Bruised and bloodied the night before, how did I get out of bed this morning?
Why did I bother knowing I'd be here for the next few days trying to recover from the fallout? Yet, here I was, half cognizant while making an omelet with cheese, green onions, and red Maui onions. Cubes of diced ham and Portuguese sausage are also an addition. I added a bit of coffee milk before I beat the eggs and poured them into the hot frying pan because I like that smell. The sweet breaded toast just popped out of the toaster, and I have a hot second to slather some garlic butter all over it. Pile some freshly made bacon on top of everything, and you'd have a winner kind of breakfast, but not me.I sat there absentmindedly chewing away, not even appreciating the delicate flavors that came forth. Even my mug of egg nog with a shot glass of Jack Daniel's did nothing for me. It was a challenging communication last night with unexpected results. Everyone else calls it a paranormal investigation, but I don't investigate because it is intrusive. Contact, trying to find out why instead of insisting that the spirits talk to us like we are owed their time is ridiculous and disrespectful. However, last night was something different. It was almost like we were set up, and our aggressors were waiting for us to take the bait. The place in question was an abandoned coin and jewelry shop on a side street in Kalihi. The owners didn't go out of business because of some financial shortfall. They literally had to flee because of the spiritual activity, which got very physical to the point where the owner and his wife were being assaulted by something they couldn't see. More so, whatever it was began to make them deathly ill. So, they gave up the business they built from a meager collection of coins and stamps which they kept in old lunch pails to the most highly sought-after assortments of their time. When we met them the last night, they were standing on the corner. The door to the establishment was unlocked, the two refused to go in. They handed me the key and said they'd be parked at Pali Longs and that we should call them once we were done.
"Just lock up," Morton Spinney told me. "Text when you're done and meet us and hand us the keys."
"Sure," I replied. "Is there anything we should know? Anything important?"
"There's a bunch of football helmets behind the counter," he pointed over my shoulder toward the inside of his establishment. "I highly recommend that you and your crew wear those unless you want a broken jaw and neck."
I looked at him and scoffed, "Are you serious?"
"You signed those waivers, didn't you?" He asked to which I nodded. "Good, then there should be no complaints on your part if you go against my advice, right?"
"We'll wear 'um," I replied. Morton and his wife Tammy left and went walking up the street. They were going to Longs, where their car must have been parked; at least that was my assumption. What was harrowing about last night was that only five of us were there because the shop was too small to accommodate our regular team of twenty. Even though the time said seven in the evening, the light was still out. We gathered just inside the door and locked it behind us. In the foyer, we gathered to join hands and pray, and then I went behind the counter to give everyone their football helmets to wear. They all gave me a weird look, "Morton insisted we put these on, so let's just indulge him for the first hour; after that, we'll take 'em off. I promise."
No sooner had I said that and put on my helmet than some invisible force grabbed four of the team right in front of me and pinned them to the ceiling. They tried not to panic, but they were doing an awful job. The other half of the invisible force grabbed me and pinned me to the floor. Every time I struggled, it pushed harder as if trying to crush me right through the tile. "Don't fight it," I grunted. "The more you fight it, the harder it will crush you!" The invisible force then tore the football helmet off my head, punched me in my right eye, and gave me a right or left cross. Then, it pushed harder. It held us to the spot for the next eight hours, not relaxing its hold even once. It was frustrating to know that people were walking by and that they could not see us because of how the windows were tinted. Even when somebody peered in through the window on the front door, no one could see anything because of how dark the shop was with no lights on. Most of us not only fell asleep but ended up soiling ourselves after being held to the spot for so long. It left bruises that went deep into the tissue when it let go of us. Finally, the four-team members came crashing to the floor and weren't hurt too bad because their bodies were relaxed. I could hear them crying and moaning. I rolled over and stretched out when it let me go, which was a bad idea. I was dehydrated, so I got a horrible cramp in my legs.
They were horrified to see my condition when I met the Spinneys at the Longs parking lot. I said nothing but simply handed the shop keys to Morton in a Glad sandwich bag. Morton winced and held his nose, "What happened last night?"
"Whatever is in there held us, hostage, for eight hours and wouldn't let us go," I said. "So, yeah."
~
This morning, sitting here not enjoying a breakfast that I should be reveling in, I realized something vital. I can't taste the food because I'm not flesh and blood. Me and my team, we're dead, and our bodies are still in that shop! They were horrified because my ghost kept its promise and returned their keys after it was all over. Fucking shit.
credit: Hindu Stan Times
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