Sulu's Baton"... no,no, no that's not it either hang on a second... ah wait here we go: "Chuthlu fhtagn...Chuthlu fhtagn...chuthlu fhtagn!"
I cannot say how long I stood there before the veil, wrestling with a preternatural fear that had seized me: My heart pounded desperately in my chest in a desperate attempt to escape my chest and start a new life as a railroad engineer in Boise, Idaho. A sheen of sweat covered my body, not unlike Tom Waits before his first drink of the day and a scream of terror waited patiently in the lobby of my lungs. Finally, when I grew tired of internally metaphorizing the narrative of my thoughts and the heat of the lighter was beginning to burn my thumb, I grabbed a fistful of the tapestry and yanked it back.
I was met with the most horrendous visage I have ever seen in my thirty odd years on this planet (including the four I spent in the Service and the two months I worked as a Proctologists Assistant... that's temp work for you, huh?). Crouched in the doorway was a leering goblin of a withered old woman. A monstrosity of unbearable countenance resembling a cross between a deforemed junkie drag queen (think Dee Snyder in his Twisted Sister heyday) and something that crawled out of the asshole of the living dead!
I pushed the nausea back down and bought my lighter in closer for inspection. Her eyes were the milky white of the blind. Her lips moved mechanically as drool dribbled down a slightly bearded chin, ash colored hair fell in clumps around her tiny shoulders. There was something on her shoulder hiding behind the curtain of her hair. Suddenly a rat peeked it's face through the strands, it bore a minature human face that looked me up and down with beady little black eyes. It sat up on its hind legs and squeaked: "S'up man? Hey, you holding right now? I hate to mooch but my man is out of town right now but i'll getcha back.."
I step back away from her, let the flame go out and gently return the tapestry back over the alcove. I step gently into the kitchen to make myself a strong drink. Then another. I pop open a bottle of rophynol I keep around the house in case of Jehovahs Witnesses or Trick or Treaters and pop four or five of them down in a dry swallow. Then I make myself that third drink I promised myself. Stumble over to the sink, climb up on the counter, lay myself down across the drying plates and pass out.
My last thoughts before a chemically induced oblivion settles in is: "I'm gonna have to talk to the landlord about this..."
To Be Continued*
*...unless I decide that some other random impulse has seized my imagination and suddenly you're reading about my imaginary tantric adventures in the Paris of Hemingway or more musings on the Zen Path of Hoboism... y'know... like whatever, right?
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no subject
on 2007-02-28 04:17 pm (UTC)xxx
no subject
on 2007-02-28 04:36 pm (UTC)For what it's worth my infestation problems in real life are insect related not the "R" word.
no subject
on 2007-02-28 07:12 pm (UTC)It still scares me, cuz it could be!
xxx