char *(null)=" hazrad.tale

hazrad.tale

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From: sjs2219@ocvaxa.cc.oberlin.edu (sjs2219)
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.ghost-stories
Subject: werewolves
Date: 19 Sep 1994 01:26:50 GMT
Organization: Oberlin College
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As a child of thirteen, I was timid and introspective.  I had one
sibling who, at the time, was in excess of seven years ahead of me. 
Although I identified with him in many ways, it seemed as if he never
quite told me much of anything save his exploits with the opposite sex.
 
This changed after I explained a very lucid nightmare which was either
very coincidental or perhaps brought about by certain paranormal
entities residing in our household.  
I began dreaming in a classroom; I was in highschool it seems.  A
certain foriegn young lady was glancing flirtatiously in my general
direction.  She was extremely attractive as well as intelligent (as I
was led to believe.)
A voice over the school intercom stated very simply the school was
locked for our protection due to a rampant highschool serial killer on
the loose.  I accepted this and suddenly realized the comely young lady
was sitting in the desk beside me.
She said nothing but motioned me outside, into a janitorial closet.  At
this point, she began making sexual advances to which I did not object,
until I observed a rampant red glow in her eyes.  At that very moment,
she (it) growled, screamed while she tore a gaping wound in my back.  I
managed, out of divine providence, it seems, to slip away and sprint to
the locked door.
Breaking the window and stumbling home, I saw no one pursue me.
I arrived home only to find my brother and his male friend watching
television.  I locked the door and immediately began to hear a wild,
rampant pounding, tearing of the front door.  Out of love for my
brother, and perhaps logic, I instructed him to leave as quickly as
possible out of the garage door.  The noises ceased.
I ran, teary eyed, to the garage pausing momentarily at the corpse of
my brother's collegue and to arm myself with a metallic pole.  
I sauntered calmly to the front lawn, (somehow I knew she would be
there) and saw a veritable wall of fangs and stubble soaked in an
auburn remnance of my brother, whose head was just now being devoured.
I charged, in a fit of fury, at the pernicious beast as she prepared
her claws for fresh red sweetness.  And at that instant, I was removed,
in a still frame, from my senses, uttering the last of the phrase, "You
killed my brother, you b****."  
For an age I observed the picture, contemplating the reality of the
experience, then, as if blown by a calm gale, the image floated away,
revealing an obsidian table.  I sat at the table, bright, interrogation
light in my slightly glazed eyes, wearing a white, stained shirt with
the word "HAZRAD" written in blood over the front.
Someone inquired, "Why did you kill ----?"  
"I'm not sure," I replied dreamily, "She would have taken my life
away..."
And at this moment, perspective removed, much like a camera, my image
turned to face the perspective and smiled with deep, auburn eyes.
The ironic aspect of this dream, is that my brother, on his thirteenth
birthday had the same exact dream with only few exceptions.  His shirt
had the word "Shadow" over the front.
                       
             Hazrad--(please reply)
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