biggizmo54
11-01-2004, 04:04 PM
I remember when I was 5 years old. At my age, this is a huge accomplishment. I woke up in the middle of the night finding the closet door was open. I got out of my creaky old iron bed to close the door. When I approached the door, a small furry hand reached out to the light switch. I stopped dead in my tracks. The door closed softly and I could see the light under the door. It appeared that there were more than just one creature in there. I touched the old brass doorknob and the light went out. I reached up to push the wall switch and the light came on before I could touch it. I decided to open the door quickly and turn the light on if it went out when I opened the door. Quickly, I pulled the door open and the light did go out. I pushed the button on the wall switch and the light didn't work. I stepped inside to pull the string switch. Suddenly, I was pulled indide by an unknown group of hands. They were cold and rough feeling. I tried to pry the hands off of me and found they were all hairy-like. I tried to scream but no sound came from my throat. I knew I was screaming, because my throat felt raspy and dry. I managed to free one hand to feel for the string again. I pulled and the light came on for a brief moment for me to see the horror I was experiencing. Several orangutang-like creatures, all my size, with the face of my grandfather were smiling at me. The light went out again, and I could now see they all had what appeared to be glowing eyes. I tried to scream again. No sound. Then, I saw that these were not eyes. They were cigars. My grandfather smoked cigars. I could smell the familiar odor of the illegal Cuban tobacco. Then it looked like sparks from a grinder from several different places. There was a hissing sound. I could hear sound, but none came from my screams. I broke free from the hands and slammed the door behind me. Just then, I heard a terrible explosion. I awoke to find myself at the bottom of the stairs. I had jumped to the bottom of the stairs to escape the explosion of dynamite. My grandfather was also a demolitionist. My parents never believed me, but 6 years later, my stepfather actually tried to blow me up with dynamite. A true life nightmare is not doing what you were told, and then being severely punished by a psychotic drunkard with an itch for causing pain and delivering fright to people smaller than himself. We were camping at his property one summer. My mother and brother and sisters, and myself. The summer had just started. Two days of work at the ranch before the actual fun times were to begin. My mother and step-father were at the cabin while my brother and sisters were fishing with me at the car-bridge a quarter of a mile away. My brother had hooked the bottom of the creek again. He asked me to go to the cabin to ask for another hook. I went, reluctantly. I took the shortcut through the meadow. To walk the road was too far. The meadow was half the distance. When I approached the cabin, I could see step-dad with a rifle. He was sighting in his new scope on his 30.06 so he could go to the shooting competition. Step-dad was an ex-marine. Big and strong. Big and mean. After I told him I needed a hook, he told me no...He had no more hooks to give to us kids. Then he told me to go back to the bridge and tell everyone to stay there til he came for us to have lunch. He explained the reason was for safety. "you see that target down there on that tree? That is about head high to you kids. Don't come down that road. This rifle would take your head clean off!" So, I returned to the bridge. Explained that there was no hooks. My brother's anger at my stupidity and lack of success made him oblivious to the set of instructions I relayed to him regarding the target on the tree. He yelled and screamed profanities at me. I began to cry because he ran down the road to the cabin. Sure of himself to get a hook. I was sure that i was going to get the beating of my life. Fifteen minutes went by. Finally, I saw my brother. He was running to me. As he cried in fear for me, he told me to run away. "Dad is gonna beat you! RUN!" I neglected to run. Instead, I went to the cabin(by way of meadow)to take my punishment. I was met with a huge fist to the face. I was awoken some time later with a boot to the stomache. HE told me to go down to the sheep shed and start yelling. I don't know what I was suppose to yell, but, I yelled apologies, help, and whatever came to mind. Then ther ewas a terrible shudder and boom. I looked out through the cracks in the old log shed to see everyone on top of the hill by the cabin. The kids were all sitting on the big granite ledge. My mother was standing next to my step-father and drinking a beer. My step-father had a cigar in one hand, and a stick of dynamite in the other. Three times he threw TNT at the shed. They all fell short. Causing huge holes around the shed, but always missing the mark. I began to yell louder. I couldn't hear my screams. I knew I was screaming, but no sound came out. Just then, I saw a stick of TNT flying toward the door of the shed. I moved to the back of the shed and took cover behind some old turn of the century furniture that was left to rot over the years. I heard the boom. I felt the shake. I woke up some twenty tards or so from what was left of the old shed. I landed in the brush behind the shed. I was, again, deaf. I waited for someone to come down to see if I was still alive. No one came. After awhile, I got up and went to the cabin. I hadn't seen any activity up ther efor quite some time. I found there was no one there. I walked to the camp a half mile away...no car...no fire...no people. It was getting dark and I was alone. I came to the realization, they thought I was dead. They pulled up camp, and drove out of there without me. I walked home from there. Twenty-six miles to Spokane. I then walked to the Juvenile Hall to turn myself in as a homeless child. The Judge never believed me. My psychiatrist never believed me, and I am beginning to wonder...Does society close their eyes and ears to real life nightmares? I re-live this everyday of my life. It never gets any different....the story stays the same. My brother and sisters remember...they are waiting for me to retaliate.