A LIFE YOU COULD ONLY NIGHMARE OF

When I was a toddler, aged about two, a woman took me to a club. There was a piano and lots of men, drinking. The woman was a bottle blonde and wore a white, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse with a dirndle skirt. I sat on her knee at the piano; I was dressed in a white, frilly dress and frilly socks and shoes with a strap.. The men, who were of all ages, raised a toast. I remember one young man clearly. I believe I’ve seen him since. He was quite young and he wore an Austrian hat with a feather. Someone was taking photographs..

  1. The next thing I remember I was in a dark room, loving arms were taking me from a big bed and wrapping me in a blanket. It was my mother. She took me quietly out of the room to the dark landing. As she reached the top of the stairs a toilet flushed and a door opened. Light flooded out. My mother turned. A silhouetted form rushed towards us from the toilet! It made an awful screeching sound! The face was so black and contorted as to be unrecognisable as human!. Everything was happening in slow motion. The form was across the six-foot or so landing in a split second, before my mother could even turn. I felt big hands push hard on my back! The hands reached from my waist to my shoulder! My mother fell backwards down the stairs, She held on to me, holding me up as she shuddered down the stairs on her back. I felt as if I was flying through the air. We passed a small child, a girl I think, wearing a coat with a velvet collar and brown leather shoes with a strap. Through the bannister rails I  saw a room with a table and chairs, linoleum floor. There was a man in a vest and trousers, belted. He was standing at a doorway across the room, diagonally from the bottom of the stairs. He had very dark hair, and was holding an empty, clear, glass bottle in one hand and a tea-towel in the other He was frozen into position, staring at me and my mother. Mother’s long, red hair had come down from its chignon and caught in the bannister railings, slowing her fall for a few seconds before the sound of ripping flesh was heard as the whole side of her scalp ripped away from her skull and she slipped the rest of the short way down.

The next thing I remember I was in a large hall with a stage at one end. The room was full of men and women, boys and girls – all ages. They all had distorted expressions of rage and hatred, but above all excitement and malice. The air was thick with smoke and expectations. The baying of the crowd was chilling.

There was a clear area of several feet before the stage, then there were tables and chairs. Most of the crowd were at the tables, smoking and drinking and crying out for blood..  I was standing near the stage with it on my right. The woman who’d taken me there was standing with me.

On the stage were a man and a woman. The woman was dressed in a sort of Grecian dress, white and draped. She was standing to the rear and the left of the stage from my perspective. Her hands were tied up behind her back and her head was hanging down. She had ragged short hair. The man on the stage had a big sword. He was shouting and the crowd were getting more rowdy, they started throwing things, like glasses and ashtrays, at the woman on the stage. Suddenly the man spoke and then swung the sword at the woman’s neck!

She collapsed in a heap as her head was severed. The decapitated head flew straight towards me like a ball. There was a piece of flesh flapping as it travelled through the air. I caught it in my hands! Only then did I recognise it as my mother’s head. I sat holding on to it on the floor, silently rocking”

Jack’s eyes were black with emotion, her face pale beneath the freckles.

“I am sixty now but I remember it all as clear as day. As a child I just accepted what I was told by the blonde/black/green/ginger woman who claimed to be my mother. I never believed she was my mother but, somewhere around the age of nine or ten, I gradually let it go. It slumbered, only showing itself in what I thought to be irrational fears and what I now recognise as flashbacks.

With an informed, adult eye the whole thing becomes plain… abuse! And the horror didn’t stop there…”

About Carole Anne Rogers

I have opinions and like to share them. My views are my own. I am a visionary artist. a musician, writer, a philosopher and a poet. Our band can be found here: www.soundcloud.com/criminal-suicide-limited www.wordpress.com/caroleannejones @CARogersNo1 @CriminalSuicide caroleannerogers111@gmail.com
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