Friday, November 9, 2012

The Thing under the House

I have found my house inhabited by some terrible things, ugly things, in particular one thing. My thoughts are very confusing on this matter. There is even some apprehension as to where they begin. For at times I have appalling visions of faces within the marble bathroom floor, many faces of this  creature—in lack of a better term, demonic. This creature, or beast or whatever, alien of some sort, long dead, now stretching behind me some twenty-years since I built the house.  In consequence, I am somehow convinced there formless faces in the marble, in the blue and white marble tiles in my bedroom, bathroom, are trying to communicate. But what, what do those faces want to tell me: perhaps displeasure, anger, or just torment me.
       I have some vague impressions that some eerie and strange terrible thing took place under the foundation of my house eons ago.
       The identity of these faces is bewildering, cloudy, perhaps suffered some great shock, and could even be alien.
       When my wife and I were building the house, we had found old monstrous bones, and one huge ancient skull, also some artifacts, we took none. Surely they had been born from an incredible people long before the Incas, long before civilization as we know it, existed, perhaps 17,000-years ago, so my archeologist friend suggested. Of course it was all a worm-riddled experience—finding them bones. 
       I remember when I found them—in a dimly lit cave, under my house, as we dug out the foundation, in Miraflores, Lima Peru—seemingly it was at one time, perhaps during the last Ice Age, at one time, this cave was part of a river, it was an idea that came to mind, and once I crawled into it, so it appeared to reach back endlessly.
       “Tell no one of this find, just build your house over it, fill the side of the cave, up with stones and dirt and cement,” my friend told me, “lest you want the government to take your land and use it as they please, and give you not one dollar.” And I took this to heart, I took his advice, and did as he said, built over the site.
       And now the skull and the bones with some kind of artificial flesh, dripping flesh that appeared on them, was in the marble tile floor within my bathroom, next to my bedroom.

       There is a fascination to be penned by those faces, strange ancient beyond the three dimensional—

       The hideous conclusion: my mind being confused, reluctant, came to an awful certainty, if not lost in its labyrinth, not able to turn in any direction without seeing  these faces—faces my wife could not see—perhaps I had second sight, who’s to say, an awakening for me if so—nonetheless, faces I could only see, I took a slug hammer and broke the marble tiles to smithereens, now in small fragments—that nevermore should I behold those faces and in particular that hug skull, with eyes drooping, hanging out of its sockets, and string like flesh, as if part mold.
       My reason could no longer entertain the slightest belief, this was real, and surely my mind was playing tricks: so I pondered, deliberated on. Then I put in new black marble tiles in its place—hope had departed. Hence, I was indoctrinated to the life form of the paranormal.

       I had frequently read on such matters, and got only a small satisfaction from them. And now here I stood, as the saying goes: in the belly of the whale, it was true, gospel true; there were other dimensions, forms of life. In any case, I remained quiet, lest I lose my bearings. My wife didn’t know how to comfort me, nor did she have a solution, other than referring me to a psychologist, and she dare not say that, for I am one.
       For this reason, I then reflected, like walking backwards, came to the conclusion, I had disturbed their ancient grave site, twenty-years prior. This was true, gospel true, so I took it upon myself to talk to the faces, yes, as bland as it sounds that was my next and only step I could think of, and I said in a bold manner:  
       “I am sorry I disturbed your resting place, but what is done is done, what I will do now is this, I will sell the house to the archeologist, he has always wanted this house, not for the house but for your bones, so he will tear down the house and take your bones and all and put them on display at a museum for all to see, to gawk at—this is your ultimate fate, should you not go back to your resting place: for this I am certain.”
       And faster than a clap of an eye, those faces disappeared. My impression of the whole matter was that those faces, those spirits behind those faces were so angry at me, they had gone mad under the circumstances, not realizing twenty-years had passed, I mean to the dead what is twenty-years, and they just hadn’t stopped to think, things could be worse.

#966 (9-23-2012)