Psychosis or ghost story, I don't know.When I was little, probably about four or five years old, I had an imaginary "friend" (I think.) It was yellow and about four feet tall (taller than me at the time), bipedal, and had oversized eyes that always looked straight ahead otherwise, relatively human and naked. I called the thing "Fishy." The wierdest thing, though, was it scared the hell out of me. I didn't want anything to do with it, and I couldn't imagine, as a child, that it was coming from inside my head.It "walked" (more like skated along) on the walls in the rooms of our house, and apparently could not leave those surfaces. I knew that if I played outside, it could only follow me to the limits of the garage. It always followed me, too, even though I often told it not to. I had difficulty concentrating on drawing things or reading because Fishy was always standing somewhere on the wall, looking over my shoulder. It did not ever sit down, it didn't have facial expressions, and it never made any noise.The only times I ever interacted with Fishy were when I was sick in the middle of the night or when I woke up panicked from nightmares. Those times, if I looked at it intently, Fishy would methodically start drifting along the wall towards my parents' bedroom; around the corner, out the door, and down the hall. As soon as he was out of sight, I'd start calling for Mom (as in: "Mooooom, I'm gonna barrrrrf...") and she'd show up quickly (god bless ya, mom) to help me through it. Fishy would come back, though, as soon as I'd recovered. Then it would stare for the rest of the night, two days, or longer, in the direction of my parents' room.It finally vanished when my sister was born in 1992. I was almost 8 years old by then, and I'd been ignoring Fishy for about a year, but not so much that I didn't notice it had learned to fly off the wall and visit the floor from time to time.There was one instance, in the last two months of Fishy-ness when I saw it at someone else's house; a new home that friends of mine, two sisters, were moving into. Their father walked into the room where we were playing with the moving boxes to give us another one, and in the darkened laundry room behind him, filling the entire doorway at many times it's normal size, was Fishy, staring down the father's back. It wasn't scary, so much as irritating.We moved away from there less than a year later.
GaryPDX: Once upon a time this guy got elected on two words, hope and change. Little did people know he was going to crash America. Then the zombie apocalypse began because the government wanted to make all your healthcare decisions for you. So they tried fear and panic so people would sign up for their 2000 page indoctrination manual on being a good health care citizen of the state.The pyres of the dead lit up the sky, it was mid evil./WOLVERINES!//The end.
True story (according to my Psychology professor):A woman goes to a psychic. The psychic is so good she has a 2 month waiting list and very expensive price tag on her sessions. The woman makes her appointment and goes in to get her fortune. The psychic takes one look at her palm and FREAKS out. "I cannot give you a reading."The woman is PISSED. "I've waited two months for this session and I paid you three hundred dollars so you'd BETTER tell me about my future!" The psychic refunds the woman's money but refuses to tell her anything more...except she writes a short note and gives it to her in a sealed envelope telling her to open it when she gets home.The woman is so pissed off she doesn't notice the train coming down the tracks at the intersection. Her car was smashed to bits and the woman was killed instantly.Later, at the autopsy, they found the envelope in her coat pocket. It had a note with one sentence...
This happened last Christmas Eve. It'll make sense at the end.Last December, my mom spent a month in the hospital while recovering from ulcer surgery. Apparently it was pretty bad and because of her age (70), she had to remain under their care until they deemed she was fit to go home.Anyway, she was hoping to be released before Christmas because her only concern was making tamales for everybody. But as Christmas crept closer she realized that she'd still be in the hospital until the New Year.Up until this point I was doing okay with her in the hospital, but then I got a dose of reality: the tubes and wires hanging all over her, hearing her moan in pain as assistants helped her sit up, and thinking she would never get better or be released. It finally got the best of me and I began to cry not only because she was still in a considerable amount of pain, but that this would be the first year that I would spend Christmas without either parent.After some consolation, I told Mom that I had to go to the cemetery to visit Dad. She told me to skip the visit; that I shouldn't subject myself to any further aggravation or sadness for the day. I told her I would go straight home.Ten minutes later I was standing at my father's grave. I looked down at Dad's marker and began to speak."Chistmas is gonna suck this year, Dad. You're gone, Mom's in the hospital...neither one of you is going to be with us this time."The rain began to fall a bit harder and I was getting pissed off, but not necessarily about the weather. "This farking sucks, Dad." I said my goodbyes and left.Before I left home I was reminded by my wife to stop by Walgreens to see if they had a toy my son was looking for. They did, so I grabbed it, got in line and paid for it.Then as I was getting into my car, I noticed something sitting on the ground in the parking lot. I looked at it, thought to myself, "Hey, I bet the kid would dig this," picked it up and started up the car.And here's the obligatory "And that's when it hit me." Here is what I found:Why did this trip me out? Here's what Dad's marker reads: