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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Wednesday, October 19, 2005

    I Report...

    ...you decide.

    Actually, I don't really care what you think. I'm the trained observer, here, who has testified in court, so I guess that makes me an expert witness, so there.

    I was attacked by a demon last night. Or a demonic spirit. Whatever. That's pretty typical, but it is not often I see them manifested. Physically.

    I had been dreaming disturbing, troubling dreams for hours. At one point, I had a zombie clutching my leg and pulling it's way up some stairs towards me and I was out of ammo so I yanked my leg free and kicked it violently in the face, and I kicked out physically in my sleep which startled me awake and there he was, standing over me, there at the side of the bed, a big looming thing, looking for all the world like a fucking Nazgul. Startled, our eyes met...

    The pores of my arm hairs are bunching like fists as I write this, and my hairs are flowing like seaweed...

    I claimed the Blood of Jesus and began to pray to Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit and anybody else who would listen that they would send this thing into the outer darkness and make it count stars for eternity or something as I struggled to get out of my covers and the thing flashed back away from me in a kind of reverse Star Trek warp speed looking thing and as it whooshed towards the East through layers of partition and walls and it would have had to pass through the shower and I heard the soap dish fall with a clatter off the shower wall into the tub and startled fully alert and I was finally able to rise and snatch my pistol and rush out to check the kids and the wife.

    They were fine. Nat stirred, whimpering some. Later she would tell me that she had a nightmare where a 'mean boy' took her away from us and locked her in a box and she was scared.

    I searched the house, but my spirit felt that it was free, that a great weight had lifted. My senses told me all was secure.

    I finally went back to the upstairs bathroom, to give it more than a cursory look. The shower curtain was closed, as it had been at bedtime. I flicked on the light, and decided that anything that came at me out of the shower was going to get the shit shot out of it.

    I pulled the curtain back, and looked inside.

    We use these stainless steel wire soap holders to hold our various bars of soap. The one that had been in line with the path of my retreating visitor had been torn out of it's suction cups and thrown into the curtain. I could still see the mark. One suction cup was still on the shower wall, the other had torn free and lay at the other end of the tub. The bar of soap had a couple of corners dented in as if it had hockey-pucked around the tub for a bit.

    I put up the gun, and went back to sleep and slept like a baby.

    As God is my witness.


    .




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