I’m possessed and have lived a fairly regular life, until very recently. I was born in Egypt some 30 years ago, where I grew up as a child, before moving to Canada. My memories have always been very vague about my life back in Egypt and coupled with my overwhelmingly active imagination, it’s hard to distinguish reality and memory. I do however, recall vividly the feelings, atmosphere, and experiences as a small boy. My family was a religious minority there as Coptic Orthodox Christians, so everyday life was indeed a struggle. This all begins here. I remember my family and friends of (we lived in a small three bedroom apartment with our cousins), constantly watching exorcism tapes on old VHS tapes, these would get passed around throughout family friends. I’m not sure what the purpose of this was, but it always put me in a very strange place mentally. The energy of the family room would sink as we sat on old worn out couches, feet skimming the cold tile beneath. Everyone in the room would get very quiet (if you know Egyptian families, you know this is very rare) as loud roars and horrid screaming beams from the television set, grainy images of people convulsing on their beds, tied viciously by their deformed limbs to the corners of their bloodied and wet bed sheets.
The most disturbing features of these videos however, were the Priests gathered around the victim, calmly chanting prayers in low monotone voices, harmonizing in the most daunting of sounds, holding bibles and incense. They are unmoving, unaffected by the sight in front of them. As a small boy, you can imagine how traumatized I was by this, not just me, but my little sister and three cousins as well, all around the same age, just baffled. My mother would tell me that it’s the Devil, and that this was the result of not loving God. Church became a nightmare as every Sunday morning, those prayers and songs would be performed live in front of my very eyes.
This took a toll on me, I became very timid, quiet, and fearful. I slept every night gripping my mother’s shoulder next to her in bed, and remember my heart trembling in and out of my chest once the lights went off for the day. I would stay awake, eyes wide, as I hear my Dad begin to snore. I thought “he’s asleep, so is everyone else probably” and this drove me insane, being the only one still awake; terrified that the Devil would come for me next. I would glance around the dark room and imagine monstrous creatures standing at the edge of our bed, just staring, breathing. I would try waking my Mom, but this would get dismissed very quickly by a simple “say a prayer”. I would stare at what I could only understand as the Devil by my bed; giant sturdy body, standing hunched over as to avoid breaking the ceiling, uneven hair scattered along it’s oddly elongated arms, dark, huge horns that looped from the front of his face towards the back and around his ears to shoot back out, I couldn’t see his eyes but I knew he was looking right at me, just breathing, constant breathing. When I think about it now, there’s no way I should have known this back then, he never spoke, but I remember feeling it’s energy rip away at my thoughts, the fear it was casting over me was feeding it, and destroying me. He made me feel alone, scared, hopeless, little and like he was in a perpetual state of pounce, ready to attack, but never leaping at me. Eventually sleep would come, but not voluntarily. Waking up was particularly bittersweet, for a moment I had managed to escape my nightmares. Ironic. Drenched in sweat, my cousins and sister always just thought I had wet the bed.
It’s strange, I know the experience of watching those tapes were shared among my little sister and cousins as well, but we never spoke of it, ever. But in general, they seemed very unaffected by what they’ve seen, at the very least, considerably less affected than I was. I was very artistic and spent a lot of my days just drawing, my abundant imagination demanded it, an outlet. After watching those tapes though, I did very little of anything. Anyhow, eventually people took notice. I was literally terrified 24/7, seeing ‘monsters’ following me around. Nothing was fun anymore and I was just exhausted psychologically, I stopped drawing, playing with my cousins, laughing, etc. Family friends would ask why my personality has changed so drastically, and that’s when my Dad began getting concerned. My Father and Mother took me to church one day early in the morning. I don’t remember much of this day, other than both of them standing perched over with a Priest, whispering back and forth. This specific Priest was very special to our entire family, seeing as he pretty much raised my Mom when her father passed away at a very young age. I sat on the church bench and pretended to pray as my Mom instructed moments before their conversation. Sneakily throwing peeks their way, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Later that night, the Priest was over at our house, at a very late hour, but I made nothing of it at the time.
It was almost time for lights out, when my Mom told me and my sister to go to bed and that she’d catch up. This was my biggest nightmare, I haven’t gone a night sleeping without my Mom in some time at this point. My sister hopped off the couch with the rest of my cousins as they scurried away to get ready for bed. I couldn’t, I was terrified. Then, my Dad said i’d be sleeping in our room alone tonight. This made my heart sink, and then pound harder than ever before, it was beating so hard I could actually feel it in my head, as if I had literally just taken some head trauma. Naturally I begin to cry profusely and beg my Mom to not do this. The Priest sits quietly. I’m physically picked up, and locked in the bedroom. This is the peak of my fear, I feel as though I’m actually dying, I’m banging at the door, screaming in the dark. I couldn’t breathe, panicking. I peered down to the door and saw light coming from under, this provided me with a much needed saving grace. I calmed down a bit and could hear my entire family outside talking, my cousins asking about what’s happening. Just hearing voices coming from outside, provided me with some comfort. Then, it went silent, and only the Priest began talking, chanting, just like in the videos I was so unfairly subjugated to. I felt around for the light switch on the door, flicked it, and moved over to our bed, exhausted. See now, people are under the impression that having a light on, helps you in some form, or keeps you safe. False. This had made my delusions only stronger, I kept seeing this horned demon in everything, bed sheets, clothes, the rough texture in the ceiling, there was no escape. The night passes and I wake up like any other day, clenched to my mother’s shoulder, drenched in sweat. We all get up and go about our day. Maybe it was a dream.
Fast forward to life in Canada, I had spent some time here now, made a lot of friends, started sleeping in my own bed and live a healthy childhood. My parents still go to an Orthodox church here, but didn’t force me to go anymore. I was very ok with this; perhaps they had finally understood the trauma of it all. Regardless of life falling back on track, small things still triggered my crushing fear. Going to the local movie theatre to watch horror movies was friends, would bring some of it back and I wouldn’t sleep for weeks after. Especially after watching exorcism themed movies. These would affect me the most, and I would just try to shy away or not pay attention, etc… afraid what my friends might think if I told them how terrified I actually am of these matters.
Present day, I move out and fly across the country to Vancouver to start my new job. I think I’m pretty normal by this point, I draw again, play video games with friends, go to the gym, do my work exceptionally well, etc. Life is good, and everything in the past, is in the past. I recently flew back to Toronto to visit my parents, who, believe it or not, I have a very strong relationship with. So I’m back in my room looking at all the drawings I had put up on my walls, playing my old guitar (not well) and just enjoying being back home with my family. I go out with my sister where we catch up on all the shenanigans that have taken place in my absence at work.
This is where things take a turn for the worst. The night comes, I climb into bed with a smile, life is good, I’m untouchable. I open up my laptop, put Netflix on and just relax in ned. A loud noise from the show that was playing, jolts me awake, and I realize I’ve dosed off. I flip the screen down, and move my laptop to my night stand, where my cellphone is resting. I tilt the phone over to check the time, it’s exactly 3am — I thought this was interesting because I happened to randomly check my phone at that exact time, sharp. I made nothing of it, the screen faded, and eventually turned to black. I lay it back on the stand, and turn my torso over to fully commit to my sleep. As I’m turning, I’m aghast to see the large horned figure at the edge of my bed. The same one from my childhood, standing there, breathing again. My entire body just froze in place, I have not had to deal with this since I was a small kid, I forgot how to react. I stare at him, just like I did all those years ago. All those feelings rushed back, as if he was reminding me of where we left off. I stared until a combination of sunlight and tiredness came over.
I woke up the next day (late afternoon) and told myself to get a grip, it was just a nightmare, and that of course trauma from your childhood will influence your dreams. I went to the bathroom to shower and wash up, and made my way down the stairs to grab a bite from the kitchen. As I approached the breakfast table between our kitchen and living room area, I noticed my mom sitting there alone and very quiet, with a phone in her hand. I assume she’d had a bad phone call, regardless I utter “morning mama” as she responds instantly “good morning”. I grab a piece of fruit from the refrigerator and move to the table to sit in front of my mother. I ask if she’s alright. She says no. She had just got off the phone with a relative from Egypt. The Priest which had raised her like a father, has passed. She begins to cry and I immediately rush over to comfort her.
The trip is over and I’m back in Vancouver now. Except now something is different. The nights and days feel like they used to, all those years ago. My soul is draining. Help.
Submitted June 22, 2017 at 06:26AM by jameshowlett_logan http://ift.tt/2tuXzJD nosleep
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