Since it's Halloween and all, I thought I'd share a particularly scary story, a true story, from when I was but a wee lass. I don't remember all the details, but I'll try my best.As you all know, I was pretty much raised by my grandmother and Papi; they watched me and my cousin Minnie while our mothers worked their asses off in the big city. They also did not allow us to play outside because, you know, there were black people out there *shock shock, horror horror*, so we had what I suppose is called over-active imaginations. We had to; it was our only real form of entertainment (remember, back then there weren't as many channels on the TV as there are today).
My grandparents lived next door to an abandoned building- it was commonplace in the Bed-Stuy of the 70s and 80s- and our windows faced this building's windows and our living room shared a wall with this building. And of course in our little girl minds, this building was haunted.
Of course it was, why else would it be abandoned?
We swore that we could see ghosts in the windows, and that the mirror over the mantle in the living room was one of those two-way mirrors they have at police stations, and that evil-doers and monsters would watch us and plot evil ways to kill us. I really hated that mirror.
Papi and Grandmami lived in a railroad apartment; one of the bedrooms was a really tiny box tucked into the long hallway and, you guessed it, had a window that faced a window belonging to the abandoned building. Over the years that room belonged to a bunch of different people, but at the time this story takes place, it had bunk beds in it where Minnie and I would sleep.
Minnie usually had the bottom bunk and I had the top. One particular night, I don't think she was around, I slept on the bottom bunk. And the strangest thing happened.
I heard a female voice giggle. I looked around in the semi-darkness and saw no one, but I heard the giggle again. Then, if memory serves me correctly, I noticed the voice was coming from this life-sized clown we had, which was tucked away in the closet of the small-box-room. Then the female voice said, "Here, bite it," and from beneath the bed appeared a shiny/greasy hand with long red fingernails. I just laid there looking at this hand when she said again, "bite it!" with more force. So I did; I bit her stupid greasy hand.
Talk about shitting oneself... I don't know how, but the "flight" impulse took over my body and I high-tailed it out of that possessed room. My memory is fuzzy as to what I did next; I just remember running out of there scared to death.
Til this day Minnie hates when I tell that story, mainly because I can't confirm if it was a dream, hallucination or real. All I know is I remember hearing what I heard, seeing what I saw, and doing what I did.
Make of it what you will.
Happy Halloween!!!
*smooches...reaffirming my reasons for taking santeros seriously*
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do you have
any scary tales to share?
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