Newsgroups: alt.folklore.ghost-stories
From: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca (Nathan Burgoine)
Subject: Another Attack
Date: Mon, 7 Nov 1994 14:41:05 GMT
Hi everybody.
First off, I think what happened this past week or so pointed something out to me.
In a four day sequence, this is what happened.
Day One – I get a phone-call and find out that my father is going to have his leg amputated for a cancer that is suddenly spreading like wild-fire. My father and I have never been close, and it doesn’t affect me very much, just a little, until my mother calls, in tears, and then my sister calls, in tears, one tells me to be strong and not show emotion to my father and the other tells me to make sure my father realizes I’m upset. (breath.)
That night, I have incredibly vivid dream I’m at a funeral, with friends, and R.E.B. walks over and attacks me. The woman I see often in my dreams walks up, and she’s merrily chanting an old nursery rhyme I knew as a kid while R.E.B. pounds the snot out of me.
Day Two – woke up with bruises all over my stomach (looked like a canadian sunrise), bags under my eyes, and an exam to take later on in the day. Phone rings, I cringe.
Find out another friend in B.C. killed himself (yes, out of the orignal group of 7, there are 3 of us left, one of which is missing and presumed run-away or dead.) Spent hour and twenty minutes on phone with Shannon, telling her everything was okay (HA!), and then my back burns. I check in mirror before my exam – scratches.
Write my exam (and can’t remember what the last question was.) and go home. Have lousy night, have house-guest, have another dream of funeral, without woman or R.E.B., and this time I note that the friends are all from one area I lived in with my family except for my roommate.
Day Three – wake up feeling a little better, no new bruises or anything (just the old, yellowing ones), and I figure dream isn’t about my father – people that were there wouldn’t be.
Have cereal, phone rings.
Consider pulling phone out of wall.
Friend from the area I dreamed about tells me another friend’s grandmother (whom I’ve always called Nan, and whom my roommate met and always calls Nan, and whom all of the friends gathered in my dream call Nan), has been rushed to hospital with double pneumonia.
Headache sets in. Skip school. Feel sick, lie down.
Vivid flash of Christmas, sister crying.
(No idea on that one)
Decide to run bath, get in bath, get scratched to hell, get out of bath, go for a long walk, get punched in stomach, go home, go to sleep. By this point I was beyond caring, and I just said, “Look, I’ve had it. Go away.”
And it stopped. As soon as I didn’t care, it seemed to stop.
(Good advice, Anne.)
The thing I noticed is that he tends to attack when I’m “down.” Someone else mentioned this earlier (can’t remember who) and I think they’re right.
Other than that… I just had a bad week.
‘Nathan.
P.S -> Does anyone remember who wrote that nursery rhyme that ends with “This is the way the world ends, world ends, world ends. This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.” ?
Nathan Burgoine “Those who agree with us may not be
Last-Chance U right, but we admire their astuteness.”
— Cullen Hightower
Email address: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.ghost-stories
From: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca (Nathan Burgoine)
Subject: A picture
Date: Fri, 18 Nov 1994 15:47:54 GMT
Hi Gang.
Well, I had a little tiff with R.E.B. last night.
I was dreaming about him, and in the dream, which became lucid (a rare enough event as it is), I white-lighted it and he got somewhat upset with me.
I’m understating.
He didn’t manage to hit me or anything, and then I woke up, sure I’d just heard a really loud bang.
Three more bangs. The first was like a fist pounding the wall beside my closet. The second was like a fist pounding my closet (and knocked the damned thing off the little track.). The third was a fist hitting a picture on my wall, shattering the class, knocking it crooked and it never fell off the wall, but the frame, metal, actually snapped/cracked in one spot.
So, sitting up rather quickly (and cutting myself in the process), I quietly cleaned up the glass, told R.E.B. that I understood that he was upset, but this wasn’t acceptable (I REALLY tried to be calm. I’m not sure if I managed it or if I got a good illusion of calm going.) and went back to bed.
Sleep was a little more difficult than that.
Woke up agian in the morning, and my cut (small on the knuckle of my left hand, centre finger) is almost healed. Go figure.
Went to school (here I am), wrote an exam (and I actually think I did well.)
Just updating.
‘Nathan.
Nathan Burgoine “Even a stumble may prevent a fall.”
Last-Chance U — British Proverb
Email address: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.ghost-stories
From: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca (Nathan Burgoine)
Subject: Burned
Date: Fri, 2 Dec 1994 14:20:34 GMT
Hi everyone.
First off, SORRY about losing you all for a little while. Between the phonecalls from home, studying, essays, preparing to present seminars and some heavy-duty headaches, I’ve had 0.0 time.
Lately we lost a glass pitcher, a cup, and another CD case. (cracked, of course) and I was in the cafeteria and a tray splintered just enough to nip me.
The one I’m worried about, actually, happened this morning on the way to school. My roommate (and maybe I can coax her to say hello) was driving, we were talking, and suddenly I get this burning sensation on my finger. So I stick it in my mouth, after an incredibly whiney “Ow!” and pull it out, fresh with new blister.
This gives me more than a little anxiety. Cuts, scrapes and scratches are one thing, but what if now R.E.B. decides to start a few fires? Or to just keep burning me?
I’ve had it. I’m fixing this now. I thought I could wait until after Christmas, but I guess not. I’ll try the first of the methods you’ve all given me tonight – I’m going to forgive him… If it takes me all night, I’m going to SOMEHOW find it in me to tell him I’m not mad anymore. That I really don’t hate him (ha.) and that all I want is for both of us to be happy (and rot in hell… ooops. 🙂 Sorry, I guess that wasn’t funny.)
ANyway, I’ll zip to school Monday to let you know how it went.
If this doesn’t work, I’m going to call in the heavy hitters.
THanx…
‘Nathan
Nathan Burgoine “Lose your dreams and you will lose your
fall.” Last-Chance U mind.” — The
Beatles
Email address: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.ghost-stories
From: nburgoin@chat.carleton.ca (Nathan Burgoine)
Subject: Near the End, I think.
Date: Tue, 3 Jan 1995 19:50:12 GMT
I think my problems with R.E.B. are nearly over, and I don’t understand one bit of it. It makes sense in an ironic sort of way – I never understood any of this, so I guess if it comes and goes on its own little whim, I’ll be happy enough.
A day before I left I had a dream. It was one of those dreams where the woman showed up, but I’ll explain the whole thing out.
I was walking along a place I use to go a lot with Tim, and Tim was with me. (This is my Tim friend who overdosed on Heroin and blamed me in the suicide letter, just about the time that R.E.B. first put it into high gear.)
We were talking about nothing, and everything seemed completely normal. Then she shows up and she says, “Timothy.”
He turns, and sighs, and looks back at me. He shrugs and he said, “Sorry, man.”
I blinked, and I was starting to become aware I was dreaming, like I always do when the woman shows up.
Then he hugged me, and that is completely UN-Tim. He was the most non-tactile person I’ve ever met. Anyway, he hugged me, said “Love you, man, and sorry for all that sh**.” This is COMPLETELY out of character for him, but it felt like he meant it.
Now, the vividness of the dream was overwhelming. I could even smell his Stetson, which I’d forgotten he always wore. It was THAT realistic.
He stepped back, looked at her, and said “Now?”
She nodded, and said, “You could come back later.”
Now THIS blew me away. Ms. Talk-in-riddles-only just said something normal for the first time in forever (and it would be to someone else, not me.) She also spoke to someone in my dream, which is a first.
Then, she took him by the arm and led him back into the side of a mountain, poof, gone.
I woke up so hyper and happy it was amazing. I don’t really care if that was Tim’s spirit (which I’d like to believe) or just my own inside subconscious, but he forgave me (or I forgave me, whichever) for the suicide (even though I understand there was nothing I did or could have done, there was still a smidgen of guilt…. okay, more than a smidgen.)
Anyway, I went home and had a disaster of a Christmas (not horrible, just bad in that way that can be funny later, people threw up on turkeys and stuff.)
R.E.B. made one appearance in the past two weeks. One. That was all. I felt him coming closer, I was still feeling good from Christmas (It was the one day I was alone, and I feel better when I’m alone and by a roaring fire…) so I said “Merry Christmas, bud.”
Gone. No fight at all.
Then, last night, I felt him come a little closer when I was talking to a girl in B.C. (Shannon). Shannon and I were talking, and she said “even though a lot of bad stuff has been going on, and we were all worried about you for no reason, things seem… good.”
I think that’s an exact quote.
He’s not gone, don’t get me wrong. I felt him last night, so I guess he’s still around. But he feels further away, and I don’t seem to care about it.
So… go nuts. Psychoanalyze, whatever, I don’t care. R.E.B. could have been attracted to the guilt I felt. Or just to my negative emotions. Or he could have been a small part of me I managed to animate into something else. Heck, I really could have been possessed. But I honestly think I don’t care anymore.
I haven’t seen the woman in my dreams since then, and I haven’t dreamed of R.E.B. since then either. I also haven’t been scratched, poked, or otherwise hurt in anyway. Nothing has shattered, gone missing, or broken. I still had some flashes throughout the last two weeks (something I was worried would fade if R.E.B. did.) and other than a rotten Christmas Dinner, everything seems great right about now.
And I really didn’t do anything… it just sort of started to happen.
‘Nathan
Update: 6/30/97. Nathan would like to add:
All I’d ask is that a small paragraph or two be added to my story. I can give you a more detailed story when I have time, but could you add that the problem ended (If you e-mail me back for details, I can certainly throw together a better line than ‘it’s over’) and that solutions are no longer needed, though thank you to all who wrote me – some of you led to the ultimate solution.