Haunted: ghostly glimmers collection
Published by Cynthia E. Bagley at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 by Cynthia E. Bagley
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Dedication
To my husband Otto. You are my star, my hero
Haunted: ghostly glimmers collection
Common knowledge is that ghosts haunt the place of their deaths. And yes, in many cases they do. But there is one case that I remember where a ghost haunted a person. My name is Albert Schwieizen and that person who was haunted is my mother Gertrude.
As a small child Gertrude had been kidnapped by a serial killer, whose preferred prey was young girls under six years old. He would take them to a certain forest clearing and perform a human sacrifice. The police, once they found the clearing and its remains, thought that he was involved in a Satanic cult.
Oh yes, you have probably heard of him. Notoriety sticks to the particularly heinous killers and he was undoubtedly one of those. In the case of my mother, before he finished his ritual, the police surrounded the clearing and killed him in front of Gertrude's eyes. The trauma didn't seem to affect her. Of course there were few if any child psychologists at the time. Her parents breathed a sigh of relief and went on with their lives. And the defense mechanism of denial was a major portion of this forgetfulness on Gertrude's part. Of course children are also egoists and are contented in their little worlds. In Gertrude's case her trauma didn't appear until she had a child, a son. Yes, it started after my birth.
As far as I can understand it was when her emotions opened up to another helpless person that she started to see the ghost.
He was tall and darkly handsome with a cruel twist to his lips. The first time she saw him was at a dinner party. When she asked who he was, the hostess was unnerved when Gertrude pointed to an empty corner. By the time I was ten she was in full-blown schizophrenic episodes. In despair my father institutionalized her. Her psychologist tried counseling, shock treatments, and finally a lobotomy.
It was after the lobotomy that she was possessed. It was then that she bit off the ear of a male nurse and for her safety and the safety of the staff that she was put in an isolation room. She painted the walls with anything she had including blood if they didn't give her writing instruments. Some of the pictures on the walls were the death scenes of girls she had never seen. These girls were killed by the serial killer, who had kidnapped her long ago.
When I was eighteen my father told me that she was alive. He took me to the gray institution filled with the cries of the criminally insane. We went to the isolation chamber that had become her haven. We were a logical family. My father had spent many of his days in the lab looking for cures to infectious diseases. He was completely overwhelmed by the bizarre behavior of my mother.
I looked at her paintings. I took pictures of the walls. I looked deeply into her eyes. I knew that she was dead and that her body was animated by another spirit. When I took the pictures to the police, they looked exactly like the pictures in the dead file of the dead serial killer. It was the proof I was looking for. I knew that the serial killer was in her body. It was then that I spent months convincing my father to let the Church perform an exorcism on her.