Go Play Elsewhere
My mother, in her eighties, does not have a very good memory of late but the things she recalls from the past are crystal clear and, by my own experience as a reference point for them, very accurate.
So, when I told her I was writing about the myriad of odd occurrences I've had in my life, and those of the apartment we lived in until I was 11, she raised an occurrence that I had completely forgotten about but, upon hearing it, it had come rushing back to me so clearly.
It wasn't going to be one of the tales I told but may truly be one of the oddest.
The apartment was complex of 8 buildings lettered A through H. Our building, F, formed a corner, a perfect right angle, with building E and the resulting square yard they created was the only flat, grassy area around the complex. It was perfect size for waffle ball and so it became our field by default. Hitting the wall above the first story was a home run and I can still, with clarity, recall the three times someone hit a plastic ball on top of the third story roof. I remember these more for the fact that it was out only ball on two of the occasions and ended our game. . .
As you might expect, we were kids and we were loud. The result, with the noise bouncing off the brick facades of the large buildings was, I am sure, rattling to those who's windows faced the grassy diamond.
The management of the complex, due I am sure to the complaints of the noise, eventually built a play area on a grassy lot behind the buildings but it was habit to play on this field and we returned to it often. I mean, the buildings DID make for the perfect diamond shade and the height of the walls made for a true "stadium feel". And some summer nights people actually watched us from itheir windows.
Eventually we took to the new play area but it was an adjustment.
So I must have been eight or nine at most at the time this happened.
Very few people complained to us when we played or shooed us away but there was an elderly woman who lived in the very first apartment in F building on the ground floor. I never knew her name nor can I or my mother recall it now but I will refer to her as Mrs. Smith for the purpose of the story.
Mrs. Smith's living room window overlooked the outfield, left field to be precise, and in the summer, when the heat set in, the window was usually open. These were the old wind-out windows, not the sliding kind with a screen.
Once we had been given the new play area and were not supposed to disturb the neighbors by playing on our old field, she made a habit of yelling at us out her window. Aways the same three words and nothing more:
"Go play elsewhere."
She wouldn't come outside or to the front door ( as I believe she used a walker), but instead would just wait for one of us to be close enough to the window to shout it at us as loud as she was able which was, not very loud. That lucky kid then had to relay the message to the rest of the group and we would, of course, pick up and go around the back.
There were times when she wasn't home for weeks at a time though. Maybe visiting family or in the hospital. Those times we fell back into the habit of playing on the diamond again. We did this because one of the kids had a parent who worked in the office of the complex and she had been told it was mostly Mrs Adams who had done the complaining about us being there. So if she wasn't home, we went right back.
So, it must have been a few months since we had played on the old diamond field at all and, for some reason, perhaps the new field had too many small kids on the new swingset, we decided to play a quick game on the diamond between buildings.
It was getting dark earlier then, nearer to Autumn, and as the game was winding down, I was put out in left field. . .Nearest to Mrs Smiths windows.
Later in the inning, as it was almost too dark to see anymore, I had my back to the window but heard Mrs Smith, as usual, calling out to me. . .
"Go Play Elsewhere."
We must have woken her, I thought, because she had not said a word for the hour or so that we had been there up to this point.
Well the game was ending anyway and I told everyone we needed to go. With that, I went inside the building and into our apartment. Soon after, when I was having dinner, mom asked about the game and I told her it had been fine but how mean old Mrs Smith had told us to go play elsewhere as always.
"What?" she asked, her face puzzled.
"She told us to go play elsewhere." I repeated, probably doing a bad impression of her voice.
"Nicolas."
I looked up mid bite and met her eyes.
"Who told you to go away?"
"Mrs Smith — out of her window like she always does. I was the one who was out there and heard her." I said, the last of my Spaghetti O's heaped on my spoon.
She sat down across from me, seeming confused.
"Honey," she said, "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not mom!" I protested unable to understand why she thought I was.
"Look," she said, " you all know that you're not supposed to play there anymore, so don't. And I don't know who yelled at you to be quiet but it wasn't Mrs. Smith. Honey, the poor soul passed away a week ago. There's no one in her apartment."
I do not remember what my reaction to that was. I don't think I had any notion of it being odd or strange and I wasn't going to push it with my mother, to whom lying was the worst offense I could commit. I DO recall now that, though we barely played on the grass diamond afterwards, I refused to play left field when we did. :)
Was it Mrs. Smith? Was it my own self consciousness about us playing there when we were not supposed to? ( I always protested it, knowing it was against the rules, but was often overruled by the Lord of the Flies majority) was it someone else a floor above who probably heard Mrs Smith call out a dozen times or more over the previous summers?
I cannot say. I am amazed that my mother remembered after all these years and though it had slipped my own set of memories, it came back as soon as she mentioned Mrs. Smith.
Eventually an old man moved into Mrs Smith's old apartment and I had a year long battle with him which I will tell you about some other time. It wasn't supernatural in any way, but it was a war of stubborn pre teen and old man attrition. . . lol
Showing posts with label Halloween. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Halloween. Show all posts
Monday, October 29, 2018
Friday, September 28, 2018
Ghost Stories - There is a Light - The Apartment #2
The room itself wasn't especially anything. Just a small, square bedroom with a closet and a little alcove for a toy chest, a clanky hissing radiator for winter heat and the one window in the room overlooked the front lawn of the apartment building so there were no creepy trees or dark woods beyond.
When I was older I remember having friends who lived across the street from the graveyard where they filmed the original 'Night of the Living Dead' and I would think, How bad would my childhood nightmares have been if we lived there?!
Anyway, the room was fine, as long as it was day time and I was awake. It was in my dreams tha the room came to life. The thick orange curtains, more specifically, or, perhaps, what lay behind them in that realm.
But those were dreams, so I won't count them as a "ghost story". Still, at some point, I realized they were connected to the waking world somehow. There was a portal. Had to be, right? As long as the two worlds stayed separated I was fine.
That's when it started.
I can remember a dozen or so of my favorite things from, this period in my life. The old red Playskool record player (45s only!), my original Star Wars toys, my giant me-sized teddy bear, the wood rocking chair that had a music box attached to it's rail, my collection of plastic batting helmets from the ballpark.
Now any of these seem ripe for the telling of a ghost story right? In such story, perhaps the record player would play on it's own or the rocking chair might start rocking just enough to elicit one or two tones from the music box beneath it. . . but those sorts of made for movie things never happened.
But there was my night-light.
Oh I loved that light.
It was actually a light box that hung on the wall between the alcove and the closet door and I could see it clearly from my bed which faced it. It was the size of a sheet of paper but a bit longer. On it was an image of a little boy sitting up in his bed with striped walls behind hi, and a nightstand that had an old bell-on-top style alarm clock sitting on it. the clock was larger in proportion to the rest of the scene and the face of that little clock was actually a working clock. The light itself came from the clock face. At night, when mom turned out the lights, the clock cast a pale glow that lit up the room just enough to see the end of my bed and the few feet around the night light in every direction. Of course, that tends to make everything else a little darker in the room so I made the effort to look only at the light when I felt a little frightened. ( Could not avoid those old black and white monster movies as a boy!)
The clock hands were silhouetted by the light and I would stare at that light until I fell asleep. It never took long as I have always been a go-til-you-drop kind of kid, high metabolism, crash and burn sleeper. Still am.
I'd wake from those occasional nightmares to find comfort in the light being there on the wall. I knew I was back in my room and safe.
Then, one night, not sure when or at what age but definitely single-digit young as I think I outgrew that clock by 9 or 10 years old, something changed. By then I was feeling a little more threatened by the nightmares as they had worsened and so there were nights that went to bed and did not want to fall asleep. So I would stare at the clock, at the light, and tell myself that I was safe.
That's when it happened. One night, as I was staring at the clock, probably repeating one of the many mantras I had made-up to keep me safe, the light began to. . . fade.
As I stared at the clock, it was becoming dimmer the longer I focused on it. Less of the room seemed to be lit by it and I felt an ominous feeling as it progressed, moving closer towards black.
Let's keep in mind this was NOT a battery operated clock. It plugged into the wall and the bulb was not a dimmer bulb but the standard 15 watt nightlight bulb of our youth.
So it shouldn't have been able to dim. Yet it did.
And my eyes, as all of our eyes do in the dark, should have adjusted in the opposite direction. By nature, it gets easier to see the longer we are in the dark but in this case, the room itself, like the light, grew darker, disappearing as I watched.
At some point I'd close my eyes and bury my head under the pillow and, eventually, I would fall asleep.
It did not happen every night. even nights where I stared at the light like any other, it would sometimes stay bright. There was no rhyme or reason to it but one thing that was consistent was, when it happened, I'd always have a nightmare that night. In them, the heavy rusty orange drapes would move, billowing out and a deep voice, un intelligible, would speak to me from beyond the window.
I've written here before about how that all ended. A dream where the roof above my bed opened and thousands upon thousands of tiny gold, spinning "snowflakes" fell over me as I sat up in bed. I woke, still able to feel them falling on my skin, like tiny pine needles pinching at my entire upper body. I never had another nightmare in that room again afterwards. Not one.
To this day, when I think of that dream, or of the gold snowflakes in particular, I can conjure one right in front of my face. Spinning and hovering about six inches away. I have, since those days, taken it as a sign I was "protected" somehow.
I still do.
Next time: The nosebleeds . . . and the apartment building and it's darkest corners
When I was older I remember having friends who lived across the street from the graveyard where they filmed the original 'Night of the Living Dead' and I would think, How bad would my childhood nightmares have been if we lived there?!
Anyway, the room was fine, as long as it was day time and I was awake. It was in my dreams tha the room came to life. The thick orange curtains, more specifically, or, perhaps, what lay behind them in that realm.
But those were dreams, so I won't count them as a "ghost story". Still, at some point, I realized they were connected to the waking world somehow. There was a portal. Had to be, right? As long as the two worlds stayed separated I was fine.
That's when it started.
I can remember a dozen or so of my favorite things from, this period in my life. The old red Playskool record player (45s only!), my original Star Wars toys, my giant me-sized teddy bear, the wood rocking chair that had a music box attached to it's rail, my collection of plastic batting helmets from the ballpark.
Now any of these seem ripe for the telling of a ghost story right? In such story, perhaps the record player would play on it's own or the rocking chair might start rocking just enough to elicit one or two tones from the music box beneath it. . . but those sorts of made for movie things never happened.
But there was my night-light.
Oh I loved that light.
It was actually a light box that hung on the wall between the alcove and the closet door and I could see it clearly from my bed which faced it. It was the size of a sheet of paper but a bit longer. On it was an image of a little boy sitting up in his bed with striped walls behind hi, and a nightstand that had an old bell-on-top style alarm clock sitting on it. the clock was larger in proportion to the rest of the scene and the face of that little clock was actually a working clock. The light itself came from the clock face. At night, when mom turned out the lights, the clock cast a pale glow that lit up the room just enough to see the end of my bed and the few feet around the night light in every direction. Of course, that tends to make everything else a little darker in the room so I made the effort to look only at the light when I felt a little frightened. ( Could not avoid those old black and white monster movies as a boy!)
The clock hands were silhouetted by the light and I would stare at that light until I fell asleep. It never took long as I have always been a go-til-you-drop kind of kid, high metabolism, crash and burn sleeper. Still am.
I'd wake from those occasional nightmares to find comfort in the light being there on the wall. I knew I was back in my room and safe.
Then, one night, not sure when or at what age but definitely single-digit young as I think I outgrew that clock by 9 or 10 years old, something changed. By then I was feeling a little more threatened by the nightmares as they had worsened and so there were nights that went to bed and did not want to fall asleep. So I would stare at the clock, at the light, and tell myself that I was safe.
That's when it happened. One night, as I was staring at the clock, probably repeating one of the many mantras I had made-up to keep me safe, the light began to. . . fade.
As I stared at the clock, it was becoming dimmer the longer I focused on it. Less of the room seemed to be lit by it and I felt an ominous feeling as it progressed, moving closer towards black.
Let's keep in mind this was NOT a battery operated clock. It plugged into the wall and the bulb was not a dimmer bulb but the standard 15 watt nightlight bulb of our youth.
So it shouldn't have been able to dim. Yet it did.
And my eyes, as all of our eyes do in the dark, should have adjusted in the opposite direction. By nature, it gets easier to see the longer we are in the dark but in this case, the room itself, like the light, grew darker, disappearing as I watched.
At some point I'd close my eyes and bury my head under the pillow and, eventually, I would fall asleep.
It did not happen every night. even nights where I stared at the light like any other, it would sometimes stay bright. There was no rhyme or reason to it but one thing that was consistent was, when it happened, I'd always have a nightmare that night. In them, the heavy rusty orange drapes would move, billowing out and a deep voice, un intelligible, would speak to me from beyond the window.
I've written here before about how that all ended. A dream where the roof above my bed opened and thousands upon thousands of tiny gold, spinning "snowflakes" fell over me as I sat up in bed. I woke, still able to feel them falling on my skin, like tiny pine needles pinching at my entire upper body. I never had another nightmare in that room again afterwards. Not one.
To this day, when I think of that dream, or of the gold snowflakes in particular, I can conjure one right in front of my face. Spinning and hovering about six inches away. I have, since those days, taken it as a sign I was "protected" somehow.
I still do.
Next time: The nosebleeds . . . and the apartment building and it's darkest corners
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Lost Seasons
Here it is the first eek of October and I have barely been able to find time to create an "seasonal" work for the shops. Even pieces I already had designed, like the Mini Halloween Tombstones below which debuted last year, have taken a back seat this year.
I am not sure how I feel about this. . . it is beginning to feel a bit like a lost season in some ways. . . Halloween and Christmas/Winter are my two favorite times of year to create specifically for but I continue to find myself bound by custom work and requests. . . as well as my own ever-expanding range of ideas. Oh it's a sweet dilemma to have . . . that's for sure! :)
Today is the first time in weeks I have the entire day to do as I wish. . . and I am going to focus on new items and not worry so much about the holidays. I have four very specific things I wish to create that I am focused on.
One is a series of 6x6 Fantasy Wall Hangings/Shadow Boxes (ok I know I need to come up with something a little more easy on the tongue there) I have an entire series in mind but am about 40% thru the first iteration: An Elf sleeping under a large tree, a Dutch windmill scene in the background and tulips, spell books and other miniature delights all around him. (Pictures soon I promise!)
Two: I am creating little 3" x 6" Fortune Tellers like the old arcade versions you'd plunk a quarter into to receive your fortune. This will feature the Upper body arms and hands of the fortune teller herself, tiny cards, crystal ball and more. . . all displayed in a bamboo shadow box display as well.
Three: Reviving my series of Grumpus figurines. There are plant/terrarium dwelling creatures with huge feet and noses (they are in fact, mostly head hands and feet!) and very grumpy looking expressions. I am shrinking them in scale so that they better fit all houseplant environments..So these will be about 3" tall or half the size ofmy older ones.
Four: A new series of pearlescent fairy houses called "The Fairy Houses of Giddings Hill" with half stone facades, dark rooftops and lots of lovely accents. . . .
And last, after actually following though with my blog (for the most part) the month of September I am going to take that exercise of writing a 10 minute blog each day ( I manages 23 posts in September I believe!) and apply it to an idea that I know, if I do not make time for, I will deeply regret and likely never get started on if I wait for the "perfect time" and that is to begin constructing the fantasy book/novella I have been compiling ideas for for the last year. No working title yet but lots of bits and pieces. So, ten minutes a day writing/fleshing out ideas/drawings etc etc. I'll use this blog as a way to stay focused by posting snippets, maps and images and chapters on occasion. ALL feedback will be greatly appreciated. As with anything I have created, it begins with a selfish desire to simply make it happen and bring it into the world. I have no attachment to what happens beyond that. I'll self publish it I am sure, at first, Maybe even self bind a few dozen special editions of it when it is completed. . . .we'll see.
Thank you to all of you who read some of the September posts and those dear friends who commented here and there!
The rest of the year looks busy . . . if not with holiday delights then with new ideas and continued growth in my own form and paracosm of expresion. :)
Have a lovely Autumn (or Spring if you're "down under") weekend!
nicolas
 |
| OK, NEXT year I am going to ROCK these! |
 |
| Just created this pair for a customer! Love the Ghoul Hands! |
 |
| This one began the entire series last year. Back in 2002 I had made many of these, in full size, for a Halloween Yard display which many tiny kids were too scared to walk thru to get their candy! So when they DID brave the walk, they got handsomely rewarded for their efforts in candy! mwahahahahaaha |
I am not sure how I feel about this. . . it is beginning to feel a bit like a lost season in some ways. . . Halloween and Christmas/Winter are my two favorite times of year to create specifically for but I continue to find myself bound by custom work and requests. . . as well as my own ever-expanding range of ideas. Oh it's a sweet dilemma to have . . . that's for sure! :)
Today is the first time in weeks I have the entire day to do as I wish. . . and I am going to focus on new items and not worry so much about the holidays. I have four very specific things I wish to create that I am focused on.
One is a series of 6x6 Fantasy Wall Hangings/Shadow Boxes (ok I know I need to come up with something a little more easy on the tongue there) I have an entire series in mind but am about 40% thru the first iteration: An Elf sleeping under a large tree, a Dutch windmill scene in the background and tulips, spell books and other miniature delights all around him. (Pictures soon I promise!)
Two: I am creating little 3" x 6" Fortune Tellers like the old arcade versions you'd plunk a quarter into to receive your fortune. This will feature the Upper body arms and hands of the fortune teller herself, tiny cards, crystal ball and more. . . all displayed in a bamboo shadow box display as well.
Three: Reviving my series of Grumpus figurines. There are plant/terrarium dwelling creatures with huge feet and noses (they are in fact, mostly head hands and feet!) and very grumpy looking expressions. I am shrinking them in scale so that they better fit all houseplant environments..So these will be about 3" tall or half the size ofmy older ones.
Four: A new series of pearlescent fairy houses called "The Fairy Houses of Giddings Hill" with half stone facades, dark rooftops and lots of lovely accents. . . .
And last, after actually following though with my blog (for the most part) the month of September I am going to take that exercise of writing a 10 minute blog each day ( I manages 23 posts in September I believe!) and apply it to an idea that I know, if I do not make time for, I will deeply regret and likely never get started on if I wait for the "perfect time" and that is to begin constructing the fantasy book/novella I have been compiling ideas for for the last year. No working title yet but lots of bits and pieces. So, ten minutes a day writing/fleshing out ideas/drawings etc etc. I'll use this blog as a way to stay focused by posting snippets, maps and images and chapters on occasion. ALL feedback will be greatly appreciated. As with anything I have created, it begins with a selfish desire to simply make it happen and bring it into the world. I have no attachment to what happens beyond that. I'll self publish it I am sure, at first, Maybe even self bind a few dozen special editions of it when it is completed. . . .we'll see.
Thank you to all of you who read some of the September posts and those dear friends who commented here and there!
The rest of the year looks busy . . . if not with holiday delights then with new ideas and continued growth in my own form and paracosm of expresion. :)
Have a lovely Autumn (or Spring if you're "down under") weekend!
nicolas
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