I guess I've been gone a long time. (understatement of the year) Its not really my fault, I swear. As Pocketwatch told y'all, I was in a coma with a hole in reality shaped like a knife jammed into my chest.
Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure how it happened. I ward my room at home, and ever since this business with the Evil started up, my house too. I was pretty secure in my, well, security when I went to bed that night. You see, I was visiting home for the weekend and had intended to return to school the following day.
But I wouldn't be back for some time.
The next morning, I awoke to myself with blue hair. I haven't had blue hair in 3 years. Upon opening my door to greet the day, my dog ran in followed by my Siamese cat, rascal. Who died in my freshman year. As accustomed as I am to the unusual, this threw me for a loop. Opening my laptop (which melted down for the last time January of 2010), I saw the date.
December 25, 2007.
Oh. Bloody. Hell.
The spirits had done it all in one night it would appear. Three and a half years ago, I was plucked from the world as I knew it and landed smack in the middle of another place. There, music was the basic building block of reality. I had a grand adventure with some amazing composers. At the end of it all, they worked with the fae of that world to try to send me home. Unfortunately, it sent me to this world.
Magic doesn't exist where I'm from. It's the stuff of tales and legends. Here, everything is pregnant with the stuff, if people know how to draw it out. Of course, I do have ideological concerns about using it. For the past three years, I've been trying to get home. I've made it to a few other places, each with their own stories, but my own home seems to be blocked off from the rest. Until now.
Considering the lack of evidence to the otherwise, it was actually pretty easy to dismiss the whole thing as a dream. I actually lived out my next semester at school as a normal 18 year old. (after a hell of a lot of making sure magic didn't work and I was actually home).
As wonderful as the magical side of the world can be, it was kind of nice not having to worry about wards or the disturbing array of demons that seems to afflict my life. I didn't need to worry that I might be breaking some ancient law which binds my kind. Heck, I didn't even need to worry about the metallic contents of my rings! It was nice to be "normal" again. I won't say I didn't miss the dream world alittle bit, but I'll admit I got really caught up in the joys of no cosmic responsibility.
And then Friday the 13th of May happened.
I was lying in bed in my dorm room when I felt a wrenching pain in my chest like someone had stabbed me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. And suddenly I was lying in my bed at home with Pocketwatch and my parents standing over me. A fourth creature, a delicate looking female faerie in iridescent surgical scrubs, held a black knife in forceps behind them.
Oddly enough, there wasn't any wound on me. No pain. I even felt like I had just gotten a good night's sleep! The sun was just going down outside. My parents and Pocketwatch spent into the wee hours of morning explaining what all I missed in my absence and listening to my tale of my return home.
The next day, they drove me back to my university to attend my graduation. The Faceless Lady also had some things to tell me. I'll get to that soon.
It's good to be back.
Showing posts with label Other. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Other. Show all posts
Monday, June 13, 2011
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Evil that Followed Me Home
Normally I try to ignore C's ramblings, but it's hard to do so when they suddenly become relevant. (And by C, I mean the other author, not the completely awesome follower.) Late July, he mentioned Phantom Cars. Personally, I'd never encountered one. I don't really get angry that often. But tonight, one almost ran me over.
I was on foot. It was about midnight and I was walking home from Taco Bell. The street between the Hearth and campus was empty. I walked. I was to the third lane over from the school when something bowled me over from behind. I flew forward to the sound of a revving engine and the noxious scent of exhaust permeated the air. I was still in the road and clearly there were cars, so I scrambled to my feet. I was suddenly yanked backward by my collar to land on my butt. A car rushed past right in front of me, where I had only moments ago stood.
As it passed, I became aware of the Faceless Lady standing on the curb. It was the first one with the coat but sans the cigarette. She immediately rushed forward, grabbed my arm and hauled me forward and off the road as another car rushed through the lane in which I had been sitting. Once I was up on the curb, I turned to see what had almost hit me. It was a shiny black car, which quickly faded from sight (and I mean "shimmer, shimmer, not there anymore"). Immediately, it reappeared in the lane closest to me and sped through before fading out for the last time. It had but one yellow headlight, no driver, and left muddy hoofprints on the road as it passed.
C was telling the truth, it seems. But I wasn't angry, so why attack me?
"The Evil sent it after you," came a voice from behind me. It sounded like Bernardette Peters if she were a chain smoker and was accompanied by glossolalic whispers.
The Faceless Lady spoke.
I was incredulous. I stared at her blank face.
"It followed you home," her disembodied voice added, "You did not go to it across the River, so it crossed for you. Didn't Squeak warn you?"
And then she turned and walked away, leaving me to figure out just what was going on.
Side Note: The hitchhiker-type is still out by the entrance of my dorm when viewed through the Brittney Glasses. People walk right through him, but I'm still worried about going anywhere near him. Last time I made contact with anything like him, I was given visions and had nightmares for a week. Still don't know what that's about..
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Shadow Offramps, The Town of Lacrima
Quite a fun little weekend. I came home to see my family and pick up a few things. I spent most of that time quite ill. There was also an ill-fated episode in which the 'rents tried to give me a haircut but the clippers weren't cooperating. It all works out. I had hoped to be back at school by 4 PM at the latest, but I didn't even get on the road before 6. That was all well and good except that it meant I would still be on the highway after nightfall on the way back to school. I hate driving at night...
The shadow highways are still there, crossing and looping and whatnot alongside the normal interstate highway, but I don't worry about it much during the day. I try to stay off of it at night. Especially after what happened last time. But alas, as I was getting off at my exit, the lights in the distance went out and the name on the offramp changed to "Lacrima, Population: Unknown".
Not again.
Like it or not, I had wandered onto the shadow highways. Or rather, wandered off. I switched on my high beams and followed the road as it went on for a ways into empty plains (which if you know anything about Arkansas is totally uncharacteristic). Finally, I came across Lacrima proper. "Population: Unknown" my foot, the town was completely empty. What's more the buildings were mostly Hollywood facades. Sure they were shades of grays and blacks and the door frames looked like the maw of some horrific beast (which in spite of my flippant tone is sure to give me nightmares for a while), but their not-really-a-building-ness just seemed to rob them of the scary. I would have turned around right then, but the road was only wide enough to travel one way.
There was one building that was more substantial, however. A large manor house which might have served as a town welcome center or something similar where I come from. A bit creepy, but not the least bit scary, I got out of my car and walked up to the door. It too was sculpted to look like a hungry nightmare. Being an actual building, the manor was gaining fear-reaction points by the moment. I knocked. Nothing. I waited for a moment, suppressing rising discomfort. I knocked again. Still nothing.
I turned to go back to my car. There was a swish behind me. I turned around. A letter had been pushed under the door. There was no light inside and the door was windowless. I picked it up. The letter had my name on the outside. I opened it.
It read;
"I dreamed a dream of a land not far away,
Where no birds sang,
No steeples rang,
And teardrops fell like rain."
I was suddenly acutely aware that there was no sound in Lacrima. Unsettlingly so. And then I could feel something like bending, creaking, cracking wood where the door was behind me, but I couldn't hear it. Panic rose. I ran back to my car without looking back. As soon as the engine was started, I found in the rear view mirror that the road was suddenly two-laned. I didn't need a second hint. I was out of there and headed back toward the highway. As soon as I entered the onramp, I was suddenly back on the offramp to my little college town. It's probably better for my sanity that I never saw what it was that came from the door.
A few things once I got back to my dorm. First, I did a search on the lines from the letter (which seems to have disappeared when I left Lacrima). It's from a choral piece called "The Awakening". No idea what that was about. The other thing was that the hitchhiker type was still outside my dorm. He hadn't moved at all from last week. That probably isn't good. Anywhat...
No more interstate night driving. Never again.
The shadow highways are still there, crossing and looping and whatnot alongside the normal interstate highway, but I don't worry about it much during the day. I try to stay off of it at night. Especially after what happened last time. But alas, as I was getting off at my exit, the lights in the distance went out and the name on the offramp changed to "Lacrima, Population: Unknown".
Not again.
Like it or not, I had wandered onto the shadow highways. Or rather, wandered off. I switched on my high beams and followed the road as it went on for a ways into empty plains (which if you know anything about Arkansas is totally uncharacteristic). Finally, I came across Lacrima proper. "Population: Unknown" my foot, the town was completely empty. What's more the buildings were mostly Hollywood facades. Sure they were shades of grays and blacks and the door frames looked like the maw of some horrific beast (which in spite of my flippant tone is sure to give me nightmares for a while), but their not-really-a-building-ness just seemed to rob them of the scary. I would have turned around right then, but the road was only wide enough to travel one way.
There was one building that was more substantial, however. A large manor house which might have served as a town welcome center or something similar where I come from. A bit creepy, but not the least bit scary, I got out of my car and walked up to the door. It too was sculpted to look like a hungry nightmare. Being an actual building, the manor was gaining fear-reaction points by the moment. I knocked. Nothing. I waited for a moment, suppressing rising discomfort. I knocked again. Still nothing.
I turned to go back to my car. There was a swish behind me. I turned around. A letter had been pushed under the door. There was no light inside and the door was windowless. I picked it up. The letter had my name on the outside. I opened it.
It read;
"I dreamed a dream of a land not far away,
Where no birds sang,
No steeples rang,
And teardrops fell like rain."
I was suddenly acutely aware that there was no sound in Lacrima. Unsettlingly so. And then I could feel something like bending, creaking, cracking wood where the door was behind me, but I couldn't hear it. Panic rose. I ran back to my car without looking back. As soon as the engine was started, I found in the rear view mirror that the road was suddenly two-laned. I didn't need a second hint. I was out of there and headed back toward the highway. As soon as I entered the onramp, I was suddenly back on the offramp to my little college town. It's probably better for my sanity that I never saw what it was that came from the door.
A few things once I got back to my dorm. First, I did a search on the lines from the letter (which seems to have disappeared when I left Lacrima). It's from a choral piece called "The Awakening". No idea what that was about. The other thing was that the hitchhiker type was still outside my dorm. He hadn't moved at all from last week. That probably isn't good. Anywhat...
No more interstate night driving. Never again.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Things Happen in Threes
Some time ago, I mentioned a bracelet I had made which carried a curse or somesuch. Blah blah blah it concentrates negativity in people blah blah blah. I have now come to find myself in possession of two other objects which are likewise bedeviled.
The first, or rather second of the three, is my high school class ring. It seems to be given to roam. Two years ago, at the end of my freshman year of college, I put it in my jewelry box with my scouting medals and hadn't seen it since. Until two weeks ago. I bought my new (relatively speaking) backpack shortly before I returned to school last year. Two weeks ago, I found my class ring in one of its pockets. A bag which I had only had for one year and which had never been anywhere near my jewelry box (rather it was always at school or in my car's trunk for the Summer) suddenly contained a ring I hadn't seen much less touched in a little over two years.
Then it gets weirder.
I put it in my dorm room with the other unusual trinkets on my bookshelf. But then four days ago, it was there in the same pocket. Back to the bookshelf. Today, after my swimming class, the lifeguard approached me and asked if a certain class ring they had found the previous day by the pool was mine. And bloody hell if it wasn't. I wouldn't call it a true curse per se, but my class ring seems to have a very "One Ring" personality about it.
And then there's my "Brittney Glasses". They're a pair of rose-tinted frameless sunglasses which started at camp as a sort of in-joke (which I might share if I get around to it) with other staffers. I still wear them at school if I need a distinctive look or to get my creative juices flowing with an unusual view of the world. Today they started showing me things. In mirrored surfaces, I would get a reflection of creatures which were not there. Tonight, I've seen silhouettes of small animals move across campus only to take off my glasses and see nothing. I have excellent night vision and should have seen whatever they were without trouble with the glasses off. Just before I returned to my room, I saw a strange gentleman who reminded me of the Hitchiker I saw back in the early Spring standing outside my dorm. But only with the Brittney Glasses on. And THAT can't be a good omen. The problem is, I don't know if my glasses are showing me things that are there or are cursed to show things that aren't. I've had "the eyes to see" for a while and I don't really get why I wouldn't notice these things before, but there you have it.
Good Strange things happen in threes.
The first, or rather second of the three, is my high school class ring. It seems to be given to roam. Two years ago, at the end of my freshman year of college, I put it in my jewelry box with my scouting medals and hadn't seen it since. Until two weeks ago. I bought my new (relatively speaking) backpack shortly before I returned to school last year. Two weeks ago, I found my class ring in one of its pockets. A bag which I had only had for one year and which had never been anywhere near my jewelry box (rather it was always at school or in my car's trunk for the Summer) suddenly contained a ring I hadn't seen much less touched in a little over two years.
Then it gets weirder.
I put it in my dorm room with the other unusual trinkets on my bookshelf. But then four days ago, it was there in the same pocket. Back to the bookshelf. Today, after my swimming class, the lifeguard approached me and asked if a certain class ring they had found the previous day by the pool was mine. And bloody hell if it wasn't. I wouldn't call it a true curse per se, but my class ring seems to have a very "One Ring" personality about it.
And then there's my "Brittney Glasses". They're a pair of rose-tinted frameless sunglasses which started at camp as a sort of in-joke (which I might share if I get around to it) with other staffers. I still wear them at school if I need a distinctive look or to get my creative juices flowing with an unusual view of the world. Today they started showing me things. In mirrored surfaces, I would get a reflection of creatures which were not there. Tonight, I've seen silhouettes of small animals move across campus only to take off my glasses and see nothing. I have excellent night vision and should have seen whatever they were without trouble with the glasses off. Just before I returned to my room, I saw a strange gentleman who reminded me of the Hitchiker I saw back in the early Spring standing outside my dorm. But only with the Brittney Glasses on. And THAT can't be a good omen. The problem is, I don't know if my glasses are showing me things that are there or are cursed to show things that aren't. I've had "the eyes to see" for a while and I don't really get why I wouldn't notice these things before, but there you have it.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
It's Been a While. And It Will Be Yet.
Things have been pretty quiet in my little college town for the past little while. The Seelie Court took over in full at Beltaine (about May 1). They don't like to deal with outsiders as much as the Unseelie so I imagine it will be a while yet before I get invited to meet with them. (And the next transitional period doesn't start until Lughnasadh (sometime thereabout August 1)). A pity, really. I had been hoping to get to know them more than my one weeklong dancing spree.
The end of the school year sort of snuck up on me. Thankfully, nothing decided to rear its ugly head in that time. Still, I had four monologues to learn, countless sculptures to make, and three legitimate written finals to study for. It wasn't difficult, but things were complicated somewhat when I got sick and missed one, the merciful rescheduling of which extended my tests another day and a half. And in this time, I got subpoena'd to testify against my old kiddie-perving demon roommate. No sooner did I get served, than the prosecutor's office called to tell me it's been rescheduled to July. So at least that didn't mess with my tests, like it originally would have (take place on the last day of them). On the bright side, I got 5 A's and 1 B. My cumulative GPA is now exceptionally high (over 3.7).
Moving out wasn't too easy. I got everything out all right, but my RA took forever to check me out and he always found more dirt where there wasn't any (which he attested to himself) before. I'm not gonna call that supernatural, but it was certainly annoying. Then I had to wait almost an hour outside the building where the Theatrical Art classroom is located to collect my supplies. It didn't take long to get them, but the waiting and having to inconvenience my professor didn't help my mood. Plus I had to transport the cursed bracelet which probably didn't help my day. Incidentally, I found a way to uncurse it and will do so by running it under moving springwater this summer, but I'll get to that in a minute. Then I had to go and sell my books back. For wholesale. But seeing how they're the only game in town, I was railroaded. I went back to my car to get a form to turn into the registrar and a seat full of stuff fell out. A lot of things broke and/or spilled. By this point, I was very, very annoyed and started throwing things in. Then something awesome happened. Objects started flinging themselves back into the car! Apparently I have telekinetic tendencies (but I haven't tried again since I calmed down, so maybe it's an emotional thing). It didn't improve my mood then (especially with all the other bad things that crossed my path shortly after), but it was pretty darn cool.
On a completely unrelated note to anything, one of my bestest friends in the Universe saw the first Faceless Lady. She was walking away from my friend and she heard glossolalic whispers coming from behind her. So now others have seen her and maybe we can get to know more about her.
I'm home now and like I said before, I'm not too involved in local fortean happenings. So things have been pretty quiet thus far. Next week on Friday, I'm going to BSA National Camping School and then on to work at Camp Orr until July 3. There's a lot of weird stuff out there and I hope to tell all about it on this blog when I get back. Until then, I've got a friend who's going to hijack this thing and tell a bit of his own goings on. You'll love it. I swear.
See you in July!
The end of the school year sort of snuck up on me. Thankfully, nothing decided to rear its ugly head in that time. Still, I had four monologues to learn, countless sculptures to make, and three legitimate written finals to study for. It wasn't difficult, but things were complicated somewhat when I got sick and missed one, the merciful rescheduling of which extended my tests another day and a half. And in this time, I got subpoena'd to testify against my old kiddie-perving demon roommate. No sooner did I get served, than the prosecutor's office called to tell me it's been rescheduled to July. So at least that didn't mess with my tests, like it originally would have (take place on the last day of them). On the bright side, I got 5 A's and 1 B. My cumulative GPA is now exceptionally high (over 3.7).
Moving out wasn't too easy. I got everything out all right, but my RA took forever to check me out and he always found more dirt where there wasn't any (which he attested to himself) before. I'm not gonna call that supernatural, but it was certainly annoying. Then I had to wait almost an hour outside the building where the Theatrical Art classroom is located to collect my supplies. It didn't take long to get them, but the waiting and having to inconvenience my professor didn't help my mood. Plus I had to transport the cursed bracelet which probably didn't help my day. Incidentally, I found a way to uncurse it and will do so by running it under moving springwater this summer, but I'll get to that in a minute. Then I had to go and sell my books back. For wholesale. But seeing how they're the only game in town, I was railroaded. I went back to my car to get a form to turn into the registrar and a seat full of stuff fell out. A lot of things broke and/or spilled. By this point, I was very, very annoyed and started throwing things in. Then something awesome happened. Objects started flinging themselves back into the car! Apparently I have telekinetic tendencies (but I haven't tried again since I calmed down, so maybe it's an emotional thing). It didn't improve my mood then (especially with all the other bad things that crossed my path shortly after), but it was pretty darn cool.
On a completely unrelated note to anything, one of my bestest friends in the Universe saw the first Faceless Lady. She was walking away from my friend and she heard glossolalic whispers coming from behind her. So now others have seen her and maybe we can get to know more about her.
I'm home now and like I said before, I'm not too involved in local fortean happenings. So things have been pretty quiet thus far. Next week on Friday, I'm going to BSA National Camping School and then on to work at Camp Orr until July 3. There's a lot of weird stuff out there and I hope to tell all about it on this blog when I get back. Until then, I've got a friend who's going to hijack this thing and tell a bit of his own goings on. You'll love it. I swear.
See you in July!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A Disconcerting Procession of Demons
I mentioned some time ago, that I knew someone I thought might be an incubus. He's no worry now since he's now in Turkey to study bears. I also mentioned near the middle of last December that I literally had a roommate from Hell. It turns out that demonic roommates have been somewhat of a trend since I got to college.
My first roommate was human. A bit of a redneck, but not an idiot (which is nothing to bemoan, speaking as an Arkansas native). About two weeks in to the first semester of freshman year, he made a friend and wanted to switch rooms. The Housing office at our school screwed me over and, despite my protests, I was stuck with the other guy's roommate.
He was a nice guy. He was also one of those people who seems to smell funny (and sort of unpleasant to me) all the time. Which doesn't make sense since he was an almost painfully clean individual. Now I'm not going to call him a demon, per se, but he struck me like a river spirit with junk in the trunk (if you'll pardon the Miyazaki pun). He displayed a metanormal nature in that he seems to amplify the tendency of things to equalize. Things neither failed nor resoundingly succeeded in his presence. We got on amicably for a the rest of the year.
I didn't have such luck after that.
The next year, I ended up with a self-avowed bipolar redneck who liked to show me his "skinnin' knives". Not a bad guy, but something struck me as wrong about him. A little testing and research and I found out what it was. It seems that my third roommate was a lower-level demonic entity attached to the slaughter of animals. I doesn't do to ward against your roommate, so I changed rooms at semester.
The fourth guy was a ghost. Figuratively. I never met him, so I can't vouch for his nature. The fifth I have already detailed in a previous post and have no desire to relive that experience now. That brings me to the latest and (not-so-)greatest.
He claimed to be 34, living in the dorms. It didn't take long for me to have suspicions, but longer for me to act on them. It turns out he, like the one I met last semester, is an incubus. And he liked little girls. I finally acted on it when I walked in on him accessing certain content on the Glorious Series of Tubes. The Police were notified and they got working pretty quickly on the matter. Still, there was the matter that he was a demon to deal with. It took some work, but some silver chains (silver screws with just about everything but the Fae (which begs the question of what I am again)) and a strange Hebrew incantation later, he was arrestable (and will continue to be so until the designated authorities (in this case, the Police) release him from custody). I hate working proper magic, but a seal-and-binding was necessary to prevent loss of human life.
Back to topic (or tl;dr, as it were): all my roommates are demons!
I'm SO getting single next year.
My first roommate was human. A bit of a redneck, but not an idiot (which is nothing to bemoan, speaking as an Arkansas native). About two weeks in to the first semester of freshman year, he made a friend and wanted to switch rooms. The Housing office at our school screwed me over and, despite my protests, I was stuck with the other guy's roommate.
He was a nice guy. He was also one of those people who seems to smell funny (and sort of unpleasant to me) all the time. Which doesn't make sense since he was an almost painfully clean individual. Now I'm not going to call him a demon, per se, but he struck me like a river spirit with junk in the trunk (if you'll pardon the Miyazaki pun). He displayed a metanormal nature in that he seems to amplify the tendency of things to equalize. Things neither failed nor resoundingly succeeded in his presence. We got on amicably for a the rest of the year.
I didn't have such luck after that.
The next year, I ended up with a self-avowed bipolar redneck who liked to show me his "skinnin' knives". Not a bad guy, but something struck me as wrong about him. A little testing and research and I found out what it was. It seems that my third roommate was a lower-level demonic entity attached to the slaughter of animals. I doesn't do to ward against your roommate, so I changed rooms at semester.
The fourth guy was a ghost. Figuratively. I never met him, so I can't vouch for his nature. The fifth I have already detailed in a previous post and have no desire to relive that experience now. That brings me to the latest and (not-so-)greatest.
He claimed to be 34, living in the dorms. It didn't take long for me to have suspicions, but longer for me to act on them. It turns out he, like the one I met last semester, is an incubus. And he liked little girls. I finally acted on it when I walked in on him accessing certain content on the Glorious Series of Tubes. The Police were notified and they got working pretty quickly on the matter. Still, there was the matter that he was a demon to deal with. It took some work, but some silver chains (silver screws with just about everything but the Fae (which begs the question of what I am again)) and a strange Hebrew incantation later, he was arrestable (and will continue to be so until the designated authorities (in this case, the Police) release him from custody). I hate working proper magic, but a seal-and-binding was necessary to prevent loss of human life.
Back to topic (or tl;dr, as it were): all my roommates are demons!
I'm SO getting single next year.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Super Bowl Voodoo
I watched the Superbowl with friends tonight. I don't get or like American football in the least, but I went anyway for the social interaction. Blah blah blah. The Saints win. I almost go deaf from all of the people thinking that if they yell loudly enough that they'll be heard all the way in Florida. For the fourth year running, I accurately pick the winning team and predict the winning score. Of course, the game was only half the action taking place on the field.
Someone in New Orleans wanted the Saints to win their first Superbowl. Anyone with the eyes to see would have seen Papa Legba, one of the best known of the Loa (which are as I have mentioned before the vodou gods), and Ogoun, loa of war, whispering into the coach's ear. La Sirene, wife of Agwe the loa of the seas, would lay hands on injured Saints players. Baron Samedi, the mischievous loa of death, and several of his Ghede redirected the ball in midair and knocked it out of players' hands on several occasions, most notably on an "intercepted" pass which led to a Saints touchdown. Even Erzulie Freda, loa of beauty and romantic love, got involved in helping whip the crowd into a frenzy.
This isn't to say that the Colts didn't have help. What appeared to be two djinni and an ifrit were present and working in their favor in the first quarter. Damballa Wedo, the eldest loa (who prefers a snake form), quickly froze the djinni and trapped the ifrit in a violet sphere.
It got pretty one-sided after that.
Someone in New Orleans wanted the Saints to win their first Superbowl. Anyone with the eyes to see would have seen Papa Legba, one of the best known of the Loa (which are as I have mentioned before the vodou gods), and Ogoun, loa of war, whispering into the coach's ear. La Sirene, wife of Agwe the loa of the seas, would lay hands on injured Saints players. Baron Samedi, the mischievous loa of death, and several of his Ghede redirected the ball in midair and knocked it out of players' hands on several occasions, most notably on an "intercepted" pass which led to a Saints touchdown. Even Erzulie Freda, loa of beauty and romantic love, got involved in helping whip the crowd into a frenzy.
This isn't to say that the Colts didn't have help. What appeared to be two djinni and an ifrit were present and working in their favor in the first quarter. Damballa Wedo, the eldest loa (who prefers a snake form), quickly froze the djinni and trapped the ifrit in a violet sphere.
It got pretty one-sided after that.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Haiti and a Friendly Reminder/Warning
The sound of the facetious slow clap fills the air as I write this. As I'm sure you readers know, an insanely powerful earthquake has struck Haiti in the past few days. Anywhere from 30,000 to 100,000 people have been shuffled from this mortal coil and many more are hurt, mentally, emotionally, or physically. Many are still missing. I'm not saying for sure, but I can't help but think something else seriously bad went down.
I've been consulting some of my not-quite-human contacts and they say that at the time of the quake, something similar swept across the spiritual overlay of the southeastern US. Their guess is that someone tried to summon something they couldn't control. Something big. Something powerful. Whatever was called was probably vodoun considering the region (and that it doesn't work that way in Santeria). The likely culprit? Gran Bois. Loa of The Sacred Forest (of the Island Below the Waters (a.k.a. Guinee)).
Normally, he's pretty nice and generous if you pay the proper respect and tribute. He's also pretty proud of his unusually large, constantly erect penis. Just worth noting there. Like all loa, though, he can be "great and terrible" if things aren't done properly or he isn't paid proper respect. And a lot of loa also have alternate forms, usually "La Flambeau" (the fiery aspect) or "Ge-Rouge" (literally "Red Eye"), which are quite violent and dangerous variations. My guess is that something along those lines led to the massive earthquake and the only earth-aligned being I can think of that powerful is Gran Bois. I really feel sorry for all the other Haitians who are suffering or lost their lives for the folly of one or several summoners who didn't do their homework. There is no excuse for this. This kind of disaster can't ever be spun in a positive light. No matter what they stood to gain.
Great job genius! You almost sank the island!
This kind of crap is why Atlantis fell, according to some of the supposed survivors' accounts. "We're powerful magicians!" they said, "We don't need to seal things in a summoning circle!" And then they called something big which proceeded to eat them all and sink the continent.
Third Law of Magic: Never summon anything bigger than your head.
Gran Bois' veve.
You can do whatever you feel like to help the relief efforts here. Please do. They need it.
I've been consulting some of my not-quite-human contacts and they say that at the time of the quake, something similar swept across the spiritual overlay of the southeastern US. Their guess is that someone tried to summon something they couldn't control. Something big. Something powerful. Whatever was called was probably vodoun considering the region (and that it doesn't work that way in Santeria). The likely culprit? Gran Bois. Loa of The Sacred Forest (of the Island Below the Waters (a.k.a. Guinee)).
Normally, he's pretty nice and generous if you pay the proper respect and tribute. He's also pretty proud of his unusually large, constantly erect penis. Just worth noting there. Like all loa, though, he can be "great and terrible" if things aren't done properly or he isn't paid proper respect. And a lot of loa also have alternate forms, usually "La Flambeau" (the fiery aspect) or "Ge-Rouge" (literally "Red Eye"), which are quite violent and dangerous variations. My guess is that something along those lines led to the massive earthquake and the only earth-aligned being I can think of that powerful is Gran Bois. I really feel sorry for all the other Haitians who are suffering or lost their lives for the folly of one or several summoners who didn't do their homework. There is no excuse for this. This kind of disaster can't ever be spun in a positive light. No matter what they stood to gain.
Great job genius! You almost sank the island!
This kind of crap is why Atlantis fell, according to some of the supposed survivors' accounts. "We're powerful magicians!" they said, "We don't need to seal things in a summoning circle!" And then they called something big which proceeded to eat them all and sink the continent.
Third Law of Magic: Never summon anything bigger than your head.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Surgery, Psychoses, a Cuban, and a little Cosmic Skin Shedding (But nothing really THAT exciting)
The surgery went well. It was a reasonably minor outpatient procedure. Blah blah blah benign polyp in the sinus. I woke up with a sore throat from the "standard procedure" breathing tube, nauseous from all the blood I swallowed, and the-inability-to-keep-my-eyes-open-in-spite-of-the-fact-that-I-was-mentally-all-there-almost-immediately-upon-waking. Apparently I'm more resistant to anesthesia than I thought. I'm probably an expensive drunk, too.
Normally I hate hospitals, but this one was unusually empty. Of imaginary things, that is. Imaginaries take many forms. Most are shaped by human expectation. Pixies, gnomes, the immortal menace that is the Loch Ness Monster to name a few (eat that cryptozoologists!). Some are more primal, formed unconsciously of feeling rather than legend. Hospitals are usually just crawling with such beasties. People have fears and worries and hopes among other more complex feelings which make strange creatures. Negative emotions make nightmarish things come to life and the more positive end of the spectrum brings forth what is best described as cute and cuddly. Of course the former often eat the latter, especially when hope is weak, and they're not too common to begin with in such places. One of my imaginary associates calls the negative ones Nervosa. (I assume it's a nod to psychological disorder names.) They're generally not fun to deal with. Sometimes they become strong enough that they can directly affect the ones who helped form them. On one occasion, I had to help get rid of a particularly nasty one who stalked the wards of a childrens' hospital not too far from my university. The Nervosa in question took the form of a doctor ripped from the collective dreamscapes of King, Barker, and Lovecraft. He was made of and fed off of the fears of mostly surgery patients. But that is another story (though it is a thrilling one.)
Anywhat, this hospital was strangely free of Nervosa. I noticed three relatively minor ones in the waiting room and none beyond. It was rather pleasant. The hospital has a good track record, so maybe its reputation has other benefits. The way she was looking around, I think my mom noticed the fact too. But my dad didn't. Strange, since he noticed the gremlins back at Thanksgiving. (Side note: Are they both something other?) So yeah, blessedly free of scary things.
Recovery was reasonably smooth and the ability to breathe through my nose for the first time in a year was quite pleasant. That wasn't the best thing I got for Christmas, though. My family gave me some books (glorious books!) and I had the pleasure of giving them each a handmade gift blessed with a minor protection charm. My best gift, however, came on Christmas Eve night. Ever since my first encounter with the Jolly Old Immigrant I've been making sure to leave milk and cookies (and to make sure they're the good stuff) out. We've had a few random encounters outside the Season of Giving and have a friendly acquaintanceship going. Incidentally, it turns out Santa Claus does a whole lot more for the world than we give him credit for. Him and a mysterious gentleman with a strange thorny circlet. (Again, another time.) Anyway, he shows up, we enjoy a brief chat over the snacks, I give him a thank you gift and go to bed, he leaves presents, Christmas morning, rinse, (maim), repeat. This year, when I gave him his present (after all, a little gratitude is never a bad idea) he handed me one of his own. I kind of felt bad. I had given him a little handmade snowglobe which depicted the first time we met, but he gave me something way more awesome. It was a crystal tree topper actually made out of a star! I mean, he had actually gone through the trouble of plucking a shooting star out of the sky and refining it for me! I put it on top of our tree immediately (our old star had been retired this year). He also included a little bottle of starlight. "A little light," he said, "Is never out of place. Plus it doesn't run out of batteries." With that, we parted ways and went to go fulfill our Christmas Eve duties. For what it's worth, my family wasn't all that surprised about the new star (though they did think it was pretty), so I have to wonder if they saw it for what it really was. (But again, what are they descended of?)
The last major happening was something that occurs every year: New Years. Every year, people use the start of a new year to make resolutions and forge a new path for themselves. "Out with the old! In with the New!" as they say. Anyone with the eyes to see can see at the stroke of midnight wherever they are a sort of Cosmic Skin Shedding. The imaginary objects and markings people collect over the course of the year simply slough off, if only for a little while. Sometimes the ephemera dissolves into nothing an sometimes it soon enough reattaches itself. More than that, though, the collective resolution to change and become better, sincere or otherwise, actually makes the world around us shed much of the emotional and imaginary imprint we drop on it like litter over the year. Sometimes only for a while before things return to normal, sometimes permanently.
There's not really much else interesting. You see, with the exception of the odd gremlin or other critter, I'm not particularly involved in the preternatural going-on of my hometown. I arrived in time to go off to school and get involved there. It's kind of nice though. Christmas break is like a vacation.
Summer can be like solitary.
Normally I hate hospitals, but this one was unusually empty. Of imaginary things, that is. Imaginaries take many forms. Most are shaped by human expectation. Pixies, gnomes, the immortal menace that is the Loch Ness Monster to name a few (eat that cryptozoologists!). Some are more primal, formed unconsciously of feeling rather than legend. Hospitals are usually just crawling with such beasties. People have fears and worries and hopes among other more complex feelings which make strange creatures. Negative emotions make nightmarish things come to life and the more positive end of the spectrum brings forth what is best described as cute and cuddly. Of course the former often eat the latter, especially when hope is weak, and they're not too common to begin with in such places. One of my imaginary associates calls the negative ones Nervosa. (I assume it's a nod to psychological disorder names.) They're generally not fun to deal with. Sometimes they become strong enough that they can directly affect the ones who helped form them. On one occasion, I had to help get rid of a particularly nasty one who stalked the wards of a childrens' hospital not too far from my university. The Nervosa in question took the form of a doctor ripped from the collective dreamscapes of King, Barker, and Lovecraft. He was made of and fed off of the fears of mostly surgery patients. But that is another story (though it is a thrilling one.)
Anywhat, this hospital was strangely free of Nervosa. I noticed three relatively minor ones in the waiting room and none beyond. It was rather pleasant. The hospital has a good track record, so maybe its reputation has other benefits. The way she was looking around, I think my mom noticed the fact too. But my dad didn't. Strange, since he noticed the gremlins back at Thanksgiving. (Side note: Are they both something other?) So yeah, blessedly free of scary things.
Recovery was reasonably smooth and the ability to breathe through my nose for the first time in a year was quite pleasant. That wasn't the best thing I got for Christmas, though. My family gave me some books (glorious books!) and I had the pleasure of giving them each a handmade gift blessed with a minor protection charm. My best gift, however, came on Christmas Eve night. Ever since my first encounter with the Jolly Old Immigrant I've been making sure to leave milk and cookies (and to make sure they're the good stuff) out. We've had a few random encounters outside the Season of Giving and have a friendly acquaintanceship going. Incidentally, it turns out Santa Claus does a whole lot more for the world than we give him credit for. Him and a mysterious gentleman with a strange thorny circlet. (Again, another time.) Anyway, he shows up, we enjoy a brief chat over the snacks, I give him a thank you gift and go to bed, he leaves presents, Christmas morning, rinse, (maim), repeat. This year, when I gave him his present (after all, a little gratitude is never a bad idea) he handed me one of his own. I kind of felt bad. I had given him a little handmade snowglobe which depicted the first time we met, but he gave me something way more awesome. It was a crystal tree topper actually made out of a star! I mean, he had actually gone through the trouble of plucking a shooting star out of the sky and refining it for me! I put it on top of our tree immediately (our old star had been retired this year). He also included a little bottle of starlight. "A little light," he said, "Is never out of place. Plus it doesn't run out of batteries." With that, we parted ways and went to go fulfill our Christmas Eve duties. For what it's worth, my family wasn't all that surprised about the new star (though they did think it was pretty), so I have to wonder if they saw it for what it really was. (But again, what are they descended of?)
The last major happening was something that occurs every year: New Years. Every year, people use the start of a new year to make resolutions and forge a new path for themselves. "Out with the old! In with the New!" as they say. Anyone with the eyes to see can see at the stroke of midnight wherever they are a sort of Cosmic Skin Shedding. The imaginary objects and markings people collect over the course of the year simply slough off, if only for a little while. Sometimes the ephemera dissolves into nothing an sometimes it soon enough reattaches itself. More than that, though, the collective resolution to change and become better, sincere or otherwise, actually makes the world around us shed much of the emotional and imaginary imprint we drop on it like litter over the year. Sometimes only for a while before things return to normal, sometimes permanently.
There's not really much else interesting. You see, with the exception of the odd gremlin or other critter, I'm not particularly involved in the preternatural going-on of my hometown. I arrived in time to go off to school and get involved there. It's kind of nice though. Christmas break is like a vacation.
Summer can be like solitary.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Another Faceless Lady and Surgery
The semester ended the other night. I stayed an extra day, so I could change rooms. Anything to escape my horrible roommate. Seriously, he's almost literally the Roommate from Hell. Some nights he comes in smelling of alcohol and brimstone and he leaves singed footprints on the tile of our dorm room (and those take forever to wash out of the floor). That aside, the night was rather quiet as I was one of the seven students remaining on a campus which normally houses 5000+. It was really lonely, too. So, as usual, I sought refuge from the loneliness at my favored hearth, Taco Bell.
I was making my usual round about the outside of the building (it helps prevent anyone unwanted from following you) when I saw her by the drive-thru order mic. She was wearing a red dress reminiscent of the one Marilyn Monroe wore, except of course that it was red and ended just above her knees. Her days-long legs ended in a pair of red pumps Long flowing blonde hair fell about the sides of her head and she was leaning over to the passenger side as though whispering something in the window. She was rather shapely and quite easy on the eyes, except that she didn't have a face.
I don't know where she comes from or what she is, but I'm starting to wonder if it's more than a coincidence. They don't act like noppera-bo so I'm kind of at a loss as to what they are, but I can't help but wonder if they're showing themselves to me for a reason. They kind of remind me of dream-things which some dream-psychologists refer to as "supernumeraries". They're like the extras that your brain doesn't flesh out in dreams. They're far too detailed to be those.
Also, I'll be gone for a few days. I've got some surgery tomorrow and I won't be coherent for a few days. My wards at home are strong. I'll probably be okay.
Let's hope.
I was making my usual round about the outside of the building (it helps prevent anyone unwanted from following you) when I saw her by the drive-thru order mic. She was wearing a red dress reminiscent of the one Marilyn Monroe wore, except of course that it was red and ended just above her knees. Her days-long legs ended in a pair of red pumps Long flowing blonde hair fell about the sides of her head and she was leaning over to the passenger side as though whispering something in the window. She was rather shapely and quite easy on the eyes, except that she didn't have a face.
I don't know where she comes from or what she is, but I'm starting to wonder if it's more than a coincidence. They don't act like noppera-bo so I'm kind of at a loss as to what they are, but I can't help but wonder if they're showing themselves to me for a reason. They kind of remind me of dream-things which some dream-psychologists refer to as "supernumeraries". They're like the extras that your brain doesn't flesh out in dreams. They're far too detailed to be those.
Also, I'll be gone for a few days. I've got some surgery tomorrow and I won't be coherent for a few days. My wards at home are strong. I'll probably be okay.
Let's hope.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Desperate Incubi
There's a gentleman in his thirties who has integrated himself into my social group. He's a graduate student and shows up at most of the parties held by theatre people. And come 3 AM (the Witching Hour, incidentally), whether he's drunk or not, he tries to get into someone's pants. Including mine (and I'm just not interested in men). In fact, he's been going about it while sober lately, too.
The funny thing is that he also reacts to religious symbols with a perceptible aversion, not even acknowledging the bearer. Not only that, but he appears to sustain contact burns from silver and can't cross a line of salt (as was evidenced by my paranoid actions at a friend's house party). The likely cause: He's an Incubus. While I shy from calling him a demon per se, Incubus is as good a title as any. He likes sex. A lot. And he responds to supernatural stimuli like the namesake. So he's either one or a supernaturally resonant nymphomaniac.
And if he's hitting on me, he must be pretty desperate.
The funny thing is that he also reacts to religious symbols with a perceptible aversion, not even acknowledging the bearer. Not only that, but he appears to sustain contact burns from silver and can't cross a line of salt (as was evidenced by my paranoid actions at a friend's house party). The likely cause: He's an Incubus. While I shy from calling him a demon per se, Incubus is as good a title as any. He likes sex. A lot. And he responds to supernatural stimuli like the namesake. So he's either one or a supernaturally resonant nymphomaniac.
And if he's hitting on me, he must be pretty desperate.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Machine Elves and a Thought About Zombies
First, thankfully the Machine Elves have stopped screaming. They quit about 2 AM this morning. I really hope there wasn't too much damage.
The other thing. I was just wondering why people assume that if zombies appear or (heaven forbid) there is a "zombie apocalypse", it will be some kind of disease. I'm not a biology major, but I was kind of working under the assumption that when a disease kills its host, it dies too. So how would a disease reanimate a formerly (debatably) intelligent creature into a rabid cannibalistic undead monster? I can see brain damage reducing them to that state, but the reanimation itself is just too far fetched. Heck, if the blood isn't flowing they shouldn't even be able to move! It's called "rigor". Human+Virus+Death=Alive because Screw you biology!
Now necromancy, that I know of. I have seen on more than one occasion corpses raised to do the bidding of necromancers. They prove delightfully vulnerable to fire and that is indeed the only way to actually kill them. Of course since they're just puppets, you also don't have to deal with that "I'm rabid and I hunger for the flesh of the living" thing. With magic it's possible.
So, regarding this rant anyway, "Magic good, biology bad."
The other thing. I was just wondering why people assume that if zombies appear or (heaven forbid) there is a "zombie apocalypse", it will be some kind of disease. I'm not a biology major, but I was kind of working under the assumption that when a disease kills its host, it dies too. So how would a disease reanimate a formerly (debatably) intelligent creature into a rabid cannibalistic undead monster? I can see brain damage reducing them to that state, but the reanimation itself is just too far fetched. Heck, if the blood isn't flowing they shouldn't even be able to move! It's called "rigor". Human+Virus+Death=Alive because Screw you biology!
Now necromancy, that I know of. I have seen on more than one occasion corpses raised to do the bidding of necromancers. They prove delightfully vulnerable to fire and that is indeed the only way to actually kill them. Of course since they're just puppets, you also don't have to deal with that "I'm rabid and I hunger for the flesh of the living" thing. With magic it's possible.
So, regarding this rant anyway, "Magic good, biology bad."
Monday, November 30, 2009
Cyber Monday
Today's Cyber Monday, the busiest shopping day of the year for online retailers in the US. Traffic is heavy today. Really, really heavy. People are trying to take advantage of deals they couldn't get ahold of on Black Friday. And the Machine Elves are screaming.
It's kind of hard to explain just what a Machine Elf is. They're like a consciousness that exists inside machines. I don't normally have much dealing with them, myself, so the best description can be found here on Wikipedia. All this traffic must be like having an interstate highway coming through your bedroom. And some of them are probably getting hit. I wish I could do something for them. The screams hurt to hear.
I just really hope there isn't too much damage when today's over.
It's kind of hard to explain just what a Machine Elf is. They're like a consciousness that exists inside machines. I don't normally have much dealing with them, myself, so the best description can be found here on Wikipedia. All this traffic must be like having an interstate highway coming through your bedroom. And some of them are probably getting hit. I wish I could do something for them. The screams hurt to hear.
I just really hope there isn't too much damage when today's over.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
On the Nature of Santa Claus
Thanksgiving's coming up this week and I'm heading home tomorrow to spend it with my family. On campus, though, I'm already seeing trees and lights and other trappings of that second most wonderful of holidays that is Christmas. It seems a lovely time to share a bit of exposition on the nature of the Jolly Old Elf himself, Santa Claus.
I had the pleasure of meeting the (currently not so) Big Guy two years ago shortly after I found myself where I hang my hat today. It was the standard "You're asleep and dreaming. Ignore me and go back to bed." situation at first. Unfortunately for him, I had already learned the first two rules of life such as it is for me: 1) Rarely is anything as it seems. and 2) SALT, SALT, SALT!.) What can I say? By the age of 18, most of us have been fed the grand truth (read: DAMN LIE! (Thank you, Mr. Twain)) that there is no such thing as Santa Claus. To me, he just looked like an opportunistic burglar.
Several impossibly large packages and a circle of salt later, we reached an impasse. I had thought he was mundane until I saw the bag work and then I guess my paranoia kicked in. Blah blah blah, "State your name and business." To his credit, he was very polite and patient with me.
Santa told me that he had been born Nicolas López Fernández in a small town in Cuba and was currently 32 years old. Contrary to the commonly told stories, he actually lived in the southern Florida Keys most of the year. "You see," he told me, "The mantle of the one you call 'Santa Claus' is actually passed down every two hundred years or so. I haven't been on the job for more than a few years."
The story begins long after the death of the historical St. Nicholas, instead with the life of an unknown Frenchman, Jacques de Sène in the 1200s. While he was rather poor, he actively spent what little free time performing what services he could for others without being asked or asking recompense. By the tradition of those holding the mantle, he was apparently visited by a manifestation of the original St. Nicholas who gifted with the ability to do good for others in all places. Jacques was a meek man in spite of his desire to help all peoples. He didn't want the attention. Therefore it was chosen that the night of Christmas would be his night to perform this service as it would be welcomed among the festivities held by many cultures around the Solstice. He would take on a new persona to indulge his meekness. The persona that would eventually become whom we understand to be Santa Claus.
After some time, the mantle was passed on to a well-to-do slavic gentleman who built the legend of Grandfather Frost (known in the US simply as Father Frost), who did his work with his grandaughter, Snow Maiden. Apparently, he had adopted the image of an old slavic god (the existence of which is as of yet unknown) and reverse the image from a cruel, child-stealing sorcerer to that of a kind gift-giver. After some time, he passed the mantle to a rarely benevolent east Russian vampire dream-eater (a strange variation of the vampiric curse that enables the creature to subsist on the dreams of children, much like the semitic breath-drinkers). He started the tradition of using enchanted reindeer perpetuated by Western storytellers. After a time, he passed it to a British gentleman who wasn't particularly good at doing the unseen do-gooder thing. His various sightings led to the common Western image of Santa Claus and provided the inspiration for the poem commonly referred to as "The Night Before Christmas". When his time was up in the early 1900's, he bestowed the title on an Alaskan dogsledder. He delivered gifts in the form of ice carvings which became the real thing, sparking more than one story. He eventually fell in love with a girl whom he had watched grow up and was granted release from his duties by passing them on to the current one.
The one whom I currently had trapped in a circle of salt in my family's living room and delayed for several hours telling me the tale of his order.
Crap.
After profuse apology on my part, he simply smiled and laughed the deep, jolly laugh so commonly attributed to his namesake and told me it was okay. Apparently the one thing all the logical arguments "disproving" the existence of Santa Claus were forgetting was the fact that the man is MAGIC. In all of this, no time had passed. In fact, it never does while he doesn't mean for it to. He laid his index finger against the side of his nose and I found myself standing next to him on the roof of my family's house. Attached to his large blue and green sledge were 12 particularly tiny key deer. (I really have to question the ethical concerns of enchanting and using for this purpose 12 of a threatened species...) With a chuckle he mounted the sleigh and took the reins, calling, "On Sunshine! On Rain! On Love! On Joy! On Pink! On Green! On Cindy and Bobby and Jan and Peter and Marcia and Greg! Now haul some ass!" And with that, they took a running start and took off from my roof for their next destination.
It didn't occur to me until after his departure that I had forgotten to ask about the elves.
I had the pleasure of meeting the (currently not so) Big Guy two years ago shortly after I found myself where I hang my hat today. It was the standard "You're asleep and dreaming. Ignore me and go back to bed." situation at first. Unfortunately for him, I had already learned the first two rules of life such as it is for me: 1) Rarely is anything as it seems. and 2) SALT, SALT, SALT!.) What can I say? By the age of 18, most of us have been fed the grand truth (read: DAMN LIE! (Thank you, Mr. Twain)) that there is no such thing as Santa Claus. To me, he just looked like an opportunistic burglar.
Several impossibly large packages and a circle of salt later, we reached an impasse. I had thought he was mundane until I saw the bag work and then I guess my paranoia kicked in. Blah blah blah, "State your name and business." To his credit, he was very polite and patient with me.
Santa told me that he had been born Nicolas López Fernández in a small town in Cuba and was currently 32 years old. Contrary to the commonly told stories, he actually lived in the southern Florida Keys most of the year. "You see," he told me, "The mantle of the one you call 'Santa Claus' is actually passed down every two hundred years or so. I haven't been on the job for more than a few years."
The story begins long after the death of the historical St. Nicholas, instead with the life of an unknown Frenchman, Jacques de Sène in the 1200s. While he was rather poor, he actively spent what little free time performing what services he could for others without being asked or asking recompense. By the tradition of those holding the mantle, he was apparently visited by a manifestation of the original St. Nicholas who gifted with the ability to do good for others in all places. Jacques was a meek man in spite of his desire to help all peoples. He didn't want the attention. Therefore it was chosen that the night of Christmas would be his night to perform this service as it would be welcomed among the festivities held by many cultures around the Solstice. He would take on a new persona to indulge his meekness. The persona that would eventually become whom we understand to be Santa Claus.
After some time, the mantle was passed on to a well-to-do slavic gentleman who built the legend of Grandfather Frost (known in the US simply as Father Frost), who did his work with his grandaughter, Snow Maiden. Apparently, he had adopted the image of an old slavic god (the existence of which is as of yet unknown) and reverse the image from a cruel, child-stealing sorcerer to that of a kind gift-giver. After some time, he passed the mantle to a rarely benevolent east Russian vampire dream-eater (a strange variation of the vampiric curse that enables the creature to subsist on the dreams of children, much like the semitic breath-drinkers). He started the tradition of using enchanted reindeer perpetuated by Western storytellers. After a time, he passed it to a British gentleman who wasn't particularly good at doing the unseen do-gooder thing. His various sightings led to the common Western image of Santa Claus and provided the inspiration for the poem commonly referred to as "The Night Before Christmas". When his time was up in the early 1900's, he bestowed the title on an Alaskan dogsledder. He delivered gifts in the form of ice carvings which became the real thing, sparking more than one story. He eventually fell in love with a girl whom he had watched grow up and was granted release from his duties by passing them on to the current one.
The one whom I currently had trapped in a circle of salt in my family's living room and delayed for several hours telling me the tale of his order.
Crap.
After profuse apology on my part, he simply smiled and laughed the deep, jolly laugh so commonly attributed to his namesake and told me it was okay. Apparently the one thing all the logical arguments "disproving" the existence of Santa Claus were forgetting was the fact that the man is MAGIC. In all of this, no time had passed. In fact, it never does while he doesn't mean for it to. He laid his index finger against the side of his nose and I found myself standing next to him on the roof of my family's house. Attached to his large blue and green sledge were 12 particularly tiny key deer. (I really have to question the ethical concerns of enchanting and using for this purpose 12 of a threatened species...) With a chuckle he mounted the sleigh and took the reins, calling, "On Sunshine! On Rain! On Love! On Joy! On Pink! On Green! On Cindy and Bobby and Jan and Peter and Marcia and Greg! Now haul some ass!" And with that, they took a running start and took off from my roof for their next destination.
It didn't occur to me until after his departure that I had forgotten to ask about the elves.
Monday, November 23, 2009
A Faceless Woman
Some nights, I'm walking back to campus from wherever I was and I'll be passing this taco place across from the school. Normally, it's just as empty and dead as everything else in this small town at midnight. Sometimes, though, I'll see a woman. She's normal looking enough. Except for the fact that she doesn't have a face.
I've seen her a total of five times, the latest being last night when I was walking home after dropping off a friend's movie in the Red Box by McDonald's. She was sitting there under the taco joint's sign, smoking a cigarette. That she has no face could easily be dismissed as a trick of the shadow, but she also has one other stranger characteristic about her. She's always smoking when I see her but the cigarettes' flames are always blue or green. No combustible plant material that I know of (that wouldn't kill the smoker) burns those colors. Something otherworldly is afoot. (Like that's never happened to me before...)
Honestly, my money's on noppera-bo or mujina, traditional faceless spirits from Japanese and Hawaiian myth respectively. That or some kind of fae being. They have, like, a million forms and even more numerous illusions of such. I really should go talk to her next time I see her.
Note to self: find a four-leaf clover between now and then.
I've seen her a total of five times, the latest being last night when I was walking home after dropping off a friend's movie in the Red Box by McDonald's. She was sitting there under the taco joint's sign, smoking a cigarette. That she has no face could easily be dismissed as a trick of the shadow, but she also has one other stranger characteristic about her. She's always smoking when I see her but the cigarettes' flames are always blue or green. No combustible plant material that I know of (that wouldn't kill the smoker) burns those colors. Something otherworldly is afoot. (Like that's never happened to me before...)
Honestly, my money's on noppera-bo or mujina, traditional faceless spirits from Japanese and Hawaiian myth respectively. That or some kind of fae being. They have, like, a million forms and even more numerous illusions of such. I really should go talk to her next time I see her.
Note to self: find a four-leaf clover between now and then.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)