Sunday, November 19, 2017

Late Night Visitor: Part 1

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH, I think to myself as I set the heavy cake pan down on
the kitchen counter by the never-used stove and oven in my apartment.

FEELS good to be home at last.

The cake, remarkably, is still intact, even though I hadn't held it
completely straight during the trek to my house. Even though I tried
to stuff the dollar store cake pan, unceremoniously, into my backpack
with no success.

It's a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. My favorite. Chris
made it for me tonight. All of us, demons included, feasted on it
while it was still quite warm and the frosting just slightly melted on
the top, oozing down the sides of my large slice as I ate it.

I'm about to walk into my bedroom to listen to the radio when a quiet
knock sounds at my door.

WHO the HELL wants to contact me at three o'clock in the morning?

"You don't have to answer the door for anybody."

I can hear Chris's voice as the knocking persists. Chris isn't here,
though. It's a memory of him telling me that a while ago.



NO! It can't be!

I stand there, completely frozen. The knocking finally stops.

"Ashlee. Ashlee. Ashlee."


Very slowly, I walk toward the door. Put my hand on the doorknob. Then wait.

"Yes, it's me. Please open the door."

THIS isn't REAL, I tell myself.

THIS isn't real. Your dad's dead. He's been dead for nearly eleven
years. You're having a hallucination, Ashlee, and a damn serious one.
Go to bed and sleep it off right now.

Yes, it has to be a hallucination. Daddy's gone! I'm losing touch with reality.

"Ashlee," the voice persists outside my door.

"Ashlee, don't be afraid. Please open the door. I want you to touch
my nose. In an earlier letter to me, you said how you wished you'd
gotten a chance to touch my nose. Well, here's your chance. I'm
right here. If you open the door, you'll see me. You'll be able to
touch my nose."

GO ahead, open the door, I think angrily to myself.

GO ahead! Nothing will happen. The moment you open it, you'll see
that there's nobody there at all. Then, you can put this all behind
you and go to sleep. If you challenge the voice or hallucination or
whatever the hell this is, it will go away. JUST DO IT!

My heart is banging in my chest. So hard it hurts to breathe.
Perspiration beads have popped up all over my forehead. I feel
slightly dizzy, slightly ill.

"You're NOT real!" I say angrily.

"Shut up and go away! I hate you! Leave me alone!"

Silence. Dead, bone-chilling silence. It sounds louder than ten
freight trains passing a train station all at the same time, while
blowing their whistles.

I hope I've done the right thing. My therapist has told me, as well
as Chris, come to think of it, to challenge the voices when they
invade my privacy. I've done it before, and, more often than not,
they retreat once it has been established that I am on to them and
know they aren't real

But, not always. Sometimes, they remain.

Very, very slowly, I turn the lock and open the door. I hold my
breath without even realizing it. It's a bad habit I've picked up,
somehow. I do it when I'm panicking.

I want so badly to see him on the other side of the door. I want so
badly for this NOT to be just yet another one of my hallucinations.

And yet...

And yet...

I, so badly, do NOT want him to be on the other side of the door.
PLEASE, my Dark, Unholy Lord, please, oh please, just let this be yet
another hallucination.

Because, if this really IS him, I'm afraid of what he will tell me.
He's got to be ashamed of me for sure. I've turned out so much like
Jennifer, and there doesn't seem to be a way to change that.

I've become a liar like her, I've ruined more than my fare share of
friendships, and I am the worst mother in the world. I am not a good
person, and I dread the day I get to see Daddy again, maybe in the
afterlife, where he will tell me openly what a piece of shit I have
become, before turning his back on me forever. How he used to think
that the only thing him and Jennifer ever did right together was
create me, but not anymore. Now, most likely, he thinks it's the
worst mistake he's ever made. Making me. And, he's right. It WAS
the worst mistake, and nothing will ever match up to it again.

I don't want to see Daddy. I'm too disgusted to show my face to him.

Slowly, the door opens. The hallway is brightly lit, and nobody is
walking around like usual during the daytime hours.

Everybody is asleep. Like I should be.

And, there he is. Just like he said he would be, standing very still,
right in front of my door.

He is wearing a white jacket. Or, I THINK it is white. It's the same
one he used to wear when...


He was alive.

But, he IS alive! He's standing right here in front of me. Just
staring at me without moving, without speaking.


My voice comes out in a choked whisper. I cannot BELIEVE this is happening!

Why, after eleven years, has he decided to show up now?! What is this all about?

"My god," he whispers.
"You are SO beautiful! I've missed you so, so much!"

Tears sting the back of my eyes. Slowly, I reach up to touch his
face, then abruptly let my arm fall back down.

I don't want to break the spell. Surely, this isn't real, and,
because of this, I can't touch him. If I do, he'll vanish instantly.
And, with much certainty in my gut, I KNOW that this will be the last
time I'll ever see him again.

"Come with me," he says softly.

"Don't talk, just come with me."

"Why can't I talk?" I whisper.

"Because it will disturb your neighbors. This isn't, exactly, a time
to be chitchatting in the hallway."

"But, YOU'RE talking."

SEE, this ISN'T real! If it was, people would already be opening their
doors, demanding us to go inside of my apartment and quit disturbing
the peace.

"Not necessarily," points out Nevaeh.

"It's the weekend. People that live in the city and in this complex,
in particular, are used to people coming and going at random hours on
weekends and, even on week nights, come to think of it. People, in
general, are more tolerant of noises and comings and goings during
weekends. So, nobody would think much of you talking out in the hall
at three-fifteen in the morning on a Saturday night."

"So, then, IS this real, Nevaeh?"

"Yes," she tells me confidently.

"He's right here. Reach up and touch his nose."

"Later, Nevaeh," he says quietly.

"When we get to the park."

Park? What park? I am confused.

"Go inside and put your warm, winter coat and shoes on."

I am about to obey, but fear suddenly grips my throat, tightening it
so much that I can barely get any air flowing through the airway.

"I need to touch you right now," I tell him.

"I need to know you are definitely real."

"Very well," he says.

Then, without warning, he reaches up and gently brushes my cheek with
one of his long, callused fingers.

Fingers that once played the guitar with stellar speed and confidence.
Fingers my uncle Mikey envied and tried to compete with, only to fail
miserably every time he tried.

Mikey always wanted to be as good as Daddy. But he never could be.
There was just nobody on Earth like my daddy.

Goosebumps appear all over my body. In a good way. All the anxiety
and doubt I have been harboring immediately melts away.

Yes, this is real, all right. And I'm going to go to the park with
Daddy and catch up on some very long and lost time.

I invite Daddy into my apartment, but he declines. I think this is a
bit odd, but I don't ask questions. There is no time to waste. I
feel like our time is very limited, not to be wasted with fruitless,
pointless questions.

So I hurry back inside, grab my coat, shove my feet rudely into my
sneakers, which complain loudly and try to bite my feet to show their
discomfort, and I let myself back out into the hallway. All the while
worrying that he will be gone when I come out.

He isn't. He is standing right where I left him.

Automatically, I reach out and grab his hand. It is warm and inviting
and I immediately sink into step with him.

His hand has dry, flaky skin just like before. This time of year
always was hard on his skin.

"Which park are we going to?" I ask him once we enter the elevator and
the door closes noisily behind us.

"Percival Landing," he responds as the elevator slowly makes its
descent to the lobby.

Percival Landing! That's Amira's favorite park. Mine, too, come to think of it.

"It's the only park around here that has swings," explains Daddy as we
stand together in the elevator, waiting for the door to open up.

"Amira really enjoys this park," I say to Daddy.

"I know," he tells me, guiding me out of the elevator.

"She's very much like you in a lot of ways. She makes me very proud."

There are so many questions that I have, yet I cannot bring myself to
ask even one of them. This is so surreal! I remain silent because I,
honestly, fear that, if I begin grilling him, he will suddenly

I can't break this precious time with him, I can't! And, what kind of
a welcome back would that be, anyway?

Certainly, it would be Jennifer's style to immediately punch him again
and again with question after question after question. And, although
it is very tempting for me to do the same, I refrain.

Daddy opens the door with one, strong hand. It's cold as fuck
outside, but I don't care. My coat is unzipped and I shiver a little,
but I don't zip it up. I don't want to let go of his hand. EVER!

So I walk with him and let the night air mercilessly bite me with its
sharp, unyielding fangs. Frostbite fangs.

"Come on," Daddy says, suddenly coming to a halt just around the
corner of my apartment building.

"Hop on! Bet I can still give you a shoulder ride."

Laughing, I say, "Daddy, I'm not sixty pounds anymore!"

"Well, you're close enough. Now, hop on or we'll never make it to the park."

It's been so long since I've gotten a shoulder ride from Daddy. For a
moment, I just stand there, feeling stupid and self-conscious, because
I forgot how I used to get up there. Did he pick me up and swing me,
backward, onto his shoulder? Or, did I, somehow, climb up there on my

"What, afraid I'll drop you?" he teases lightly. I can hear the
laughter in his voice. It isn't unkind laughter, though. It's filled
with undying love and compassion.

Suddenly, I find my feet leaving the ground. I scream loudly, very
much in surprise. I haven't been man-handled in a very long time.
I've forgotten what it feels like.

And, just like that, I find myself on top of Daddy's shoulders. On
top of the WORLD!

The scream turns into wild, joyful laughter as Daddy begins walking,
briskly, toward the park. Or, at least I THINK that's where we're
going. Why would he tell me otherwise?

Oh well. At the moment, I really don't care where we're going. As
long as I'm with Daddy, I feel safe and whole and happy.

"Wow, you have gained a pound or two," he says, panting a little, as
he continues to walk. I have my arms slightly wrapped around his neck
to keep from falling backward. Daddy is holding on to the lower half
of my legs, near my ankles, to steady me.

Just like the old times. The only difference is, it's now 2017 and
we're in Olympia instead of Indianola. Oh, yeah, and I'm a shit ton
older than I was when I got my last shoulder ride from him.

Percival Landing is quite close to my house. We get there in less
than five minutes.

Suddenly, fear grips me again as I realize something. A puncture
appears in my very inflated happy balloon. A puncture, I fear, that
may very well be the end of my happy balloon.

"Uh, Daddy?" I say, nervously squeezing his neck just a little.


"The park is closed right now. We can't enter it or else we'll get
busted for trespassing. I really don't want to go to jail. The idea
of jail really scares the living shit out of me."

Daddy merely laughs quietly.

"There's nobody here," he tells me.

"The cops have better things to do than patrol an empty, cold, wet
park at three-thirty in the morning."

"What are they doing?"

"There's a protest going on near the train station downtown. People
are blocking it again. Something having to do with coal or something.
Who knows what these hoodlums are rioting about now. Can't keep

"Amen to that."

We reach the large lawn of the park. I can smell the sea air, mixed
with the smell of sweet, wet grass very strongly. The sky is very
damp. Another rainy and windy day lies ahead of us.

"Get as much chocolate mousse mud and cookie dough blizzard with
chocolate ice cream rain in your system as you can now, Bryan," I tell
him as Daddy's shoes squelch loudly in the very muddy grass. The
soil, here, is totally saturated. This is a perfect place for Bryan
to feast before the storm.

"Why?" he says in his growly voice.

"Because it's supposed to get very windy later, and, when that
happens, I want you inside."

Bryan says nothing to this. When I turn back to make sure he's going
to mind me, I hear him already munching away on the yummy, rich mousse
mud underneath the chocolate cake grass, with chocolate cake batter
soil thrown in to the smorgasbord as well.

Embarrassment floods me, suddenly, as I realize I've been talking
aloud to Bryan. SURELY, Daddy doesn't know about my imaginary
friends. He COULDN'T know! And now, he, undoubtedly, thinks I'm a
loony toon. Great!

"Sorry," I whisper ashamedly, lowering my head and closing my eyes.

"I still talk to myself a lot. Never quite broke out of that habit,
though Jennifer tried just about everything to get me to do so."

"Gotta give her credit for trying, eh?) says Daddy with a heartfelt laugh.

"She never could tame you. Neither could I, though, honestly, I never
wanted to. In my eyes, you were my perfect little angel. I loved you
more than anything."

Why is he using the past tense? He doesn't feel the same about me
anymore. I KNEW it!

But then again, how could he after who I have become? I was RIGHT to
be afraid and ashamed for Daddy to see who I truly am. I was right to
not want to open the door. I wish I wouldn't have.

"What's wrong?.

By now, Daddy has stopped walking. It is so dark outside. The sky is
so heavily clouded over that no moon or stars can be seen. Yet, I can
tell that we have reached the swings.

"I'm just thinking about who I have become. You don't love me anymore, do you?"

"Hey, come on!"

With one sweeping motion, he has me back on solid ground. This time,
I don't squeal. I'm too caught up in misery and self-hatred to notice
much of anything but what I'm currently feeling.

"Honey, I will NEVER, EVER stop loving you."

With that, he throws his arms around me, shoving me against his chest.
He is so warm and there is a very faint smell of cigarette smoke and
unlaundered clothing. I inhale deeply, taking it all in.
Immediately, I am comforted.

There is no need for me to say "Really?", or "How can you still feel
this way even after everything you've seen? How can you still love me
when you've just now witnessed that I talk to imaginary friends?"

All feelings of self-loathing disappear. Staring up into Daddy's
face, I whisper, "I love you, Daddy. Never leave me again."

"Okay," he whispers, leaning in to kiss me warmly on the lips.

"But you'll have to come with me."

There is no time to speculate on what he means by this. His kiss
touches my lips and I am immediately lost to the sensation. It is
very unlike my mother's and grandmother's icky kisses that they so
freely lavished onto me, even though they were never asked for or

It is a dry kiss, for one thing. Their kisses are always wet and,
more often than not, they leave lipstick marks on my cheek or lips or
wherever the kisses are planted.

When DADDY kisses me, I am immediately warmed up inside, from the very
tippity top of my head, all the way down to the points of my stubby

And, his kisses are always welcome. I even look forward to them.

"Come on," Daddy says, breaking away from my embrace.

"Get on the swing. I want to push you hard and high into the night."

Rejuvenated by the physical closeness, I race over to the nearest
swing, hop on, and laugh as I hear Daddy's footsteps approaching me
from behind.

"Hope old age hasn't gotten you into the habit of being swing sick,"
he says with a laugh as he gives the swing a mighty shove.

I do, unfortunately, secome to swing sickness from time to time, but,
tonight is going to be different. I just know it.

So I say to him, "Nope, I'm still a spring chicken! You can push me as
high as you want and everything will stay inside."

"Good," he says, giving the swing yet another violent push.

"Because watching someone puke isn't, exactly, my idea of fun."

Friday, November 17, 2017

Fuck Caring For Other People!

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Dear Daddy,

Boy, oh boy, am I on a roll! I guess it would be a fair statement to
say that I am on a rampage today. But, for good reason. Rampages
don't just happen on their own. They are triggered by something.
First, it was MISS Pity Party setting things into motion, and now it's
Jennifer. Or, was it Jennifer who actually set this all in motion?
Who cares! All I know is I'm mad as hell at the both of them, and I
sincerely hope they rot in hell.

When Jennifer reads this last sentence, she's going to be all shock and awe.

"What did I do NOW?!" I can hear her saying huffily to herself as she
screws her eyes up against the bright, harsh light of her teensy, tiny
IPHONE screen.

"We haven't spoken since Tuesday! It's now Thursday morning! What
could I have possibly done THIS TIME?!"

Nothing today, Jennifer, nothing at all. It has to do with what
happened Tuesday. I was going to just let it go, but since I'm
already on a pretty crazy roller coaster of emotion right now, why not
address it after all. You can thank Miss Pity Party for this one. If
she hadn't set the ball in motion tonight, I really would have let
this go. But, not anymore.

I awoke very early Tuesday morning, around one in the morning, with a
really strange feeling about Mom. I felt both angry as flashbacks of
my childhood started intruding in on my personal space, but there was
something else nagging at me. Worry. Straight up anxiety that left
me feeling cold and sick inside. It was the kind of feeling that
makes you immediately go straight into the shower the moment you get
out of bed and realize that the feeling wasn't caused by a simple
dream and that it isn't going to go away any time soon.

I had emailed Jennifer the day before as well as called her. When I
checked my phone and computer, I saw that there were no messages or
e-mails from her. Which isn't like her. Not at all.

It's usually ME who takes forever to respond to her calls or e-mails
because I'm sleeping in or outright just don't want to talk to her or
because I'm with Chris and the kiddos and never feel I can talk to my
mom and grandma when I'm around Chris, nor do I usually want to.
Talking to them is kept private and usually only done in the peace and
serenity of my dear apartment.

WHATEVER, I told myself as the strange angry/anxious feeling grew
stronger and heavier in my gut.

WHO cares? Get on with your life; she's probably fine.

Later on that morning, however, I e-mailed my grandmother, wanting to
know whether she'd heard from Jennifer or not. Hours had gone by at
this point, and, no matter what I did, I just couldn't shake the awful

"No, I haven't heard from her, either," reported Grandmama.

"I tried calling and texting her and she never responded. That's
really not like her to do that."

So she started calling around and texting her best friend Carrie and
Coalie to see whether they had spoken to her or had at least gotten a
text. I sent Coalie a message, too, asking him the same question.

It was so weird, Dad. The feeling that I had was very similar to the
feeling that I had on the day I found out that you had died. And,
like that fateful day nearly eleven years ago when I found out I'd
never see you again, I felt sick and cold, no matter how many showers
I took. It was simply impossible to retain any warmth once I was out
of the shower.

Coalie didn't respond to my first message, so, after a while, I very
reluctantly, decided to call him rather than just send him a second
voice mail from my voice mail inbox like I had done the first time. I
had absolutely no desire to talk to the man, whatsoever, but I needed
relief from whatever the hell I was feeling. It was only getting
worse as the minutes ticked by. It was also amplified, tenfold, when
Grandmama said that she couldn't get ahold of Coalie, either, and that
Jennifer was still unreachable.

Very, very slowly, I dialed Coalie's number. It took AGES before I
finally plucked up the courage to hit the send button. Then, rocking
anxiously, I waited as the phone rang and rang in my ear.

The more rings that sounded, the more agitated and uncomfortable I was
becoming. All of a sudden, both of my feet began to tingle and a very
cold sensation washed over them. It didn't feel good at all. It was
like getting a chill down your spine, only it was going down my feet
instead, for whatever dumb reason.

Finally, after what seemed a decade, the voice mail kicked in. I
literally doubled over with relief. Abruptly, I hung up, not seeing
any need to leave a second message.

As I leaned over on my bed, taking deep breaths, I wondered what could
have possibly happened to my mother. Grandmama had told me that she
had had a very strange dream about my mother that night. In the
dream, Jennifer had looked very bloated and sickly. The feeling was
so bad for her that it, too, forced her out of bed; sleep was
impossible for her after that dream.

I waited and waited, listening to Oldies tunes on my radio. I tried
to imagine how I would react if I found out Jennifer was dead.

Years ago, I might have celebrated. Now, though, it was very strange
for me to think of Jennifer dead. Celebration wasn't high on my list
of emotions.

Reflecting on my thoughts for a while, I came to the conclusion that I
would have very mixed emotions if my mother was dead. Relief would be
among them, but also, there was fear. Fear and sadness, which I
didn't expect to come up for me. I also wondered to myself how I
would get out of going to her funeral.

It wasn't that I wouldn't want to say good-bye to her, pay my
respects, but I didn't want to deal with the rest of the family.
They, certainly, would want me to stay with them for a while to grieve
and remember her, and I would want to leave immediately after the
funeral service without speaking to anybody. Certainly, I wouldn't
want to be touched, hugged, or kissed by any of them.

What would I do? Hole up in my apartment for a week or so until the
chaos died down, or hide at Chris's house and have to deal with
entertaining Amira, on top of dealing with whatever feelings/emotions
came up for me? Or, would I simply just leave the state and stay with
one of my fans, who likes to be addressed as Spider? That is, assuming
that she would say yes and open her home to me. Who really knew if she
would. Or, maybe could I stay with Miss Pity Party?

This last thought, of course, was before this whole thing happened
with Pity Party this morning. This was when I still considered myself
her one and only true friend. This was when I still felt love for

I guess I still do; I've calmed down a little since earlier today, but
I'm still mad as hell about her attitude toward me for what I had done
to try to help her by writing to that benefactor of hers. Pity Party
lives out of state, too, but I was sure I could arrange something.

Or, could I attend the funeral over Skype? Certainly, everyone would
disapprove of me not physically attending, but, nobody really approves
of what I do anyway, so to hell with it. Sallie, my grandfather's
wife, understands how hard it is for me to deal with my family, so,
maybe, she would have mercy on me and would let me attend the service
without physically being present for it.

Or, maybe it was just too much of a hassle to try and attend at all or
to go out of state. Maybe, hiding out in my little sanctuary WAS the
best option. Surely, it wouldn't take more than a few days for people
to start backing off and going back to living their own lives after
the funeral and all, right?

Had Mom been killed during the windstorm? We had an incredible storm
during the day and night hours of Monday. Wind gusts reached
sixty-five miles per hour in some places, toppling trees like pins at
the bowling alley. Upon thinking of the storm, I felt very grateful
that Bryan had minded me and had stayed indoors all that day and
night, despite all the tempting rain there was for him to feast on

Had her plane crashed? Had the car gone over the side of the Hood
Canal Bridge? Had she drowned? Chris has told me many times that the
Hood Canal Bridge is very dangerous when wet. Once, he nearly slid
off the bridge while driving when he was in high school. According to
him, that bridge is nothing to mess around with.

So, had she died while attempting to cross the bridge? Or, had a poor,
tired old tree fallen on the car as she drove, killing her instantly?
Had a tree fallen on her car, trapping her inside, with very severe
injuries, but she was still alive after all, despite her injuries?
Maybe nobody knew where she was! Maybe she was trapped and dying

Or, had she finally had that stroke she'd thought she was having back
in September? Was she still alive but in a hospital, wishing that
someone would come and pay her a visit?

All these scenarios played in my mind again and again. It was like
watching a very realistic horror movie, without an OFF button to make
it all go away.

Eventually, Coalie called me back. It was so very tempting to let his
call go to voice mail, but I feared that he wouldn't tell me anything
important if I didn't answer. Or, he might not leave a message at
all. So, with much trepidation, I answered the phone.


"What's up, Ashlee?" His cold voice gave me instant chills.

"What do you mean "What's up?"," I wanted to say to him. Hadn't he
listened to my voice mail? Hadn't he read the gazillion panicked texts
my grandmother must surely have sent him?

"Well, I haven't heard from Mom in a few days, and I was starting to
worry," I said, hating how timid I sounded. Why am I so damn afraid
of that bastard anyway? It's not like he can do anything to me.

"Have you heard from her? Grandma's worried, too. She's tried to get
in touch with Mom as well."

"I heard from her yesterday," responded Coalie in that cold,
calculated voice I hate so much.

"I'm still waiting to hear from her this morning. She was supposed to
come home last night from work, but the stormy conditions kept her
stranded at the airport. I gather she's sleeping down in the crew

Instantly, I don't quite know why, but I got this vision of my mother,
cold, bloody, and dismembered, in a big, black, zip lock garbage bag
down in the creepy cellar of her house in Poop Ludlow. Coalie had
done it! He had murdered her!

No! I told myself firmly as I took a deep, calming breath to regain my

HE didn't kill her! Now get a grip on yourself! The last thing you
want or need is to find yourself feeling vulnerable around him. He's
a viper! He'll be able to pick up on that real quick! It's in his

"Well, thank you, Coalie," I told him.

"I guess that's all then."

"Okay," he said gruffly.

"Just so you know, your mom's really busy. She doesn't have time to
pick up the phone every time you call these days. She's taking longer
flights now."

I was aware of that. Still, it wasn't like her to outright ignore me.
We hadn't gotten into a fight or anything. And, it wasn't like she
answered the phone every time I called BEFORE this day had come, so
that wasn't what I was expecting from her.

I said none of this to Coalie, however. I just wanted to get off the
phone. I really do dislike that man and thank Satan I don't have to
live at that horrible house with him every day. I thank Satan that
Mom held off getting back together with him until I had moved out of
the house, never to return to live there again.

Seriously, I'd rather DIE than live there again. It is a terrible,
terrible house, and so is the nothing town it was built in thirteen
years ago.

Relief washed over me, as did warmth, when I got off the phone with
the creep. Next I called Grandmama to tell her what Coalie had
reported to me.

Like me, she was unconvinced.

"It's not like her to not call back," she said again.

"I think Coalie's up to something. He never texted me back, letting
me know he had heard from her. I don't trust him as far as I can
throw him, and, believe me, that's not very far. I'm thinking about
calling the police. I want them to go and take a look around the

"Good luck with that," I responded snidely.

"The cops are useless. They won't do a damn thing unless she's been
missing for, like, seventy-two hours or something."

"Yeah, I know," Grandmama said disappointedly.

"I wish the REAL police were as pro-active as the Evergreen police.
When you were a student there, I used to have them check up on you a

As if I could have forgotten. She used to call them on me,
practically every WEEK! Thank Satan I'm not a student there any

Then, I smiled as I started thinking about all the times Jennifer and
Giovanna called the "real" police to try and get me committed or
arrested because I "wasn't acting like we are used to Ashlee acting."

Yeah, I wonder why that was. Some people just LOVE to be abused and
so opt to stay in it forever, much to the delight of the abusers
involved. They never fight back, just stay trapped in that situation
indefinitely. Thankfully for myself, I don't happen to be one of the
stayers. Or, not the kind of stayer they want, anyway.

Unfortunately for them, and very, very fortunately for me, the "real"
police don't really take anything seriously around here, except for
killing black and mentally ill individuals simply because they can,
and they did absolutely nothing for my mother and grandmother.

More waiting ensued. I considered calling up an old lady I knew who
lives in Poop Ludlow to drive out to the house herself, but thought
better of it. I only met that woman once or twice; she gave me a ride
to church once when I was a christian. It was the same church Grandma
Chris used to attend, though she never felt it necessary to come get
me and bring me to church herself because it would "use up her

That was her excuse, anyway. I do believe the mileage was definitely
a factor for why she didn't want to drive to Poop Ludlow and get me
herself. But I also think she was just plain lazy and didn't want to
deal with my mother, either, which she would certainly have to do if
she came to the Poop Ludlow house to fetch me.

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Jennifer.

"Hello!" I was genuinely relieved and excited to hear from her.

"Why is everybody blowing up my phone?!" she snapped angrily in my ear.

"Well, because Grandmama and I were concerned because we hadn't heard
from you. Glad to hear you're fine, though."

Or, at least alive. She didn't actually sound fine. She sounded even
bitchier than her usual bitchy self.

For some crazy reason, this angry reaction from her surprised me. Why
wasn't she happy that people cared about her? Why was she acting like
such a cunt?

"I've told you, Ashlee, I'm working longer hours and they've got us
scheduled to go to more distant places, like Oklahoma, Kansas, etc. I
am no longer able to answer your every beckon call."

My every beckon call, huh, bitch? And, when, exactly, have you EVER
answered EVERY ONE of my phone calls?

"I don't expect you to answer every one of my calls," I told her,
letting some of my irritation seep into her ear. I didn't care; I
wasn't going to pretend I wasn't angry.

All the feelings of relief had subsided at this point. Now, all I
could feel was persistent, blinding wrath. Wrath, I knew, would stay
with me, UNTIL SHE PAID! Until I exacted revenge on her for this
uncalled for behavior.

I didn't deserve to be spoken to like this. I had every right to feel
concerned and to express it. Satan knows how many times she's blown
up my phone in "worry", and that was only because I hadn't called her

FUCK THIS SHIT, I thought stormily to myself.

It was true! She should be GLAD that I still care enough about her to
have worry in my heart after everything she's put me through. She
should be glad and fucking grateful I still speak to her, let alone,
allow myself to get all worked up over her.

Fuck that! I don't need that kind of bullshit in my life!

"Well, I have to go," she said.

"I'm just getting off of work and want to catch the ferry to
Bainbridge. Will you call Grandma for me? I don't have time to deal
with her right now."

Now THIS was something I could understand and relate to. There have
been PLENTY of times when I didn't have the time or mental energy it
takes to deal with Giovanna. So, being the good little girl that I
am, I agreed and called her promptly while Jennifer's bitchy,
ungrateful ass booked it for the ferry terminal.

Seriously, Dad, am I a submissive after all? I don't like to think of
myself as such, and I know
I have a dominant side, so then WHAT IS this? Why am I so submissive
to the people who hurt me more than anybody I know?

Am I a switch then? A dominant and a submissive? I never could
understand how people can be both dominant and submissive, but maybe I
can't understand it because it's who I am and I don't want to see that
side of myself.

"She's fine," I reported drily to my grandmother.

"Oh, goooooood."

I could hear the relief in my grandmother's voice as she heaved a great sigh.

"Did she say why she hadn't called us in so long?"

"No, I didn't really speak to her for that long. She was acting like
quite a bitch, frankly, so I wasn't, exactly, eager to keep talking to

"Well then, that means she's NOT fine," Grandmama said simply.

"Something's going on with her. You and I both know it. You're an
empath, Ashlee, and you and I are very high vibrational people. WE
both had a bad feeling about her at the same time, which just goes to
show how Not OKAY she truly is."

"Well, she's fine enough to talk and she's fine enough to act like her
old, bitchy self, so, to me, that's a pretty damn good definition of
the word "fine,"."

"I can see that you're taking this personally, Ashlee," observed Grandmama.

Now, that's stating the obvious!

"Try and stay in the light," she continued, attempting to soothe me.

"Remember, your mom is not fine. She's dealing with a very stressful
situation, whether it be dealing with the storm last night or maybe
she got into a fight with Coalie. YOU just don't know what's going on
in her life."

NO, I don't, I thought bitterly to myself.

AND, at this point, I really don't give a flying fuck… Why couldn't
she be dead? Why, why, why?

"Whatever she's dealing with is on her, Ashlee. It's not YOUR
problem, it's HER problem. Remember that, please, and show her love.
Love and understanding is what she needs right now. Stay in the
light. The light ALWAYS wins out over the dark."

OH, YEAH? We'll see about that.

"Did you tell her to call me?"

"Yes, and she said that she doesn't have time to "deal with you."," I
told her, emphasizing the "doesn't have time to deal with you" heavily
so she would get the hint, hoping that would squash any lingering
sympathy she had for Jennifer.

Of course, it didn't. If anything, my words had only strengthened it.

"Well, I appreciate you letting me know she's fine. Coalie did end up
texting me, too."

As if I cared. Fuck Coalie. Just... Fuck everything!

No thank you from her, no gratitude that I cared enough to call her
scum bag, creepy ass boyfriend, none of that! Just cold, callous
cruelty, that's what it was.

OH, no, no, no! I don't have to deal with this. And, quite frankly, I won't.

"Ashlee, I'd like to get you a gift card for the sandwich shop you
like to eat at. It's for your birthday. I think it would do you some
good to go and eat a nice, warm, healthy meal."

Defending Jennifer, as usual, and trying to defuse the situation with
food. That's what Giovanna was doing. That's what she ALWAYS does!
It's nothing new.

Yet... I was quite hungry, and a nice, hot bowl of fresh chicken
noodle soup with a half tuna sandwich did sound quite yummy. It would
taste even better if I didn't have to pay for it!

So, I took her up on the offer. Why not? If I said no, she'd only
just blow it on another spiritual, high vibrational cult.

Later on, when the sandwich shop opened, Grandmama called to let me
know she had bought the gift card and that it was waiting for me
there. I was busy when she called, so let it go to voice mail.

"Hi there, Ashlina Bambina," she said in her cheery way.

"I bought you a fifty dollar gift card at the sandwich shop. It's
there waiting for you to get whenever you're ready."

OH, good. I'm starving!

"Anyway, I spoke to your mom. I told her how you felt after talking
to you, and she's very sorry that she hurt your feelings."

OH, yeah right. She's ALWAYS saying sorry to me, only to turn around
and do it all over again. Or, maybe something even worse! I don't buy
her fake apologies anymore, Grandmama! Get that through your thick

"She said that she had to fly in the storm last night, that one of her
planes nearly crashed because of the violent winds causing so much
turbulence. It was a scary, scary time for her to be stuck up in the
air during such crazy weather."

WHY, oh why, couldn't the plane that nearly crashed have been hers?
Then, maybe, I would have cut her a bit of slack.

"There was a ton of paperwork that she had to fill out afterward, and
she is very, very tired. Don't take it personally, honey, your mother
loves you. And, remember, whatever she's dealing with is NOT YOUR
PROBLEM! It's hers, and I still believe that something's going on with
her. Something that she doesn't feel comfortable opening up to us

HMMM, I wonder why? Could it, perhaps, be that she's scared out of her
mind that whatever personal drama she's having might end up the whole
world's business since I have, now, become quite a pro at documenting
things that happen to me, and, most importantly, that bother me?

"Please remember this, and show your mother love. Remember, she's
stuck it through with you when you hurt her time and time again."

HERE comes the great, heaping pot of nice, warm, drippy guilt! To be
quite frank with you, Giovanna, I'm quite appalled you've managed to
hold off springing it on me for as long as you did! Cutos to you!

"And, remember, there is a war going on between dark forces and evil
forces. The dark is trying to defeat the light. It, of course, won't
win out; the light always prevails in the end, but, while the war is
happening, dark forces are trying, harder than ever, to suck as many
people into the dark abyss as possible. So, stay in the light, show
your mother love and respect, and do right unto her. Two wrongs don't
make a right."

YEAH, yeah, yeah! More bullshit. As usual, Giovanna was going to side
with her daughter. What else is new?

She continued talking, but, at that point, I'd heard more than enough.
I erased the message before it had ended, then got ready to go to the
sandwich shop.

As I got ready to leave, I told myself that I would not be letting
this go, that Jennifer couldn't take a swipe at me and just expect me
to stand by and take it.

Jennifer called as I was walking to the sandwich shop. As predicted,
she was all apologies, left and right. I listened to her words,
feeling nothing but revulsion.

One of the last things she said to me before we hung up was, "Ashlee,
I loved your emails. I love your phone messages, too. Hearing from
you is the only thing that keeps me going. It was certainly the only
thing that kept me going yesterday."

She then went on to explain about the plane that had nearly crashed.
Apparently, one of her stewardess buddies had been on that plane and
had taken a video of what was happening. Apparently, pandemonium was
everywhere. People were yelling and screaming. The panic was nearly

I wish I could hear that video, I thought to myself as I stood outside
of the sandwich shop, waiting to get off the phone. I hate walking
into a restaurant while on the phone. It just seems rude to me, not
to mention, more difficult to find a vacant table because you are too
distracted from being on the phone.

OH, how I love to see people in a mad panic, so long as it's from a
far, like in a video.

After I had eaten my fare share at the sandwich shop, I went back
home, just for a bit. No sooner had I walked through the front door
then Giovanna called me.

"Did your mom apologize to you?" she asked.

"Mmmmm-hmmmm," I responded. I couldn't help but wonder whether
Grandmama had put my mom up to it. If so, her apology was even more
meaningless to me than before.

"Good," Grandmama said with, yet, another sigh of relief.

To her, this matter was now settled. We could go about our lives
peacefully, loving each other 'til the end of time.

It wasn't settled for me, though, at the time, I was starting to feel
a little less irked by it all, now that I had a nice, full tummy with
dessert to look forward to later.

"You know, one of the greatest things about family is that we all love
each other so much that everything is forgivable. Your mom could have
come up to us and punched us in the face, and we'd still love her and
forgive her. Nor, would we punch back."

"Speak for yourself," I said forcefully.

"If someone EVER comes up to me, throwing a punch, you'd better
BELIEVE I'm punching back. That goes for family, too."

I totally cannot understand the "turn the other cheek" reasoning that
so many seem to hold value to. What about self defense? What about
self preservation? What about protecting yourself from becoming
someone else's door mat? What do you have to say to that, Giovanna?

Honestly, in spite of my rage, I am still glad all of this happened
between Miss Pity Party and JENNIFER. I guess I was due for a
reminder to just care about myself and fuck everyone else. Because,
in the end, they won't be grateful. They'll just slap you in the face
with their words and you'll have to endure the hurt of it all. Either
that or they'll just ask for more and more from you until you are
completely sucked dry. Then, they'll drop you like a sack of
potatoes, and move on to the next sucker.

When you care for just yourself, though, no one can hurt you. Sure,
people will call you selfish or whatever, but fuck them and their
stupid opinions. As far as I'm concerned, I'd rather be a selfish
prick than a door mat for people to stomp all over as a way of giving

I really don't know why I even try anymore, Dad. I guess, deep down,
I don't want to be a bad person. I want to love and care about
people. I don't want to be known or thought of as a bad person. So,
once in a while, I'll break my pattern of Satanic selfishness and go
out of my way for somebody. Only to be slapped in the face yet again.
Oh, Daddy, when will I ever LEARN?!

At this very moment, Daddy, I'm back to being the selfish Satanist I
should have kept on being all along.

Fuck people and their stupid drama. I don't want any part of it.

FUCK HUMANITY! People disgust me! Be glad you're gone, Dad, because,
seriously, nothing's changed at all in the eleven years you've been
gone. Absolutely nothing.

People are just as shitty as before, only they are getting older and
are producing younger clones of themselves to continue the cycle of
shittiness as our planet becomes more and more destroyed by us.

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!

HAIL Smm Smm!!!!

PS: Jennifer, just so you know, I won't be "blowing up your phone" any
longer. In fact, I'll completely stop caring or worrying about you at
all. After all, it seems like what you want, so fuck it! There you
go! And, Satan loves you!

PPS: You and Coalie totally deserve each other. It's just
mind-boggling to me that two, cold-hearted creeps, managed to find
each other and get along okay under the same roof. It probably won't
last long. You never could keep a guy around for more than ten years.

Good luck with everything, and may the Dark, Unholy Lord be with you!

Not truly yours anymore,

Your evil, wicked, and proudly selfish daughter Ashlee Smm Smm, The
Blind Satanist

Thursday, November 16, 2017

Fuck Psychic Vampires!

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Dear Daddy,

Fuck psychic vampires! They suck! Not just a little: they suck camel dicks!

So, I know this woman who is definitely a psychic vampire. I will, at
some point, reveal her first name, but not tonight. Anyway, she's the
BIGGEST, fattest, hungriest psychic vampire I've ever met. Bigger and
fatter than Joyce. Bigger and fatter than Corinne. I know I haven't
ever written about those women: don't worry, though. Their turns will
come in their own due time.

Anyway, I don't feel particularly interested in writing the whole
story about this woman yet, but I'll give you a brief synopses of why
I'm so fucking mad right now.

I tried to help her because I genuinely love and care about her. Or,
I did. Now, I'm not so sure how I feel about her. At the moment, all
I can feel is blinding, fiery, destructive rage. Nothing else.

Anyway, I told her what I'd done to try to help her, and she's MAD at
me! Not thankful, not caring about how awkward it was for me to do
what I did, just...



She says I shouldn't have intervened, although it was HER idea to
write to him in the first place to "vouch" for her. I did that, then
decided to do a little extra because I really do/did care about her,
and now I'm the bad guy!

Fuck that! If you really are as unattached to your life as you say you
are, Little Miss Pity Party, then why the bloody hell are you so ANGRY
about what I did? Why do you care about that, or about anything at
all, in general? By the way, I wasn't "intervening" as you say I was.
I was simply trying to move things along because that's what you say
you'd like to have happen. That's what you told me.

I don't know about you, Daddy, but if I wasn't attached to my life
like she says she isn't attached to hers anymore, I sure as hell
wouldn't be angry at somebody for trying to speed help to come to you.
Help, that I must add, is what she's asking for from the person who I
wrote to. Her supposed benefactor.

If I had no attachment to my life, I'd just say "Screw it! He'll
(meaning the benefactor), either realize the severity of the situation
and provide me the funds more quickly, or he won't and I'll know that
he's nothing more than a lying sack of shit. Maybe it wasn't,
exactly, Ashlee's place to write more than I asked her to, but what's
done is done. Now we'll just wait and see what this guy's really made
of, whether he's honest or yet another creepy scum bag trying to get a
kick out of dangling a carrot in front of a desperate person, than
yanking it away once they get too close to it."

If I had no attachment to my life, I wouldn't give a damn about the
extra email to the benefactor. I sure as hell wouldn't call the only
friend I have left at four-thirty in the morning to bitch her out,
that's for damn sure.

Miss Pity Party, which is what I will call her for now since it seems
so appropriate, started going off about how my extra letter made her
look bad/weird to the benefactor and that he will most likely not help
her because of it.

If you had no attachment to your life, Daddy, would you honestly care
about looking weird to someone else? SERIOUSLY now, WOULD YOU?!

So, yeah, Dad, today's lesson in Satanism is this:

Whenever you see a psychic vampire, hear them, smell them, or even
sense their presence, run for it, and run like the wind. Don't look
back, either. Treat it like Sodom and Gomorrah. No good ever comes
out of associating with a psychic vampire, EVER!

If they ask you for help, just turn your back on them. Let them
wallow in their misery and suffering. Laugh in their face, too, if
that's your style. It's certainly mine.

Because, if you ever help them, even just a little, they'll keep
wanting more and more and more. Give them an inch, they'll take a
mile. They are psychological leaches! They will suck everything you
got inside of you until there's nothing left to suck.

Then, rather than give you a proper burial and ceremony, giving thanks
for everything that you did for them, they'll simply cast you aside
like a used-up, dirty Kleenex, and go on to the next victim. Because
that's what vampires do, psychic ones especially.

She's mad at me all right, but then, in the next breath after telling
me she's not going to ever talk to me again, that this is our last
conversation, she quickly shifts gears when I immediately say fine,
okay, whatever, best of luck to you, good-bye. Now, she says that she
still wants to be my friend, that it wouldn't be "fair" of her to
unfriend me just because of one, minor thing.

Oh yeah? Suddenly, this is now a MINOR thing, and you wanna be friends now?

Oh no, no, no.

Homey don't play that game. In fact, it's not YOU who is done with
me, Miss Pity Party, it is ME who is done with YOU.

Yeah, take that, bitch. How does that make YOU feel? Now the tables
have turned!

And, even though you did offer a few words of thanks/appreciation for
all the times I listened to you wail and sob and scream in my ear
about your fucked-up, dysfunctional family, I know now that your kind
words were said only to keep me around longer because you have no
other person, at the moment, to leach off of beside Hav and a few
other vulnerable souls who stick around because they just don't know
how to handle a psychic vampire. Not like I do.

Anyway, Miss Pity Party, a few last words of parting before I
shamelessly publish this story on my very public blog...

I don't, for one second, regret what I did. And, I take back my
apology to you. We aren't friends anymore, just so you know, and it's
not YOU who is walking out on me.

It's ME who is walking out on you, like your own family walked out on
you because they finally got a chance, firsthand, to see the kind of
person that you truly are.

And, as an afterthought, thanks for the pizza. It was quite
delicious, I'll give you that, but it certainly wasn't yummy enough to
keep your miserable, whiny, pathetic, ungrateful ass in my life
indefinitely. And, remember how you almost tried to skimp on my pizza?
You almost didn't get me the olives on it that I wanted. You had to
bitch about that simple request before, guilt, or whatever, lead you
to FINALLY get the olives with the sausage on the pizza.

Oh, and, by the way, you still owe me 666 dollars for all the
emotional abuse I gave to you that you requested. Or, at the very
least, the 250 that you promised you'd pay me and never followed
through with. That promise of payment was given to me about a month
ago. Remember?

If my PayPal account gives you difficulty when you try to donate, you
can contact your bank and they'll take care of it for you.

Or, easier still, you can mail a check to the Satanic Missionary
Society to PO BOX 11753, Olympia Wa, 98508.

Good riddens, sucker, and may Satan help the next victim that falls prey to you.

I would hex you, but you are already cursed, so there's no point in me
wasting anymore precious time on you. I've got WAY better things to
do with my life. As of right now, you will be nothing more than a
passing, unpleasant thought now and again, as my mind tends to wander
a bit. As time goes on, though, you're significance will diminish
until you are barely distinguishable in my head. And, just for the
record, I will be using your first name in future letters to my father
about you for the whole world to see. I will also be using your
supposed benefactor's first name in the many stories I intend to write
about my unfortunate encounters with you as well.