From: email@example.com (Nathan Burgoine)
Subject: Sick of Being Attacked
Date: Wed, 26 Oct 1994 13:39:10 GMT
Okay. First off, this is NOT something I enjoy telling people, because most of the time I get a good laugh and a “sure, okay.” with a pat on the shoulder. Keeping that in mind…
I seem to have a little problem that has been snowballing for years now. When I was a kid (about 5 or so), I started telling my parents that I could “feel” stuff. They got a little worried, but it went away by about 7 or 8. I said all sorts of wierd stuff, like “I can feel Bobb” and the like, for most of this time, and quite often I guessed who was calling when the phone rang, who was at the door when the doorbell rang, which lottery ticket had a winner under the silver-stuff and so on to the point that my mother was seriously amused by me and showed me off at parties. I was pretty good at naming people’s middle names, too.
ANYWAY, that’s besides the point. The last thing I said at that age was a tale in and of itself. My mother found me, terrified, in my room, crying (I do NOT remember this at all), screaming that “Bobb is gone, Bobb is gone, he left me, he left me…” and stuff.
And that was it.
About four years ago now, I moved to B.C. I have since returned, but the next part of this story happens there. I made a bunch of friends and was Mr. Normal teenager until, in one week, one friend overdosed on heroin (I do not use drugs myself, never have, never will, and was trying to help him kick the habit), another fell off a cliff and shattered his skull at the bottom (I was the one who found the bodies, both of them), got arrested for murder (and I still think they were loonie to think that I, this little skinny guy, could hold down a heroin addict long enough to pump him full of heroin against his will – and oh, the charges were dropped) and at the time, it was my sixteenth birthday and my parents forgot all about it and weren’t home.
So, I had a complete emotional breakdown. I hope you find that understandable.
I recovered rather quickly (about three months and ever since I’ve been fine.) and then the “feelings” came back.
According to an “expert” (who is so expert he refuses to let me use his name – I’m a little skeptical on this 😉 ), I had to “re-boot,” for lack of a better term, my entire mind, and I accidentally, or purposefully, turned that stuff back on.
Unfortunately, I’ve acquired a new aspect.
If Bobb was ever my “spirit protector,” I really don’t blame him for moving on. There’s a new “it” in my life, and the few times it has decided to name itself, it called itself R.E.B. (as initials). I assume he is a male, from the glimpses (and yes, I’ve seen it, and so have others who have been with me) I’ve caught – a menonite-ish hat, wire-rimmed glasses (annoyingly reminiscent of the priest in Poltergeist II).
Anyway, I keep digressing.
The little feelings, which I first called Hunches, and later (and now) call Flashes, started to happen more often over time. They were really small, and haven’t gotten anywhere near to where I was when I was a kid. And they seem to work on physical closeness if they are about people, instead of long-distance like it used to be.
I’ll give an example, that didn’t really make sense. I was walking in a mall, passed this average looking guy, and BAM, I know his name, his daughter’s name, and the fact that something bad is about to happen to her and he won’t know until he gets to work tomorrow (which I think, by the way, was a cushy office job). Now, that happens, I’d say, about once or twice a month.
The Flashes, which are a little less intense, happen more when I’m drunk (so I don’t drink) and are not as accurate (8 out of ten are right, I’d have to guess). I get little Flashes that now is a good time to buy a lottery ticket. Or that maybe I should go to my room and change out of my best clothes (and on the way to school I get blasted by mud somehow), and little annoying stuff like that. By the way, I’ve won about $800 dollars this year (usually in $2, 4$ or $14 or so, but I did win $50 a couple of times, and one $200.) I think I’ve lost buying a lottery ticket maybe a dozen times this year, but I’ve won a few more dozen.
Then the other stuff started happening.
First it was glass. I’d go into my room, and pictures or mirrors had fallen, and almost always were broken. Glasses on the shelves in cupboards just had cracks in them when I opened the cupboard. A window cracked… A windscreen… A statuette… and so on.
Then I started getting the “feeling” that there was someone nearby. Whenever that happened, something broke.
It stayed that way for a while. Someone (and to this very day I think I’m going to kill them if I see them) decided that I’d benefit from an Ouija Board use.
Things went out of control after that, and have been ever since. I got his name. Fantastic. R.E.B.
In return, he seemed to get stronger, more stable access to the world around me. He claimed to be my “partner” or my “protector” but his definition of protector is a little sick.
Rarely a night goes by that I don’t wake up because I feel like I’m being choked or scratched, and I wake up with bruises or scratches. These cannot be self inflicted, as they are sometimes in places I could never reach for the angle and the position. (two hands scratching at the small of my back, crossing in the centre of my back, going right over my shoulders, crossing on my chest, and ending at my waist. Like a big, ol’ X-Factor costume.)
I try not to drink out of glass cups because they tend to shatter. I’ve got more little scars on my hand than I can relate, and occassionally, I’ve opened the cupboard and just found crushed glass.
Then it started happening to my closest friends, when I was around.
Here’s my best (if I can call it that) little story.
I was at home, with three people, playing a card game called “Magic.” (Good game by the way, plug-plug). The phone rang, and I answered it, and it was my friend from Fisherville.
Anyway, all of a sudden, all the cupboards in the kitchen blast open. Outside doors first, moving in to the centre.
Enter +------------------------+ Laundry +------------+ | Kitchen | Stairs up | | C | +------------+ | C Stairs dn | | Phone +------------+ +------------------------+ Enter Family room
I’m on the phone, and the cupboards (CC) blow open. Then, and the three friends hear this, something yells “Thirsty?”
(To which, kind of funnily, the girl on the phone said, “Did someone say my name?” [Kristin])
Then, one after the other, glasses pitched themselves at me. I decided that dropping the phone would be good, followed by running away. Meanwhile, glass is shattering everywhere. So, I turn to leave, and I feel a wind behind me. I look, stopping, since the glasses just stopped, and I get my “feeling” that I know is R.E.B.
The best way I can describe it was that he was “Pulling himself all together,” as if there were pieces of him all over that he had to gather to make what he did work.
I saw his hat, his glasses, and a piece of his nose. My friends, who were beside me now, in the family room entrance arch, were agape.
“What the (expletive deleted)?” is how one put it, succinctly, in my opinion.
Then he finished pulling himself together (this all took maybe three seconds) and I moved up and back. I would say I got punched, but I sort of hopped “up” into the air first, then back. And down the stairs I went.
I had a bruise on my stomach from where the “blast” hit for almost four days, and it was a good one. My friends were freaked, (and however blase I sound now, I assure you I’m shaking), and since then it has gotten progressively worse.
I’m not asking everyone out there in CHATland to fix this for me, I just want to know what exactly it is that is happening here, if you know. Any opinions would be appreciated, and who knows? If I flash on any numbers after that, you just might get a ticket. (If that’s bribery, shoot me, I don’t care.)
Anyway, I may sound totally off the wall there, but I figure I had a good chance here of getting a response.
Nathan Burgoine “A couple playing cards is just an
Carleton University argument that hasn’t happened yet.”
— Someone Else.