The kids are all excited at the prospect of dressing up as their favourite cartoon characters, serial killers and demons and angels alike.  It is Halloween, or Samhain in my house, and it is usually a joyful time of blood, horror movies, and decorating for my little family.


This year it’s become very apparent that what I began to deal with at age 4 has come round to start kicking me in the ass.  I am not ready but to bleed cures the soul and so I begin.

My family, by birth, though supportive, does not understand what makes this Dark Governess who she is.  And this will not help any either.  But the catharsis of bleeding is necessary…and imperative

You see, I began to “See” at age 4.  For those that do not know what that means, I had my first experience with the paranormal at that age,  It is one I have never recounted for anyone, save my sisters 3, who though not sisters at birth, are sisters at heart, and they accept and love me no matter what.


I recount this now, for my own son, has started to See now as well…and what I had buried at the back of my darkest mind, has come to call, demanding its price.

I remember the day well…sunny, warm…I was playing in my room with the Wendy Walker doll I had gotten for Christmas.  I loved that damn doll, dressing her up, fixing her hair, playing make believe…


I could hear my mother downstairs, talking on the phone, my brother was baby and was crying over top of the sound of my mother’s voice.  The darkness was within me even then, threatening to eat me alive.

I had been harbouring a secret, not old enough to understand why or even to understand what the consequences of silence were.  At this time, my grandfather and the babysitter’s husband had taken it into their minds to begin to molest me.  They were systematically destroying the innocence I had.

Understand, this is the first time in my 42 years I have spoken aloud of this experience, and I am afraid.  Secrecy has gone too long and has eaten at me too long.  As I write this to you I cry, for I know that it will not be accepted by all.


This destruction of my child’s soul had been going on about 6 months, and I was already at the stage of wanting to leave, to let the darkness take me, justifying it in my mind that they wouldn’t miss me, no one noticed me anyway..  I was thinking on this when I started hearing whispering coming from behind me.  I remember the words so clearly as if I am hearing them now.

“Don’t go.  Don’t go.”

I couldn’t understand who was saying this.  I went to the stairs and listened…no…not from there.  There was no one in the bedrooms…I was alone…as I had been a lot in those days.

The whispering continued…I began to be frightened…but still, a child of 4…trying to analyse what was happening.

That was when it happened…that damnable doll.  She opened her eyes.  I remember my heart pounding with fear…she sat up….I couldn’t scream.  I couldn’t move.  She turned her head, and stared at me.  This was impossible.  This COULDN’T be happening.  She spoke.

“Don’t be afraid.  I won’t hurt you.”

My nerve broke. I screamed…I ran.  The doll sat there as if placed…staring after me.  And that was exactly how it was received.  From that day on, though the molestation eventually stopped, the visions, whispering and sightings did not.


To this day, I am visited by the biologically challenged…I’m like a fucking parade.  Not that I mind…my Ghostly housemates are wonderful to have around, and they feel like family.

Difficult as it is to live with this…talent? Plague? I continue to try to help the Passed, help the living, and find a place in the middle where I can be happy.


As for my son, teaching him the ways will be an interesting ride.  He will be stronger than I am, without a single doubt.  And I am fine with that.

Death Maiden


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Powered by

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: