Ever since I was a small child, my father beat me. I don't
know why, but it seemed to ease his frustration. At the
same time, he was always there to protect me from whatever
else tried to harm me. He was always paranoid that I was
doing something that I shouldn't be, and he was very
possessive, a trait associated with child abusers.
A month and a half before my twelfth birthday, my father was killed
in a motorcycle accident. As traumatic as that was for me,
I still felt safer now that he was gone. After all, I
wasn't getting hit anymore, and the bruises were slowly
fading off my arms, legs, and torso.
About a month after his death, I was playing outside and noticed a man standing
in my yard, who remarkably looked identical to my deceased
father. The figure ran to me, and I ran from it into the
house. My mother thought that I was just seeing things. She
had the false impression that I was just hoping that my
father would be back, that the whole experience to me had
been one big nightmare. She sent me back outside. I got my
German Sheppard, Doc, and put him on his leash, feeling
safer with him there.
We played a while, and about 30
minutes later, I saw the same figure. Doc turned his head
towards it, pinned his ears back and began to growl, bark,
and bare his teeth. He ran at me again, and I foolishly
decided to run across the street, letting go of the leash.
As the figure began to gain on me, Doc ran through it. As
he passed through it, he whined, put his tail in between
his legs and ran up towards the house. As I approached the
road, the figure caught up to me and pinned me to the
ground, threatening to hit me as I lay underneath it. Not
even fifteen seconds later, an eighteen wheel truck came
flying over the hill, doing about 65mph in a 45 speed
limit. The figure, who looked and sounded like my father,
told me not to move from this spot until my sister got home
from work and could drive me up my long driveway. As I
waited for her to get there, the figure stood at a short
distance (about 50 feet) away, seemingly looking at me. I was
crying, and when Doc heard me, he ran back to me and sat
with me until my sister arrived, not taking his eyes off
the figure.
When my sister pulled into the driveway, she
looked at me and told me to get into the car with her. She
asked me what was wrong and I told her what had happened.
When I looked back into the yard, the figure was gone. It's
five years later and I still haven't forgotten the uncomfortable familiarity that I felt when he pushed me to the ground. I don't think I ever will.
Contact me here: SpikeShinnizzle@aol.com
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