All posts by Linden Morningstar

About Linden Morningstar

Linden Morningstar, author of Gloria Rising, has had extensive experience as a hypnotherapist and licensed marriage and family therapist, which adds depth and realism to his story. He is also the author of The Starlight Prophecy, a science fiction and fantasy novel about alien worlds and super heroines. He writes to explore the mysteries of life and the mysterious connections between the mind, universe, and the mystical. He lives with his cherished wife and four cantankerous, high-maintenance, and lovable cats in southern California.

The Stargirls Aagaatar’s Slave Goddesses

alien monsters, alien worlds

Chapter 20, pgs. 126-128

AAGAATAR, DEEP IN THOUGHT, stood in the shadow of his scientific marvel. He had irreverently called the holy FIST, the Final Interactive Solution Temple.

FIST was a complex computing system ten thousand times faster and more powerful than any Earth supercomputer and a spatial manipulator that could defy the laws of physics. Furthermore, it could erase the Stargirls’ minds and reprogram them to Aagaatar’s will. He knew microprocessor enslavement, generated by neural implants in the limbic system, was faultless and expedient but futile in this remarkable case.

The artificial mind control would destroy the Stargirls’ brainpower thus rendering them worthless. Their psychic connection and control of the Golden Star’s power would be corrupted and lost, and the Final Solution endangered. He needed their brains intact. Surprisingly, Garlig was the one who pointed out this technical glitch. Regardless, Aagaatar was annoyed with Garlig. He shook his gleaming, bug-eyed head and thought Garlig, if only you had properly tortured them, they would obey me.

Garlig’s failure had forced him to unleash his psychic bloodsucker. Aagaatar realized his actions were desperate and dangerous; the dead one would try to take over the alien’s mind. Yet he felt the alien Sade’s psychic power was potent enough to prevent her mental annihilation. The unspeakable one would only attain a state of symbiosis, enough dark force to influence her actions while leaving her mind intact for his higher purpose. He felt confident that his sadistic assaults on Lyn and Sade’s psyches would eventually bring the Stargirls to their knees and give him the power of the Golden Star.

He knew the Stargirls were untouchables, meant only for altering the Aagaa’s future—yet personal temptation toyed with him, as unrestrained fantasies sprang from his brooding thoughts. He stood transfixed in the midst of the cavernous FIST as thoughts of the Stargirls stormed in his mind. He had come seeking intelligence from FIST. Instead, his mind dwelled on the aliens, his rational thoughts taking flight, as the aliens’ memory-scent allured him and made his mind play tricks.

FIST programmed to generate whatever his mind focused on— seized his lustful thoughts and brought them to life on the temple’s virtual reality stage. Aagaatar felt searing pleasure, as if the winds of Azonda rained blistering drops of passion down on him while mindless alien bodies whirled around him in an exotic dance of worship. Spiraling, grinding bodies swayed and heaved hypnotically with a powerful snake rhythm and compelling hissing—a primordial song he remembered from his youth—how they knew the song—never crossed his mind.

All he felt was burning passion. He then noticed their singular beauty and intriguing alien faces. As their feverish dance inflamed him, they danced faster with a thrilling tempo and odd movements, something he had never seen before.

Arms were outstretched; hips were gyrating, and legs twitched like Starburst flowers. Their intoxicating movements engaged him on a visceral level he had never felt before. Their alien movements and weird guttural sounds seemed to invite him to join their primal dance. Aagaatar howled, “Aagaa . . . Aagaa . . . Aagaa!” As the frenzy of bodies whirled around him, his own zealous cries made him leap into their midst. His imagined total possession of the Stargirls excited him when he suddenly realized he was alone.

Drenched in sweat, his computer-generated fantasy and ecstasy was gone. As his passion subsided, he remembered the actual aliens rotted in their cell as forbidden fruit. He felt enormous frustration that his fantasy unexpectedly ended. He would hold FIST accountable while he deliberated whether he liked the Stargirls brainless or not. He decided they were more trouble than they were worth.

Begrudgingly, he changed his mind—after all; they were his instruments of destruction and death. The aliens would be his slave goddesses—brainless or not. He was pleased with this thought.

He had discovered cracks in their psychic armor and tortured the one called Lyn, testing her vulnerabilities, looking for weakness he could use against them. Aagaatar knew one day the aliens would worship him and extol his Aagaa Creed:

I bear witness that there is no god, but Aagaatar and that Garlig is His messenger. I will show no mercy; torture and kill in the name of God Almighty Aagaatar.

The beauty and simplicity of his ideology of hatred and death, and the thought the Stargirls would emulate it, brought a cruel smile to his face. He decided that love was their greatest strength and weakness and the key to their ultimate downfall. He knew he could not force them to obey his commands, not even control them—but he also knew he could trick them into doing his will. Love would make them his slaves. Their devotion to each other would conquer them. An amusing paradox of free will he thought . . . not truly free. His whirring scalpel blades seemed to express delight in his wit while the comedy-tragedy of a universe soon created in his image.

Aagaatar wrathfully turned back to FIST, whose advanced artificial intelligence instantly analyzed his enraged face and recognized danger. FIST quickly projected intergalactic battle plans around Aagaatar and downloaded intelligence reports directly into his brain for analysis, thus creating a diversion for his fury toward FIST. Distracted by the cortical stimulation, Aagaatar’s brain tingled with an infusion of biochemical energy and information while his anger subsided.

He reviewed developments from Quadrant 3. He believed the combination of his Zaagon Armada, the Zanoo infinity weapons and Garlig’s shock treatment would be devastating. However, he knew they would be unstoppable with the aliens’ Star power.

Garlig suddenly entered the FIST, bringing stunning news that he knew would anger the Master. The shocking news struck Aagaatar like a knife plunged through his heart. A suicidal attack against Rayton’s Zaagon fleet had killed Rayton, his most esteemed commander, and destroyed his Zaagon fleet. Ten million Silent Killers vaporized, weakening his left flank, leaving Quadrant 4 defenseless, and Aagaatar’s Zaagon Citadel exposed.

“The Western front annihilated—impossible,” Aagaatar bellowed; his saw-teeth buzzed in a fit of rage.

 

The Stargirls Meet a Horrifying Fiend

alien monsters, horror, science fiction

Chapter 15

TRAVELING FASTER than the speed of light, the gigantic saucer magnetically pulsed into a different dimension. The Stargirls beamed through space, unaware someone called Aagaatar, “The Great Evil,” ruled the better part of the Vanngeez galaxy, while a horrifying fiend named Garlig was in command of the Zaagon saucer imprisoning them. Garlig was the Aagaa Zaagon’s Master Torturer—a monster’s monster.

The Stargirls’ earthly innocence was no match for their vile powers that conspired to control their lives and destiny. Furthermore, Aagaatar was the evil incarnate that conjured unthinkable horrors to dominate the universe and destroy all that was good.

The Aagaa Zaagon Empire was a murderous civilization that interbred with elite members of conquered enemies to strengthen its racial supremacy. The Aagaa race, named for its evil god. Aagaa was an unholy word uttered in the throes of sex, heat of battle, or in curses. The Aagaa were a paranoid race feared and hated for their perverse genius and legendary cruelty. Their way of life founded on depravity and lust for killing. Random murder was condoned and slaughtering the enemy given the highest reward. Homicide and mass murder was as necessary to the Aagaa as the air they breathed. The Aagaa Death ethos believed superior for domination of the universe. Black holes were the embodiment of Aagaa philosophy of Thanatos and symbolized their destructive forces that annihilated planets and civilizations.

The Aagaa’s invention of Zano warfare marked a new epoch in their conquest of the Vaangeez galaxy. Advanced civilizations of the Vaangeez galaxy had fought and fled the Aagaa’s bloodthirsty invasion to survive.

The Star people had led the last Star rebellion, the Aagaa Zaagon Empire’s greatest enemy—but now encircled they faced extermination. Abysmally, the military union between the Star people, Etuu, Zataba, Noling, and Trions had collapsed, crushed by Garlig’s War of Terror. Regardless, the Star people chose to fight to the death rather than surrender to genocide.

Genocide was on the mind of the one in control of the Stargirls.

Garlig craved nothing more than the destruction of all enlightened beings; he viewed them as subversive threats. Advanced civilizations had felt the cleansing wrath of the Aagaa Zaagon Empire, what the Evil Master, Aagaatar proclaimed the “Final Solution.”

Garlig had ingeniously trapped the Star people in the Vaangeez galaxy and laid siege to their defensive outposts, softening them up for the final assault. Now, he wondered why he felt such loathing for the aliens.

He ordered them isolated and requested one be brought to him for interrogation. He felt her youth, a weak link to take advantage of—yet, oddly, feared her the most.

“Aagaa,” he swore, “Aagaa, Aagaa.” He thought that when the Master finished using them, he would have his way. The sadistic thought made his misshapen mouth spew out black drool. “Aagaa, Aagaa,” he howled. The craving to maim and kill grew uncontrollable as his powerful tentacles engorged with blood flailed the air. Conflicting passions arose— to touch their flesh—that checked his homicidal impulse, driving him to command his Troag guards to bring them all, despite his inspired plan to question the one. He wanted to possess them. He wanted to get up close to touch and smell them, smell their organic juices that gave them life.

Garlig let out an ugly laugh; the exotic life forms presaged; his Master’s worst nightmare now stood powerless before him. The Star people’s assassins, sent to save them, would stand in judgment while he probed their vulnerability. He was the master artist of terror. Inspired by a macabre soul, he covered the canvas of life with mayhem and destruction. Some of his subjects required short rapid strokes to break them, while others long brush strokes of agony to render them a work of genius. Those who failed his artistic vision savagely killed.

Anticipation, terror’s handmaid, he manipulated expertly. Mind crippling tools, he plied imaginatively. He used love to create unbearable torture, forcing those he could not break or drive insane to witness loved ones butchered. The whispered threat the aliens represented only fueled the horrors his mind created for them. His blind hatred was a mix of rage and sexual tension. He detested anything that challenged his power. Anything getting in his way was damned.

Garlig roared when informed they soon would stand before his reproachful gaze. He sat on the right-hand side of Aagaatar, the highest Aagaa honor for his unrivaled treachery, shocking violence, and daring conquests.

In the meantime, the monstrous beasts prodded the Stargirls toward the command center with avenging blows to their bodies. The beasts, traumatized by Garlig’s torture, had turned their rage on the Stargirls.

Jill cried out in pain, “God help them if they’ve harmed Lyn.” They had abandoned close combat, choosing to yield as part of their escape plan. They agreed to act helpless so the enemy would underestimate them, given their defeat by the steely-eyed spiders. They held wing chun, short power, and chow gar, shock power, in reserve.

The Stargirls gasped at the sight of Lyn cringing on the floor, her head bowed, holding her arm; feeling relief, they bolted to her; but huge, hairy hands grasped fistfuls of hair, yanking their heads back with neck breaking force, throwing them to the ground. Knees dug sharp into their backs, pinning them to the floor like insects on a spreading board.

Mad shrieked angrily, “Get off, mutants.” Her shrill shout created confusion in their minds, fearing attack; but when she lay still, they eased the numbing pressure off her back. They glanced at their leader for guidance.

Nogaa’s piercing red eyes scowled at his warriors, then at the source of his deplorable defeat. His huge brow furrowed, deep scars lining his brooding face, telling of forgotten battles he had buried. Nevertheless, his commanding presence was an immediate antidote for his warriors’ fears.

His complexion grew dark; his thoughts searched for an answer to the aliens’ aggression. He knew all their lives depended on him delivering them respectfully to his master. Any sign of alien rebellion would send Garlig into a murderous rage that would rain down on all of them. He hastily made a command decision and kneeled down to the alien nearest him. Nogaa grasped the alien’s chin and tilted her drawn face toward him. He gazed into her insolent eyes and grinned while his eyes begged her for understanding. He patted Mad on the head and grimly went to the next alien and repeated his desperate overture. Once he finished soothing them, he bellowed, “Awago, awa daa diwee ki!”

The aliens lifted to their feet; the beasts positioned on each side securing them in arm locks. They staggered forward, feeling mutual misgivings, while the Stargirls considered whether they had misjudged their ruthless captors. Maybe they had more in common with the beasts than met the eye. Maybe they were all prisoners. After all, the massive beast had shown kindness despite their vigorous defense against him.

Then again, the beasts’ violence left them guarded.

Garlig’s voice thundered as they entered; the beasts thrust their heads to the floor, making them bow to their master. His deafening laugh and wicked expression smeared on a terrifying face that gripped them.

They were ill prepared for what stood before them. Lyn felt repulsion at the incredible sight, a vision of pure horror.

Garlig was Herculean in stature with a crude, warped face and one large glaring eye. His phenomenal body glistened with unnatural beauty; two fearsome tentacles coiled from his upper back, while two massive humanoid arms formed a chilling demonic look. The horrifying tentacles undulated threateningly as razor-sharp teeth protruded from huge suckers. Without warning, the tentacles surged toward them, causing them to step back with fists raised in defense. Jill, sensing the inhuman thing played with them, barked, “Lower your guard.”

Her swift command saved them from vicious attack. She thought,  Submission . . . the Way of Sun Tzu . . . the backdoor to valor, given what they faced. Jill commanded, “Kneel,” and they meekly kneeled and prostrated themselves in false worship, thus charming the monster’s ego.

Garlig choked back black bile, letting out a contemptible laugh that appeased his rage. He gloated at his enemies lying face down before him. He felt exhilaration—he, the elixir of death—as his powerful tentacles reached down and coarsely caressed their recoiling bodies, making them shudder. He withdrew his groping tentacles and gave a signal to the beasts to lift them to their feet. He had come close to disobeying Aagaatar’s strict orders to deliver the aliens unharmed to him. Their deaths would have meant his own. His rage returned. His homicidal fantasies displaced onto the Troag leader.

He lashed out, “Nogaa, you coward, you let these frail aliens defeat your guards.” However, what Garlig feared more was the hex the aliens seemed to cast on him. Never had any life form controlled his emotions and desires as they had, bewitching him with their alien beauty, nearly ruining his plans. Maybe he took them too lightly, he thought as his lip curled—torture-time will tell. He relished toying with his new prey as he outlined how he would use them for his conquest of the Vaangeez galaxy. Although he was usurping the Master’s authority, they were unaware of his treachery.

Garlig derisively said, “The ancient prophecy you thought was your destiny is dead. You are not my Master Aagaatar’s worst nightmare. I am yours.” His evil stare bore through them. Infuriated, he shrieked, “Bear witness to your master’s power.” His mighty tentacles lashed out causing piercing thunderclaps, making them drop to their knees and clutch their ears to stop the excruciating ringing. He enjoyed their torment, waiting for them to look up. When they did, he pointed his fearsome tentacle at a strange device. The tentacle swayed hypnotically; suction cups rhythmically opened and closed, baring deadly teeth. The Stargirls mesmerized by the horrifying bizarre spectacle.

He gave a command and a burst of energy from the curious device severed the hideous tentacle. Jill felt a glimmer of hope but before the tentacle hit the floor, an incredible light emanated from the stump and instantly regenerated the tentacle before her bewildered eyes. He haughtily swung the tentacle in the air with a horrendous laugh of victory.

Ali blinked her eyes, wondering if what she saw was an illusion, or real.

Sade felt revulsion.

Mad whispered, “Oh, no.” All at once, Garlig’s eye opened wide; his bullwhip tentacles wrapped around Nogaa’s two brothers who screeched in anguish as grotesque teeth tore at their flesh, tentacles whipping them high above Garlig’s head.

He laughed, amused by their screams, and flung the youngest brother into a glowing chamber. He gave a ruthless command while his audience of hairy beasts, creepy-crawly things, and Stargirls watched—in fear, indifference, and stark horror.

The beast sprung to his feet, on fire. His skin bubbled. He smashed into the wall, fell, rose, and blindly groped his way around the cage. He grabbed at his melting face, screaming in agony; he hobbled, stumbled, and collapsed, his body shuddered, smoldered, and vaporized. The chamber glimmered in diffuse light. All that remained was a sterile chamber uncluttered by death. The other brother, wailing in terror, struggled to free himself as ravenous teeth dug deeper into his body.

Nogaa realized their fate and charged Garlig, who used his free tentacle to ensnare him.

Garlig growled at the Stargirls, “Your master is an unforgiving master. You, my wicked slaves, must obey or die. The lesson you learn today will make you better slaves and help you fulfill your true destiny.”

Garlig tossed the Nogaa’s brother to scurrying creepy crawlers, metal pincers clacked wildly. Lyn’s mind screamed, No! She remembered the searing hot pain of their cold, brutal grip. Thinking they would tear the poor beast apart, she looked away. Garlig had other plans for the beast’s sacrifice.

The beast splayed on a metallic table with menacing lasers designed to amputate limbs if the beast tried to move. The table tilted, forcing them to observe Garlig’s abominable operation.

Garlig bellowed, “Let us see what is inside this sinful thing that betrayed me.”

Satan himself, Sade thought; she braced herself. The beast’s screams turned to subdued cries as the first incision of Garlig’s obscene autopsy disemboweled it, and bloody intestines spewed out onto the floor.

Bloodcurdling screams stopped short when the beast, in reflex, lurched upward; cut-off arms landed on the floor with nauseating thumps. The beast reeled from the table on stumps, taking a wobbling step, and fell, in death rattle, at Garlig’s feet.

Garlig’s huge malignant eye reflected the horror etched on the Stargirls’ faces. His bulging eye was a madhouse . . . mirroring their innocence crucified on his altar of terror. He swore, “Aagaa . . .” angry the kill was too quick. He laughed insanely that his insatiable hunger for blood cheated him.

He heard soft cries. Subdued cries that brought his mind back to the aliens. He heard one of them choking back tears. He had set the stage for his ultimate act of trauma, aimed to open the aliens’ minds to his reality. To survive, they would do his bidding or join their captors. After all, what choice did they have?

He laughed—how a quirk of fate delivered them into his hands, an unintended gift from their Star guide who inadvertently led him to them. The Stargirls’ heads hung, trembling uncontrollably, trying to avoid what lay across the room, as a quivering arm groped for life. The sight, let alone the stink of scorched skin, repelled them and made them retch.

Garlig roared, “Raise your eyes in devotion to your master. Turn away from my masterpiece once more and you die. One by one, so the last one can savor the full measure of your deaths.” His threats were groundless given Aagaatar’s orders, yet they had the desired effect. Trickery the sharp tool of terror, he thought. Sweating profusely, they forced themselves to lift their heads in order to live. Jill thought if looks could kill.

“Watch and behold.” He raised Nogaa high above them as tentacles ripped him apart. Nogaa, defiant, refused to cry out; a deathly silence filled the chamber. Jill desperately wanted to turn away and swallowed hard as savage tentacles slammed Nogaa headlong into the floor. His head struck the floor with an explosive thud. White brain matter showered the Stargirls. Garlig’s eye gazed into their horrified faces. He knew his superb performance and traumatic hypnosis cracked more than one head, tossing the lifeless body aside.

“Your lesson for today: killing is the only thing that makes you feel alive.” Then, to test his control over the aliens, he gave a simple command. “Pick pieces of Nogaa’s brain out of your hair and hold them out to me as an offering.” Without hesitation or sign of revulsion, they did as commanded. Detached, expressionless faces understood what they held in their hands—brains, but also their lives. They cried inside while the sound of the beasts’ growls surrounded them.

Garlig rejoiced, contemplating the mind-numbing fear and horror in the aliens’ eyes. He knew that once they consummated the Final Solution, they would be at his mercy, a trophy given to him by Aagaatar for his victory. Then they would serve a higher purpose—his purpose.

Gluttonous thoughts shook him—thoughts of ravaging their bodies, torturing them one by one while the others watched, and then having their heads served to him were almost unbearable.

He groaned with immense pleasure, nothing wasted. Every morsel of flesh devoured. Eyes plucked out and consumed like exotic Jappaa. Ears eaten as if sweet Eluvion spurs while their heads were cracked open, and their brains sucked out. Their skulls then crushed and minced with fragrant Raagda, for filling. Their prized skin lightly roasted to wrap the filling in. His favorite crunchy meal was Wasaagaa. A meal for a god, he thought.

Garlig would save their headless, skinned bodies for Feasting Day when he could celebrate his incarnation as Master of the Universe and serve their bodies as hosts. Drool dripped from the gaping hole in his face; his sinister laughter made the Stargirls recoil. Maniacal laughter filled Garlig’s massive head with thoughts of murder, thoughts of killing Aagaatar and ruling the Star people.

The Stargirls knelt in bloody brain matter and their own vomit. They felt weak and poisoned by the disgusting smell of death and Garlig’s hateful words and unspeakable actions. It felt like they had received an electroconvulsive shock, leaving them disoriented as they struggled to gain control of their minds. What disturbed them most was that they felt dead; the total absence of emotion frightened them. They were a mess, numb and in shock, caught in a deadly trap where nothing made sense and escape was impossible.

In the mayhem, Mad angrily shouted, “We’re pawns, nothing but pawns. You—” A grueling blow silenced her, leaving her unconscious on the floor. Garlig ordered the Troags to drag her back to their new cell.

Feeling his almighty power over the aliens, he motioned for the Troags to take them all away. The Stargirls rose and bowed their heads, knowing protest pointless. They wanted to go and take care of Mad.

Mad lay moaning with a nasty welt on her head. Sade said, “How you feeling?”

“Just ducky, what happened?” “You got clobbered.

“Who belted me?”

“Garlig …” The sound of dry heaves in the background made her pause. “… Do you remember what happened?”

“I was telling ugly puss off—” Seeing alarm in Sade’s eyes, she stopped. “Yeah, it was dumb, my big mouth. I could have gotten us all killed.” Sade let out a deep sigh. “You’re okay—that’s all that matters.”

Jill shouted from somewhere. “Hey, there are showers!”

Lyn felt the cleansing warmth of the shower, washing away the horror that painted her body. She wondered how she was supposed to scrub death away as the drain claimed chunks of vomit and brain matter. She obsessively scrubbed and scrubbed; but no matter how hard she scrubbed, the memory of Nogaa’s kindness and horrifying death clung to her, as feelings of guilt tormented her. Feelings that made her feel ugly inside, made her feel ashamed and inhuman. Soft sobs moved her, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Then a convulsion of sobs and jolting waves of grief shook her, hidden beneath the shower’s purifying spray. Lyn gasped for breath crying, “I hate you; I hate you, I hate you,” striking her fist hard against the wall.

The overpowering smell of burnt flesh and haunting shrieks and wails of the dead pierced her mind. Lyn wondered whether she could survive Garlig’s torture. She wondered whether she would be strong enough—brave enough—to withstand Garlig’s sadistic pain without falling into a million broken pieces. Would there be nothing left but a shattered mind that neither she nor her sisters could put back together again? The thought filled her with gloom. She felt herself floating away, leaving Lyn behind in some ghoulish nightmare.

Startled, she felt an arm slip about her shoulder. It was Jill. Her head lovingly touched hers. Jill said soothingly, “Let it out—I know the feeling.” Lyn felt Jill’s strength and cried as her damning thoughts and pent-up emotions released.

Jill said, “We’ll make it together.” Lyn sniffled. “Think so?”

“We will!” A chorus of voices shouted.

Rejuvenated from their shower, they sat in a circle of light, speaking in whispers, not knowing whether their conversation monitored. They were talking about Nogaa and his brothers’ murders. Lyn was surprised how her sisters’ support brought a smile to her aching face. The Troags had slammed her face against a wall for payback. Vengeance meant for Garlig, she thought. Despite their violence, she felt compassion for their suffering. She felt them kindred spirits; that outlook gave her an idea.

“Maybe the beasts can help.”

Mad said, “Those fiends only want to beat us into submission.” “Yes, but out of fear—you saw the penalty of Nogaa’s defeat; but something in the small Troag’s eyes, horror, was apparent and then a flash of anger when Nogaa was killed. I think she is his mate, the one he called Laya. I heard them all growl at his death. Let’s see if Laya will help.”

Sade said, “Maybe, you’re on to something.” “Can you link with her?”

“I can try.”

Sade concentrated on the small beast’s energy-field and breathed with intention. Her surroundings faded. She found herself peering into darkness and then into a graveyard shrouded in yellow mist; enormous gravestones reached toward a gloomy sky. She heard wailing and saw Laya on her knees, beating the soil of Nogaa’s grave.

Sade called out, “Laya, Laya.”

Laya, startled, raised her head, shocked to see an apparition floating above her. “Go demon. Leave me in peace. ”

“Laya, its Sade.” “Sade?”

“Yes, I’m one of the prisoners.”

“How did you find me?” Sade ignored her question.

“We both are Garlig’s slaves, not enemies. Garlig is our adversary; we must defeat. I speak from my heart.”

Laya confused by the alien’s truth said, “What do you want? I bury my husband.”

“We are so sorry, but we must help free each other.” Laya was too distraught and angry to accept her apology or offer. Bitterly Laya said, “What do you know of us. We are Brazons, not Troags—once proud and great warriors. Leave me in peace; I have no use for you. You have done enough harm.”

Sade’s overture rejected; she awoke to anxious questions. “I failed. Laya was too grief-stricken to hear my words. She was dreaming about Nogaa’s burial, blaming us for his death. She called them Brazons, not Troags.” Sade crawled into the protection of their circle and fell into a rueful sleep while they sat glumly, trying to overcome their trauma.

Jill said, “There’s no way around this crap; we have to deal with it.” Ali entreated, “Where do we begin?”

Mad snarled, “Let’s chop off his hellish tentacles. That’s a good start.”

“Yes, but blind rage can only lead to our downfall. We must outsmart him,” Jill implored.

“Yeah, but what a catharsis,” Mad insisted.

Lyn said, “All I know is I am scared like never before. I never knew fear until now. It is paralyzing. How do we conquer the archetype of death? We’ve never faced anything like this, and innocent lives lay dead in our wake.”

Ali in a stirring voice said, “Lyn, you’re right, but our quest did not kill Nogaa—Garlig did. We all feel guilt by association, but we cannot blame ourselves for Garlig’s atrocities. The greater good is at stake here. We did not ask for Garlig’s monstrous life—he inflicted it on us. We must stand united; otherwise, we are lost, and hate and evil will rule us. Regardless of what has happened, our hearts are pure; only Garlig is stained with blood.”

Lyn said, “Ali, you have the heart of a lion and the spirit of an angel.” The Stargirls sat facing each other in their healing circle while Sade slept at its sacred center. Physical closeness and touch were essential to help mend their wounded minds. Being able to touch each other gave them some sense of security and reality.

Jill said, “I’m worried. Garlig boasts we are his slaves.” Ali moaned, “It makes me sick.”

Mad growled, “Sick—it enrages me.”

Lyn said, “He believes nothing can stop him, and we will do his will.”

The thought terrified Ali. “Do you think he can?”

“I think he’ll find a way.” Lyn’s truthful admission alarmed them. Mad said, “You can’t be serious?”

“I wish I weren’t, but his power seems boundless. I am not hopeless but as close as you can come without crossing the line of no return. Once we surrender our will; it is all over. He will do with us as he pleases.”

Jill blurted, “What if he says he will butcher one of us if we don’t do as he commands?”

“Your question goes to the heart of our dilemma,” Lyn said.

Mad, fuming, said, “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I’m not going to let any of you be tortured or killed. Till my dying breath, I will stop him.”

“Your words speak for all of us,” Jill said.

Ali unflinchingly said, “I can accept my own death; faced with your death, I would do whatever Garlig ordered to save you. Forgive me, but what else can we do?”

Jill said. “Focus on his weakness.” “His god complex,” Mad declared.

Lyn said, “Right, pretend to be his slaves to buy us precious time.” Ali said, “But what about his Master Aagaa . . . what is his name?” “Aagaatar—let’s hope Garlig takes us to him before he kills us. We might find a way out.” They felt their soul-searching ease their shame and guilt, giving them hope—hope crushed by spine-chilling laughter and Garlig’s cruel voice. “Torture-time will tell.”

Jill grimaced, obsessing over how they could defeat a Goliath.

 

 

 

Nightmares can be Real

automatic writing, childhood abuse and trauma, horror, hypnotherapy

Gloria Rising pp 14-15

AUTOMATIC LETTER 9

Wednesday night

Hi again,

A little girl sat straight up in the darkness of her bedroom and screamed.

The nightmare that had awakened her was so vivid that for a few moments she thought she might still be in the woods being abused by a menacing figure. It was a dream, but it was real too because the figure was in that very house. In the dream we couldn’t tell whether the chasing figure was a man or a woman but awake she knew it was a man. Outside the storm that had been raging when she fell asleep had stopped. In its place moonlight filtered in through the window and washed her room with a pale glow.

It should have been reassuring but the dream was still there, springing out at her from the shadows of the room like the flickering images that still darted through her mind. The killer had scuttled after her through the woods like a beastly forest creature hunting prey. She had been caught in the killer’s strong arms and carried off to a haunted cabin deep in the woods. That’s when she screamed and woke up. In her mind the dream was so vivid that when she saw the sleeping figure on the floor near her bed she screamed again.

“What’s the matter are you having another nightmare?” he asked. “Don’t worry I’m here to take care of you, nobody will hurt you.”

How could she tell him that he was the one, she was so afraid he would hurt her? The nightmare had become real. He had a room why didn’t he go to sleep in it instead of her little room. She had a lot of answers, but none made any sense.

She had a lot of questions but no one to answer them except him and he wouldn’t make any sense. “How long could the nightmares go on before she lost her mind,” was one of the questions?

Me

Guardian’s Uncanny Advice to Dr. Jaxon

ghosts, spirit guide, supernatural

“Something to make you think: Gloria has not reached the turning
point yet. She has only had a small glimpse at the core of the problem
which resulted in a depression; so do not make the mistake of not probing
further. The therapy must keep her going forward.”
“Because it would hurt too much to think about things she had managed
to wrap up the biggest part of her life in healing self-induced amnesia,
she buried it all in the back of her memory. When I tried to reach her and
failed, I knew the griefs of childhood persist where others fade. Inside the
woman talking so calmly in a polite tone is a small child who has never
been given love, never has known why, and has carried a lifelong burden of
guilt and rejection because of the horrors that came with the people who
entered that life. It is all complicated, but it will fall into place. Do not make
the mistake of thinking it will be easily done—but it will be done!”
“Gloria is receptive to healing treatments which attract harmonious
vibrations into her life. Sometimes she forgets this until a need arises. Such is
this day! For two days now she has pushed off reality deliberately. I can do no
more than to say to you that two harmonious energies will always be better
than one; two spiritual seekers may accomplish anything. You will literally be
able to refashion, reshape and get reality to be harmonious with Gloria’s life.”
“… There are those who have been ill, or in misfortune for so long,
that they are afraid to get well; yet those are the ones who would become
far happier than others who have not been fortified by trials. Such is this
case. Be an open channel for love—the main ingredient—for then a healing
will automatically take place.”

-Guardian

The Stargirls Betrayed

aliens, fantasy, science fiction

Chapter 21

SADE FELT CAUGHT between a molten neutron star and the terminal edge of a massive black hole where dead suns spun, and super gravitational forces sucked her deeper into Aagaatar’s pit of torture. A terrifying thought. She had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She shook the desperate feeling off. She had to do something. But what Whom could she trust? Whom could she tell? Her logical choice struck her upside the head. All right, she thought, Mad it is.

Mad sat, trying to be objective, but her dubious expression spoke otherwise. “No way in hell—you’re kidding, I hope you’re kidding.” “Wish I was joking little sister. Star Talker has never led me astray, and Lyn is acting weird.” Mad wanted to protest but could not refute what Sade said, even though the thought shocked her. “Okay, what if you’re right—what can we do?”

“That’s the tragic song of my life. What to do . . . I don’t know.” “Are you convinced it’s Lyn?”

“No! Don’t get me wrong, I even suspected you.” “Whoa, I see what you mean. This is weird. Do you think it’s a mind game or mind control?”

“All I know is Aagaatar wants to turn us against each other.” They sat, dejected, looking expectantly at each other for answers while their minds turned to jelly. They stared into each other’s eyes, hoping to break the spell of indecision. Sade let go of a squeamish feeling in her gut. “Mad, I have to listen to my heart, and it tells me something’s wrong with Lyn. I must share my suspicions with Jill and Ali.”

“Right, we have to risk all to defeat Aagaatar. You talk to them, and I’ll distract Lyn.”

Sade felt guilty going behind Lyn’s back but felt there was no other way. She caught Ali and Jill coming out of the shower and said, “Can we talk?”

Ali said, “Sure, what’s up?”

“I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

Jill said, “Give it a whirl—nothing would surprise me after what we’ve been through.”

“Okay, then keep an open mind, because I had a vision.” Ali said, “A vision?”

“Yes, Star Talker’s guardian warned me that one of us would betray us.”

“Did you say a Stargirl would betray us?” Jill asked. “Yes, yes, that’s what I meant—I wish I didn’t.” Ali said, “Do you believe it?”

“Yes.”

Jill said, “When did you find out?” “Shortly before Laya was murdered.”

Ali, offended, said, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted to, but I was too afraid. Afraid I might tell the wrong one

and she would alert Aagaatar.”

“Why tell us now?”

“I needed time to figure out who it was—that’s the part you’re not going to like. I suspected all of you, even Mad, but the evidence points to only one Stargirl.”

Jill, jolted by the implication asked, “Lyn?”

“Yes.” The crushed look on their faces pained her.

“You’re accusing my sister of plotting to destroy us?” Jill roared.

Fires burned in Jill’s eyes; it scared Sade.

“You asked for the truth; I knew it would hurt. I love Lyn and want to protect her and us. We must find a way to save Lyn and ourselves.”

Jill weighed Sade’s words. Her rage subsided. “Forgive me; the very thought eats at my soul. I am not angry with you. I’m furious at Aagaatar.”

Ali said, “What if Aagaatar has control of her?” “Do you think it’s possible?” Jill pressed.

“When it comes to Aagaatar, his powers seem limitless.” “Lyn would never betray us,” Ali’s voice quivered with fury.

“Right, she must be under his spell. I will try to tune into her.”

Jill said, “Sounds like a plan—still, I can’t believe she would betray us.”

“Did you ever think she doesn’t have a choice?” “Damn.”

Sade felt immense relief at getting the secret off her chest. Grateful her awful assertion did not fracture the Stargirls and pit them against each other. She thought the Stargirls’ spirits shined through Aagaatar’s cold- blooded psychic attack. However, the thought that Lyn was victim to Aagaatar’s power disturbed her. Lyn was the last one she imagined being possessed and capable of treachery.

(To be continued.)

The Stargirls rise from the Dead

alien monsters, alien worlds, teleportation

Chapter 13 pgs. 70-72

CHILDHOOD DREAMS AND FORGOTTEN MEMORIES collided as they awoke with a start from their harrowing experience. They found themselves back in their physical bodies as they came to their senses, still at a loss over what had happened.

Mad broke the silence. “I know we survived an appalling reality, real or imagined, but can anyone say what happened? We were dead and now risen from the dead. That’s beyond fantastic.”

Ali said, “Yeah, what the devil? The last thing I remember is feeling overwhelmed by love and terror, as we stood shoulder to shoulder and faced down death . . . then nothing.”

Jill calmly said, “No, not nothing—it has something to do with what we have felt all of our lives; but now it’s manifesting itself with frightening speed. All I remember is we’re the chosen ones.”

Lyn replied, “You’re right—we survived a monster quake, a brush with a watery grave, faced our inner fears; and now destiny calls, for better or worse, and we have embraced it. We’ll have to feel our way, one step at a time.”

Ali said, “I feel something was fixed inside us to face what’s ahead.” The Stargirls felt it too but could think of only one thing—survival.

Sade gasped, noticing their surroundings. “How did we get here?” They were sitting at the base of King Kong’s wall, in their climbing gear.

Lyn sighed, “I haven’t the foggiest, so let’s get back to reality, if it exists.”

Sade looked at the still water reflecting her cave light and felt a pang of guilt. She felt she had let the Stargirls down; it bothered her. Mad noticed her distressed expression and fixed her with a stare. “Don’t even go there,” she said.

Their inexplicable materialization was unsettling—it defied the laws of physics. They began their ascent to the surface, two at a time. What choice did they have?

The strange events entangling them crossed Sade’s mind on the way up. She knew facing death had the power to alter brain chemistry, change perception and consciousness, and boost psychic powers. However, she had no idea whether what they had encountered had changed anything.

Ali’s thoughts were on a shower and soft bed as she eased herself onto the cavern floor and yelled to Sade. “Let’s get home to a hot shower.”

Sade reached up for Ali’s hand. “Forget the shower; any diver worth her salt wants a steamy perfumed bubble bath.”

Ali hauled her up and said, “Something’s not right.”

“What?” Sade asked.

“I don’t know.”

Gathering her gear, Ali brooded over what was not right when it hit her. “Sade, the alabaster rose disappeared.”

“What?”

“The gypsum rose chandelier.”

“That’s odd, what do you make of it?”

“No idea.”

Out of the gloom, a horrific sound caused the cavern to shake and hair on the back of Ali’s neck to stand up. The ghastly banshee sound pierced Jill like the death rattle of some monster about to strike. The ground jolted beneath them as the sound drew closer and louder; and there was a sharp guttural roar, broken up by wild snorting and sucking sounds.

Jill yelled, “Something smells us, stalking us.”

Ali shouted, “Run … come on, follow my headlamp!”, and quickly guided them out of the cave; the horrendous sound pursued them. They ran and ran until Sade, winded, stopped.

Gasping, she said, “I think we lost it. Did anyone get a look at it?”

Jill, panting hard, was last out of the cave and said, “No, but I smelled its putrid breath.” She hooked an arm around Ali and squeezed her. “Thanks heroine.”

“Ah shucks, it was nothing. But let me check my underwear.” Muted laughs silenced when Jill fretfully said, “Has anyone seen my baby?”

Lyn bearer of bad news said, “Never mind your old battle-axe. You should be asking where in the world Earth is,” as she pointed to the night sky. Jill rubbed her eyes with grimy knuckles, wondering if what she saw was a dream as she scrutinized two alien moons.

Mad said, “Where are we?”

“Maybe heaven or hell—who knows.” Lyn wished she knew.

Ali edgily said, “Defense is our offense. I don’t want anything else mistaking us for a midnight snack.”

Lyn, deep in thought, assessed their situation. The alien planet’s circadian rhythms were unknown—when dawn would come, or whether there would be a dawn was anybody’s guess—let alone fluctuations in temperature and its source of water and food. She was grateful for the oxygen they breathed and the cool climate, given the hostile terrain. She decided higher ground was their best hope. There they could find shelter and steal precious sleep they needed to keep an edge. Thinking would be their most effective weapon. They must think clearly to survive.

INSIDE GLORIA B’S PSYCHE

healing, hypnotherapy

Pages xxi-xxv

Let me begin by being honest about my personal bias. I dislike, no abhor, psychiatric jargon and diagnoses, along with long-winded case histories presented in graduate schools or grand rounds of a mental hospital. They sound solicitous and scientific, and sometimes unintentionally the diagnoses and presentation take the human out of the human being. These diagnoses tend to bias the doctor’s perception and attitude, let alone the students’, towards the person discussed, reducing him or her to a commonplace pathology—no longer a living, breathing person but an ill patient requiring treatment.

Moreover, in Gloria’s case, she had received multiple and different diagnoses by trained mental health professionals who could not agree on her diagnosis. Gloria appeared like a living, walking “Rorschach” ink blot test that had confounded them as they tried, in vain, to project their well-meaning interpretations on her. However, the medical model of psychiatry, I know, has value and its place in treating the actual imbalances in brain chemistry; and such was the case with Gloria whose fleeting psychotic episodes were treated effectively with small doses of Zyprexa, while the core of her psychological suffering had yet to be exposed. If her treatment had ended there, she would have only been remembered as a case number or, worse, ended up a psychiatric casualty.

I being a card-carrying pragmatist chose an empirical hypnotic approach—sometimes flying by the seat of my pants—yet always utilizing what Gloria offered me, her traumatic experiences, intelligence, awareness, insights, and yes, her troubling symptoms to help heal her. My only theory was that her symptoms were the spearhead of an underlying corrective emotional experience struggling to surface which terrified Gloria, yet was the key to her recovery and healing. Here the art, skill, and understanding of the complexity of healing would take precedence over diagnoses, medicine, and scientific approaches to behavior change. A colleague chided me about my approach saying, “I had tossed caution to the wind.” But on thoughtful consideration, I could not help but chuckle at his outrageous warning.

By the time Gloria was referred to me, she had been diagnosed as suffering from a rogue’s gallery of major mental illnesses including Schizophrenia, Bipolar Disorder, Atypical Psychosis, and Paranoid Psychosis. It’s a wonder she hadn’t wound up lost on some back ward of a state hospital doing the Thorazine shuffle.

An old chum of mine just happened to be Gloria’s family physician and referred her to me saying Gloria had difficulty falling and staying asleep due to recurrent nightmares. She had reported what sounded like visual and auditory hallucinations about a girl upstairs who she thought was trying to scare and hurt her. He said she was exhibiting other strange behaviors, yelling at the upstairs neighbor and wandering around the neighborhood in the middle of the night, disoriented to her surroundings; and she had recently been found in a confused state collapsed on a pile of snow just outside her apartment. He said she was abusing her sleeping pills and, though a lovely lady, she was a handful and wished me good luck.

Prior to Gloria coming to see me, I had left her plethora of diagnoses and reports on my crafts table tucked inside my DSM-IV diagnostic manual that I used for pressing garden flowers. When Gloria came in to see me, I was struck by her small stature and thick auburn hair that hung lifelessly around her drawn moist face. She looked like she hadn’t slept or seen the light of day for some time. She looked haggard.

What held my attention was her large, prominent brown eyes that displayed fear and dread. She was emotionally tense and expressed strong ambivalence about seeking help. She spoke incessantly with pressured speech about her anger at her doctor for thinking she was crazy and, worse, she feared I would. She described feeling like a concentration camp survivor who no longer had any meaning or purpose in life and anyone left who needed her. She expressed deep discouragement and hopelessness about her life and felt she had lost her will to live. However, she denied suicidal thoughts.

Gloria was beside herself with fear and anger. She irately complained about a girl above her head, in the upstairs apartment, who made alarming noises: clicking, stomping, banging sounds that disturbed her sleep and terrified her. She further complained that she had visions of wild animals on her ceiling that frightened her in the night. She expressed her fear that she would go insane if she knew she was imagining the noises she heard.

Despite her damning diagnoses, her distraught presentation and apprehension that teetered on panic, I had an overwhelming hunch there was something more beneath her panicky condition. I was most concerned with her mounting nightmares and dangerous sleepwalking episodes. However, because of her desperate emotional turmoil and inability to reflect on her experience with me, I decided to hypnotize her. I felt hypnosis would facilitate rapport and trust, on a deeper level, and help establish a good personal relationship with her. Given her combative stance, which reflected her deep-seated fear that I would think her crazy, I felt her unconscious offered the best solution to our budding conflict and impasse. The absurdity of my own anxious reaction to Gloria’s rising panic would only strike me funny later.

I told Gloria I understood why she was upset and reminded her I was a hypnotherapist. I asked her if I could help her relax and that she would not experience or express anything she didn’t want to. I emphasized that I would protect her so that she wouldn’t experience too much distress or emotional discomfort at any one time. This simple suggestion seemed to calm her and she agreed. Her body’s response to trance was palpable as she slumped relaxed in the chair. She was a virtuoso hypnotic subject and perhaps this was the source “spontaneous trance” of her unexplained and bizarre symptoms and behavior.

Gloria was a deep hypnotic subject and I immediately accessed her unconscious that called itself the “Helper” that stated she wanted to help Gloria. She began to describe traumatic childhood experiences in disjointed sequences that Gloria had suffered. She said they were responsible for Gloria’s terror, strange visions, and erratic behavior. The Helper had access to knowledge and information beyond Gloria’s conscious awareness. She also was able to observe and reflect on Gloria’s inner experience and behavior with penetrating objectivity. She said that Gloria was giving her trouble because she was resisting and afraid of change, and that she was remembering the past too fast and becoming terrified and emotionally withdrawn. She emphasized Gloria saw no reason to live and wanted to die because she was afraid to love since she equated love with pain.

Here, in our first contact, Gloria’s Helper began to outline Gloria’s psychological crisis and some of the difficulties that would lie ahead, for both of us, to reach and help Gloria. Because Gloria’s nightmares were the focal point of her terror and emotional disturbance and her emerging awareness of her underlying trauma, I suggested to the Helper that when Gloria awoke from a nightmare that she put Gloria in a trance and write down what was terrifying her, rather than Gloria being trapped in a confused state of arousal that caused her to rave at her upstairs neighbor or sleepwalk. I wanted to thwart any further perilous behavior and events. The Helper was receptive to my post-hypnotic suggestion and felt she could carry it out. At the conclusion of this session Gloria awoke feeling more relaxed and without any sign of pressured speech, fear, anger or panic that she had presented with. A good outcome, I thought.

However, intuitively I felt Gloria’s therapy would be like a combat soldier, on hands and knees, deftly placing a knife in a mine field’s dirt, then gently probing to get through the maze of mines without getting blown to pieces. Likewise, I had to be vigilant not to plunge her further into madness or suicide.

In our following session Gloria arrived looking perplexed holding a sealed envelope addressed to me, stating that she had found the envelope in her home but did not know who wrote it or how it brought it to me because it was addressed to me. I reassured her that she had done the right thing and should bring any further letters to me. She accepted this suggestion without question.

This odd but critical development in our relationship Gloria seemed to intuitively trust. Thus began her hypnotic dream therapy and our quest. Over the strange course of her healing journey with me, she would bring me 202 sealed letters that I would read and then conduct her hypnotherapy. Amazingly, Gloria never read one of them or ever asked what was in them. She had put her entire trust in me—had put her life in my hands— from the first day we met.

Dr. Adam Jaxon

HAPPY HALLOWEEEEN HISTORY

ghosts, supernatural

 

Halloween’s origins can be traced back to antiquity. Most point to Samhain, a Celtic festival which commemorated the end of the harvest season and the blurring of the physical and spirit worlds, as Halloween’s forebear. Over the ages, the holiday evolved, taking on Christian influences, European myth and American consumerism. Today, Halloween is celebrated with trick-or-treating, costumes, jack-o-lanterns and scary movies—all things which would likely be unrecognizable to those who took part in the holiday’s earliest forms.

Ancient Times: Halloween Begins as Samhain

Ancient Celts, who lived 2,000 years ago in the area that is now Ireland, the United Kingdom and northern France, marked Samhain at the midpoint between the fall equinox and the winter solstice. During this time of year, hearth fires in family homes were left to burn out while the harvest was gathered. After the harvest work was complete, celebrants joined with Druid priests to light massive bonfires and pray. Celts believed that the barrier between the physical and spirit worlds was breachable during Samhain. It was expected that ancestors might cross over during this time as well, and Celts would dress as animals and monsters so that fairies were not tempted to kidnap them.

10th Century: Samhain Is Christianized

In the 7th century, the Catholic Church established November 1 as All Saints’ Day, a day commemorating all the saints of the church. By the 9th century, the influence of Christianity had spread into Celtic lands, where it gradually blended with and supplanted older Celtic rites. In 1000 A.D., the church made November 2 All Souls’ Day, a day to honor the dead. It’s widely believed today that the church was attempting to replace the Celtic festival of the dead with a related, church-sanctioned holiday. The All-Saints’ Day celebration was also called All-hallows or All-Hallowmas (from Middle English Alholowmesse meaning All Saints’ Day) and the night before it, the traditional night of Samhain in the Celtic religion, began to be called All-Hallows Eve and, eventually, Halloween. Over many centuries, the three holidays—All Saints’ Day, All Souls’ Day and Samhain—essentially merged into one: Halloween. (The Catholic Church still recognizes All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day today, and some Wiccans and Celtic Reconstructionist commemorate Samhain.)

The Middles Ages: Trick-or-Treating Emerges

In England and Ireland during All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day celebrations, poor people would visit the houses of wealthier families and receive pastries called soul cakes in exchange for a promise to pray for the souls of the homeowners’ dead relatives. Known as “souling,” the practice was later taken up by children, who would go from door to door asking for gifts such as food, money and ale—an early form of trick-or-treating.

19th Century: Jack-o-Lanterns Take Shape

The practice of carving faces into vegetables became associated with Halloween in Ireland and Scotland around the 1800s. Jack-o-lanterns originated from an Irish myth about a man nicknamed “Stingy Jack,” who tricked the Devil and was forced to roam the earth with only a burning coal in a turnip to light his way. People began to make their own versions of Jack’s lanterns by carving scary faces into turnips or potatoes and placing them into windows or near doors to frighten away Stingy Jack and other wandering evil spirits.

19th Century: Halloween Comes to America—And With It Comes Mischief

With the exception of Catholic-dominated Maryland and some other southern colonies, Halloween celebrations were extremely limited in early America, which was largely Protestant. It wasn’t until the mid-19th century that new immigrants— especially the millions of Irish fleeing the Irish Potato Famine—helped popularize the celebration nationally. These immigrants celebrated as they did back in their homelands—especially by pulling pranks. In the late 1800s, common Halloween tricks included placing farmers’ wagons and livestock on barn roofs, uprooting vegetables in backyard gardens and tipping over outhouses. By the early 20th century, vandalism, physical assaults and sporadic acts of violence were not uncommon on Halloween.

1930s: Haunted Houses Become a Thing

In the US Haunted or spooky public attractions already had some precedent in Europe. Starting in the 1800s, Marie Tussaud’s wax museum in London featured a “Chamber of Horrors” with decapitated figures from the French Revolution. In 1915, a British amusement ride manufacturer created an early haunted house, complete with dim lights, shaking floors and demonic screams. In the U.S., the Great Depression kickstarted the trend. By then, violence around Halloween—no doubt exacerbated by the dire economic conditions—had reached new highs. Parents, concerned about their children running amok on All Hallows’ Eve, organized “haunted houses” or “trails” to keep them off the streets.

1950s: Halloween Costumes Go Mainstream

Costumes and disguises have figured into Halloween celebrations since the holiday’s earliest days. But it wasn’t until the mid-20th century that costumes started to look like what we know them as today. Around the same time neighborhoods began organizing activities such as haunted houses to keep kids safe and occupied, costumes became more important (and less abstract and scary). They began to take the form of things children would have seen and enjoyed, like characters from popular radio shows, comics and movies. In the 1950s, mass-produced box costumes became more affordable, so more kids began to use them to dress up as princesses, mummies, clowns or more specific characters like Batman and Frankenstein’s monster.

1980s: Fears About Poisoned Halloween Candy Reach New Heights

While in general the fears about poisoned Halloween candy have been overblown, crimes involving poison have occurred. The most infamous case took place on October 31, 1974. That’s when a Texas man named Ronald O’Bryan gave cyanide-laced pixie sticks to five children, including his son. The other children never ate the candy, but his eight-year-old son, Timothy, did—and died soon after. The paranoia reached new heights in the early 1980s after a rash of Tylenol poisonings in which cyanide-laced acetaminophen was placed on store shelves and sold. After the Tylenol murders, which are still unsolved, warnings about adulterated Halloween candy increased.

Grandpa Butcher and Terrified Little Girl

automatic writing, horror

AUTOMATIC LETTER 71

Saturday night

Dear Adam,

When I awoke tonight, I thought I might have had a nightmare I felt tired, achy, and cranky as though I had not had a good night’s sleep – now I remember Gloria had the bad dream, I do not sleep ever – I’m watching the “Other”, he can’t see me but I can see him, he’s winging the ax up and down through the air – I do wish he would put it down. I’m only six years old and he is pretty scary. He has killed already you know, he even severed a hand at the wrist, I saw it lying there downstairs it was not a very nice sight – nor was all of that blood – and he who once was like a grandfather to me is now a bad stranger – why I was the only one allowed to use the short cut between our homes and his wife (Gloria’s sister) would call me in to have strudel a very special pastry that little girls like me love. Here as I talk about pastry with Grandpa Butcher out there – he’s stabbed too. I’m screaming but only in my mind – thoughts reach in but not soothing thoughts – I do not know this person anymore – I have never known him. His mouth is a cruel slash, his nostrils flare, his eyes are too bright like glass and he’s waiting to kill me his little friend. Trembling, I think this is a dream – all is well and those downstairs safe – I am safe – no fear – no hurt – no danger – no killing – no blood – no DEATH – NO DEATH – but it is not a dream they’re under the thick layer that is woven together. I know there is death – but not mine – not yet. I won’t be taken by surprise but how will I fight a giant of a man. I’m just a little power but I won’t die like a dog, no way. I’ll not let someone put me away that quick. Somehow, I’m going to LIVE. I have a lot of dreams to make come true and I won’t die – I won’t! Oh! Oh! Oh! A mouth and eyes the mouth is wrapped around a terrible scream and the eyes are screaming too – a child screams the child is all eyes and mouth. I can’t see who she is this little girl so terrified. I cannot see who but I feel her fear – I must see! I become the future – I still hear the scream and I feel the scare the fear is so dark. I cannot see her but somehow, I know that little child is little Gloria – the screams go on and on. It ends with a fall – the impact of the ground the darkness the hurt. I shiver, I’m so cold – I’ll never be warm again. I’m so cold it’s not over – this is not a story or a movie it’s for real – screams float in the air – a child falls outside – you bad, bad man. I’m so cold – a horrible thing to know at six years old that you’re a little coward and despair and shame fills me – it’s hard to hold back the tears and be still when your heart is breaking. I saw him coming only because I was there at the window – you can’t see people coming from any other part of the house because of the trees and the bend in the driveway. I saw him and did nothing – I saw what he did and I went back into hiding. I scream inside its icy cold and I can’t stop my cowardly shivering. I am so scared my eyes are crying with no tears – I saw them there downstairs – blood – agony and all I did was go back upstairs. I hear the click of a doorknob and from the sound someone has entered downstairs it’s got to be him – I don’t see him at the tree stump there’s a child on the ground where he was – no hands bloody – hide the scream quickly – I’m so cold – don’t move – don’t shiver – don’t make a sound and live – live – but again, I’ll know if I live that I was a cowardly little girl like the cowardly lion in Oz – be still – be still not a sound. I’m so cold – shudders down my spine – drops of water run down my back and I’m freezing – someone is coming up – heavy footsteps – my heart beats so fast – I’m so icy cold.

Gloria’s Helper

Gloria Rising: MANUSCRIPT POSTSCRIPT

hypnotherapy

Gloria Rising: pgs., xiii-xiv

I struggled to keep my writing hand steady. It trembled as if detached from my body. I frantically scribbled down this note after finishing Gloria’s manuscript out of fear of a terrifying premonition that I would not awaken to see the dawn. This whole experience has been as if I had awoken from a nightmare, but it wasn’t my nightmare—it was real—too real to have imagined, let alone lived through and survived. I am Dr. Adam Jaxon, and if by chance you are reading this, I am already dead.

I was a renowned and distinguished hypnotherapist and treated thousands of people in my lifetime, but Gloria B’s electrifying hypnotherapy captivated and stunned me. Unfortunately, I was reluctant to share her terrifying and heart-wrenching story for fear no one would believe the otherworldly powers that literally came to guide and help me heal her. I feared my old associates would think I had gone senile or worse mad.

Now I feel ashamed for being such a coward, for allowing myself to be controlled by the homogenized expectations of my profession and being paralyzed by irrational fears that I would be scorned and rejected, if I spoke my mind. I now feel shame and guilt that my arrogance and fear got the best of me and nearly bankrupted my morals and destroyed me.

After all Gloria and I had been through, I could not live with the thought that, in the end, I had betrayed her trust and let her down. But thanks to her endearing memory and loving spirit, I came to my senses while gazing at my image in a mirror. I flew into a rage and smashed the pathetic image with my wine glass into a million pieces; blood trickled down my wrist, but I didn’t care. I shouted, “To hell with my ego and reputation,” over and over again, until my voice grew too hoarse to scream anymore.

I yielded to my guilty conscience to write her story that I had promised her. Besides, my health was failing, and Gloria’s story was too momentous and meaningful to be forgotten and buried in my cold grave. So, I feverishly wrote over the past year, and finally finished the manuscript this very night—just days before my 100th birthday.

But alas, this morning, I sensed a chilling premonition that I would not be here to celebrate it. So, I left the precious manuscript, and this postscript, on my oak writing desk with a poignant note and scrupulous instructions for its publication, for my daughter to find. It would be my last fond gesture and chance to share my lifeworks with her, albeit, beyond the grave.

I know if I died tonight, I would die a happy man at peace with myself knowing Gloria’s story would finally be told—a mysterious and astonishing story that defies the timeworn precepts of modern psychology and psychiatry—where insanity, genius, the metaphysical, and the mystery of life come together to beguile and confound our contemporary understanding of the mind and its limitless powers to heal.

Dr. Adam Jaxon