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blog, childhood, death, humor, life, memories, readings, tarot card reading, tarot cards
Around my twelfth year of life I became obsessed with tarot cards and talking with the dead. There are many reasons that might have happened, but the most profound reasoning was that I was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man that used to reside in my families new home not only died there, but remained and was super pissed off my family dared move in. To this day I remember sitting in my room with my friend Mary playing cards when I heard a man’s voice behind me say “Get out of my HOUSE!” (Which I am sure was all in my head, but freaky shit was going on all the time at that house for the first few years we lived there). The tarot card reading and card ghost talking began not too soon after that.
The tarot cards my Mom had (apparently she bought them as a gag gift for someone else and I got ahold of them) naked women on a few of the cards. I was smart enough not to take them to school, but I wanted to share my new talent with my friends, so I came up with a way to speak to the spirits where they could answer yes and no. In a regular deck of cards black numbers/letters meant yes and red numbers /letters meant no. One had to flip over cards over and over asking if a spirit was there until they finally said yes, and then it was a free for all of the most random questions a 12-year-old’s mind could come up with.
When I brought others into the mix it got complicated, and scary. A really hot guy (whose name I cannot remember at all so I am going to call him) Chris clearly didn’t like me as a person, I am not even sure to this day why he played the game with us for how pissed he would get with me, but after a few rounds of the talking dead game he would ask the spirits if they were as annoyed with me as he was. One specific time there was a group of us hanging out in a stairwell, when he asked the spirit if it could make me shut up, he flipped over the card. The letter was black. At the same moment a teacher opened the stairwell door, and we all ran out screaming. As if that was the sign. Once everyone gained their composure we went back into the stairwell to pick up the cards. More than half of them were ripped in almost the same fashion; it was pretty much the coolest thing any of us had seen. We were then convinced that we were talking to spirits, I informed Chris that I would no longer invite him to play with us, as he clearly didn’t care about my safety and he angrily told me that he would play on his own, but he never did. I guess I didn’t think about it until this moment, but he might have had a thing for me. I probably would have done something that stupid for someone else that I liked.
I stopped playing the game for good the night Mary slept over and asked “Will one of us die tonight?” She flipped over the card and it was black yes. I was so pissed off at her and worried, and she was pissed off at herself and worried; we stayed up most of the night wondering which of us it would be. When we finally got to sleep, I awoke to the sound of a cat screaming.
“Did you hear that Sonya?” Mary asked me, her voice pretty shaky.
“I think people in New York heard that.”
A few moments later a movie reel tin that had been in my closet untouched for months fell from its place and broke open on the floor.
“HOLY SHIT!” I said as I had become a sailor in third grade so people would back off my ‘goody-goodyness’
Mary started crying.
“This is your fault, why did you ask that question?”
“I didn’t think it would be a yes! How was I to know?”
The next morning we were both very much alive when we were woken to the sound of someone rapping on my window. We hugged one another and let out a sigh of relief, when the rapping occurred again. My Dad was pretty persistent when we had to do yard work, but I never really had to do it when friends were over. I moved back my curtain expecting to see my Dad, instead I saw a worn man in an army uniform… seriously if you told me the guy was dead I wouldn’t have even questioned it.
“Do you has agkjyrtogfbgfjksffy ytbgkjguklgdfyyj ksdfjkjkghgrtjkl?”
“WHAT?” I asked hoping this time it would make sense, so the guy would get off our property and away from my window.
“Do you has mmmmmmmmmmmmmmach?”
“Oh my God.” I whispered. This was how we were going to die; this army ghost man is going to take us to the pits of hell. “Go around the other side.” I told the man.
He walked to the front yard where my Dad was trimming bushes.
“Mary if this guy hurts my Dad it’s on you.” I fucking hated her, and the game, I wanted it to be over.
My Dad came in the house with a smile on his face, went to the kitchen and got matches for the army ghost man, and then the guy disappeared down the street (the street my family has lived on for almost 20 years now and I have NEVER seen army ghost man again).
I never told a soul about any of that, probably because my Mom would be super pissed, she told me I was never allowed to play with a ouija board, and I think what I did was pretty damn close. Even if it was all a game, even if the ouija board is just a fake out controlled by one’s friends… do you really want to know what kind of fucked up shit is going on in their mind? I am going to stay on this plane of reality, it’s crazy enough.
-ducksoup- 