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attacked.story
attacked.story
From netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!spool.mu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!cs.utexas.edu!utnut!nott!cunews!chat!nburgoin Wed Oct 26 19:07:24 1994
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From: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca (Nathan Burgoine)
Subject: Sick of Being Attacked
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Date: Wed, 26 Oct 1994 13:39:10 GMT
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Okay. First off, this is NOT something I enjoy telling people,
because most of the time I get a good laugh and a "sure, okay." with a
pat on the shoulder. Keeping that in mind...
I seem to have a little problem that has been snowballing for
years now. When I was a kid (about 5 or so), I started telling my
parents that I could "feel" stuff. They got a little worried, but it
went away by about 7 or 8. I said all sorts of wierd stuff, like "I
can feel Bobb" and the like, for most of this time, and quite often I
guessed who was calling when the phone rang, who was at the door when
the doorbell rang, which lottery ticket had a winner under the
silver-stuff and so on to the point that my mother was seriously
amused by me and showed me off at parties. I was pretty good at
naming people's middle names, too.
ANYWAY, that's besides the point. The last thing I said at
that age was a tale in and of itself. My mother found me, terrified,
in my room, crying (I do NOT remember this at all), screaming that
"Bobb is gone, Bobb is gone, he left me, he left me..." and stuff.
And that was it.
About four years ago now, I moved to B.C. I have since
returned, but the next part of this story happens there. I made a
bunch of friends and was Mr. Normal teenager until, in one week, one
friend overdosed on heroin (I do not use drugs myself, never have,
never will, and was trying to help him kick the habit), another fell
off a cliff and shattered his skull at the bottom (I was the one who
found the bodies, both of them), got arrested for murder (and I still
think they were loonie to think that I, this little skinny guy, could
hold down a heroin addict long enough to pump him full of heroin
against his will - and oh, the charges were dropped) and at the time,
it was my sixteenth birthday and my parents forgot all about it and
weren't home.
So, I had a complete emotional breakdown. I hope you find
that understandable.
I recovered rather quickly (about three months and ever since
I've been fine.) and then the "feelings" came back.
According to an "expert" (who is so expert he refuses to let
me use his name - I'm a little skeptical on this ;) ), I had to
"re-boot," for lack of a better term, my entire mind, and I
accidentally, or purposefully, turned that stuff back on.
Unfortunately, I've acquired a new aspect.
If Bobb was ever my "spirit protector," I really don't blame
him for moving on. There's a new "it" in my life, and the few times
it has decided to name itself, it called itself R.E.B. (as initials).
I assume he is a male, from the glimpses (and yes, I've seen it, and
so have others who have been with me) I've caught - a menonite-ish
hat, wire-rimmed glasses (annoyingly reminiscent of the priest in
Poltergeist II).
Anyway, I keep digressing.
The little feelings, which I first called Hunches, and later
(and now) call Flashes, started to happen more often over time. They
were really small, and haven't gotten anywhere near to where I was
when I was a kid. And they seem to work on physical closeness if they
are about people, instead of long-distance like it used to be.
I'll give an example, that didn't really make sense. I was
walking in a mall, passed this average looking guy, and BAM, I know
his name, his daughter's name, and the fact that something bad is
about to happen to her and he won't know until he gets to work
tomorrow (which I think, by the way, was a cushy office job). Now,
that happens, I'd say, about once or twice a month.
The Flashes, which are a little less intense, happen more when
I'm drunk (so I don't drink) and are not as accurate (8 out of ten are
right, I'd have to guess). I get little Flashes that now is a good
time to buy a lottery ticket. Or that maybe I should go to my room
and change out of my best clothes (and on the way to school I get
blasted by mud somehow), and little annoying stuff like that. By the
way, I've won about $800 dollars this year (usually in $2, 4$ or $14
or so, but I did win $50 a couple of times, and one $200.) I think
I've lost buying a lottery ticket maybe a dozen times this year, but
I've won a few more dozen.
Then the other stuff started happening.
First it was glass. I'd go into my room, and pictures or
mirrors had fallen, and almost always were broken. Glasses on the
shelves in cupboards just had cracks in them when I opened the
cupboard. A window cracked... A windscreen... A statuette... and so on.
Then I started getting the "feeling" that there was someone
nearby. Whenever that happened, something broke.
It stayed that way for a while. Someone (and to this very day
I think I'm going to kill them if I see them) decided that I'd benefit
from an Ouija Board use.
Things went out of control after that, and have been ever
since. I got his name. Fantastic. R.E.B.
In return, he seemed to get stronger, more stable access to
the world around me. He claimed to be my "partner" or my "protector"
but his definition of protector is a little sick.
Rarely a night goes by that I don't wake up because I feel
like I'm being choked or scratched, and I wake up with bruises or
scratches. These cannot be self inflicted, as they are sometimes in
places I could never reach for the angle and the position. (two hands
scratching at the small of my back, crossing in the centre of my back,
going right over my shoulders, crossing on my chest, and ending at my
waist. Like a big, ol' X-Factor costume.)
I try not to drink out of glass cups because they tend to
shatter. I've got more little scars on my hand than I can relate, and
occassionally, I've opened the cupboard and just found crushed glass.
Then it started happening to my closest friends, when I was
around.
Here's my best (if I can call it that) little story.
I was at home, with three people, playing a card game called
"Magic." (Good game by the way, plug-plug). The phone rang, and I
answered it, and it was my friend from Fisherville.
Anyway, all of a sudden, all the cupboards in the kitchen
blast open. Outside doors first, moving in to the centre.
Quick diagram:
Enter
+------------------------+ Laundry +------------+
| Kitchen | Stairs up |
| C | +------------+
| C Stairs dn |
| Phone +------------+
+------------------------+ Enter Family room
I'm on the phone, and the cupboards (CC) blow open. Then, and
the three friends hear this, something yells "Thirsty?"
(To which, kind of funnily, the girl on the phone said, "Did
someone say my name?" [Kristin])
Then, one after the other, glasses pitched themselves at me.
I decided that dropping the phone would be good, followed by running
away. Meanwhile, glass is shattering everywhere. So, I turn to
leave, and I feel a wind behind me. I look, stopping, since the
glasses just stopped, and I get my "feeling" that I know is R.E.B.
The best way I can describe it was that he was "Pulling
himself all together," as if there were pieces of him all over that he
had to gather to make what he did work.
I saw his hat, his glasses, and a piece of his nose. My
friends, who were beside me now, in the family room entrance arch,
were agape.
"What the (expletive deleted)?" is how one put it, succinctly,
in my opinion.
Then he finished pulling himself together (this all took maybe
three seconds) and I moved up and back. I would say I got punched,
but I sort of hopped "up" into the air first, then back. And down the
stairs I went.
I had a bruise on my stomach from where the "blast" hit for
almost four days, and it was a good one. My friends were freaked,
(and however blase I sound now, I assure you I'm shaking), and since
then it has gotten progressively worse.
I'm not asking everyone out there in CHATland to fix this for
me, I just want to know what exactly it is that is happening here, if
you know. Any opinions would be appreciated, and who knows? If I
flash on any numbers after that, you just might get a ticket. (If
that's bribery, shoot me, I don't care.)
Anyway, I may sound totally off the wall there, but I figure I
had a good chance here of getting a response.
Thanks,
'N8.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Nathan Burgoine "A couple playing cards is just an
Carleton University argument that hasn't happened yet."
-- Someone Else.
Email address: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca
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