I never go out at night. I always get home by sunset to the point where I plan ahead to make it before dark. Before that, though, I would often go out with my friends. They understand why I don’t go out late, but they sometimes tell me that they miss me when they’re out. Thank god for the internet.
I live alone in a small house, in a neighbourhood that is moderately sketchy and thought I’d never have to come back again. It’s an old family home when my folks and I had to move every couple of years because of inflation -and familial dysfunction; the crux of my story. I lived in an unstable family; my father was a narcissist, my mother was a silenced victim of an abusive marriage, my older sister was the black sheep that cracked under the pressure of unstable parents, and my uncle the violent alcoholic.
My life had been scarred by violence and abuse. My dad would break down my self-esteem with lectures about how I wasn’t “man” enough and that I needed to stand up for myself. When I took his advice when I was bullied in high school, he lectured me about how he had to apologize for me to the parents for causing trouble. My big sister was the only nice person in my family, but she only got bullied by my dad. He said that she stole his role as my parent.
I managed to get out of that cycle when my big sister gave me money to find a place of my own when I finished college. That was the last thing she did before she admitted herself to the mental hospital after she got into a fight with my drunk uncle. I even thought that was the end of it.
Weeks later, I got a call from my mom that my dad and uncle died and that she wanted me to go to the funeral. I asked if she could go with me but, surprisingly, she refused. I get it, though. She was finally free of that terrible man despite that she was too afraid to leave sooner. I didn’t bother to push it and went to the funeral.
I went to see two idiots in boxes at the funeral home. Apparently, they both got drunk and tried to drive home. They crashed into a ditch along the highway and were dead when the cops found them. The funeral director asked if I was going to handle the affairs, and I just walked away. I couldn’t handle what they did to me.
I left the funeral home and went back home, not even caring about what was to be done with them. A couple days later, I got home late from a party and was going to get ready for bed until I heard a knock at the door. Who could be so late? Why? I went to peer through the window beside it and no one was there. It could have been some crackhead. I went back to my room and heard another knock, which became banging as I was making my way to the door. Who the hell was this?
Before I opened the door, I swear I heard the voice of my dad. He shouted, “BOY! You disrespect your father! How fucking dare you leave me like a stray dog!”
I didn’t know what to do. He was dead! I had to have been hallucinating! The voice of my dad then yelled out, “You know what happens to people who dishonour their parents?!”
I looked out the window and saw my dad. Not alive, but moving in his rotting flesh. I backed away as I was processing everything. I then noticed the body of my uncle shambling forward,
“BOY…”
Uncle called out,
“Your Daddy and I want to take you to HELL!”
He was taunting me as I hid inside my house, banging on my door to where it was echoing throughout the house. Dad growled,
“Come out or I will break this door!”
“You’re dead! You can’t do anything to me anymore!”
I shouted back out of instinct. I felt tears run down my cheeks as I saw Uncle go around the back. The panic sank in before I ran towards the back door of my kitchen and locked it. I couldn’t really think at the moment because I all I was focused on right then and there was to survive. I could hear both my dad and my uncle banging on the doors, demanding I come out or let them in.
I could hear their voices surrounding me saying,
“You left us to rot!”
“You are a disgrace! This is what you get for disrespecting your elders!”
The voices were assaulting my ears as well as the violently banging on both doors. I looked at clock to see that it had already been an hour of this. I had to think of what to do next, and I decided to make a run for it into my room. I locked the door and moved my bed in front of it in a desperate attempt to blockade my last line of defence should the lock not prove to be enough.
They kept banging until I heard a loud crack and crunch from the door. Dad got it. My heart was already pounding. I was going to be dragged to who-knows-where by what I only assume are my dead relatives who blamed me for not blindly obeying them in life. I didn’t pray, or armed myself with something to fight back. I felt like there was nothing I could do. I was crying in the corner as I waited for my fate.
I felt hopeless. What escape was there if death didn’t stop them from making me feel like shit? Now I envy my sister for going to the mental hospital. At least she has to be safe there. I shouldn’t be punished for wanting to cut off my ties with those assholes. I started to think that maybe my mom knew this whole time.
I could hear their footsteps trying to find me, I kept silent as I hid in my bedroom closet as to wait it out for as long as possible. I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach when I heard the footsteps right in front of my door. They’re here. My dad knocks on the door and says,
“It’s only for a thousand years, son. It’s not forever…”
Fuck. That. I was not going to spend a thousand years being tortured by dad and uncle. I didn’t say anything as it would give me away. I just stood in my dark closet. Then there was a loud beeping and I realized my alarm was going off. I opened the closet door to see that sunlight was peeking out from the horizon. I heard the footsteps walk away from my door and out of the house. I heard my dad say,
“See you tomorrow night…”
I didn’t see them come out. I waited for a moment that felt like hours before moving my bed and getting out of my room. I checked every corner of the house to find it empty. It was all just empty. The front door was broken off its hinges, which was a surefire sign that what I experienced was indeed real. I felt relief, fear, and sadness. All at once. I had to prepare for the next night.
I went to my hardware store to buy a new door and locks, and I went to visit my mom on my way back. She seemed to have a little more life to her. A little more warmth to her complexion. When I asked more about why she wanted me to go to the funeral by myself, I saw her hesitate for a moment. She said,
“I didn’t want to be chained to him anymore. Burying him would only be surrendering myself to him all over again…”
I told her about my night dealing with Dad and Uncle’s spirits. I told her about how they wanted to take me to Hell. She sounded unsure if what she said was the best thing,
“Your dad and your uncle made a lot of mistakes, we all do. Some people can’t let go of them.”
It didn’t make sense at the time, but I kind of understand now compared to then. People can die with their anger and it carries on. I asked if I could get myself an exorcism or something to keep them out, but my mom wasn’t very assuring. She said before rushing to the kitchen to make coffee,
“I’m sorry, boy. It’s not up to you. They will try to get you for the rest of your life. Just be safe and be a good boy. Please.”
I’m currently at home, windows and doors locked. I’m locked away in my room writing you this story, partly to vent. I’ll leave you with a quote from my long-time therapist,
“Trauma is a ghost that never goes away. Sometimes you can’t see it, other times it will haunt you. We can only make peace and live with it, or we surrender ourselves to it.”