I celebrated my birthday on March 25th and I had a rough idea that I had reached the exalted age of 35. My parents were not into birth certificates. After ten years of analysis and almost that much time with hypnosis I have reconstructed my early life with my parents. I have concluded that they were human evil. I knew them before in other lives. Even 4,000 years ago they were deceitful lizards!
Another thing I learned was that when they killed and cooked up my brothers and sisters I was allowed to be the butcher and then share in the feast.
I think I was four or five years old then. We laughed so much during meals after that it was hard to chew and eat. Now I can forgive myself of all that. Another thing I forgive myself of was the death of my parents.
We traveled in a van all over the country. My mother would pick up my arm or leg and smell it or lick it and say, “Jumpin Jack would taste bad. We know how bad he’d taste.”
I tried not to show I was afraid, but I was. Fear builds up in a person when terror goes on for a while. I was rather helpless as a little guy. While they were big, and thought death was the greatest game, I was a little boy and wondering if I would survive.
I was so scared that one night in an abandoned house I poured gas out downstairs. They were very drunk upstairs. They were upstairs with maybe 10 other men and women. I think we had eaten a grown up girl for supper, before they all got so drunk. I was the last of the small children, now they were cookin up people their size. I would be easier.
I had the feeling it was eventually them or me. I was seven or eight. I knew what gasoline would do so I poured it all around downstairs. Especially I put it on the steps, all up and down the steps, because the windows were too high to jump out of. After they passed out, or were too tired of screwing, everything got quite upstairs. No one ever checked on me. I could find a place sleep or not. The last thing I heard before the fire was one of them urinating out the window. If he had walked downstairs to the john I would have been caught, and no doubt been the main course at supper the next night.
I lit the match and the fire raced around the room like a little jogger my age wearing red shorts and a black head band. He was one of my brothers. He was part of me then because I had eaten him. I can remember exactly how he looked, but the headband turned yellow, and his attitude was gleeful. An the demons upstairs didn’t roast quietly in their drunken sleep. Two with horns extended, tried to run down the stairs, but the stairs were all fire and below them was a pit of fire. I knew that the two on the steps were not my mother and father. You have to hear the shrillness of a demons scream as he or she burns, nothing in sound is like the ‘crisping’ of demons. Old trees sort of explode in little blasts as they burn, demons make louder noises as their bones burst.
My parents had some powers so I hid behind a tree in the yard and watched them. I thought they could not fly, but I was not sure. When I looked at the window a 2nd time they were gone. This was a house way out and no fire truck ever came. The fire ragged all night. I saw no one come out, but I thought they could be hiding in the basement or up in the trees. Once before when we had another van my father was happy and drunk and ran into another car. All three of us were bleeding. We were on a dirt road maybe in Texas or Nevada (that’s where the house could have been also). So mother picks up some sand and rubs into the cuts on my arms and head. Then she rubbed it on father and herself. I felt better all at once then I had before the wreck.
We sang as we walked away, “Three bottles of beer on the bar,” so they had powers, but evidently not against fires. At dawn I fell asleep on the ground by the tree. It must have been noon or after when I was eating oreo cookies from the van when this very old truck pulled into the yard. A very old man got out, but he was a good man He was the type that my parents would not like to be around. It was his electronic talking machine and his hole in the neck that was the trigger that helped me remember my past. I saw someone else with that device.
What I had remembered was that my parents abandoned me near an orphanage. They were always leaving me somewhere awhile, and then finding me.
After the fire I got a new orphanage. Somehow people in a foster home thought I was from California so I went there from Texas, and then I was like the bouncing ball from state to state.
All the places asked me questions about uncles or grandparents. They wanted to take me to my kinfolks. The last thing I wanted to find were the parents of my parents. I told one social worker, “They’re most likely in Hell.”
She said, “You have a very poor attitude young man.”
At the foster homes and orphanages I knew things about the people around me that they didn’t know about me. Even as a child under ten I had powers. Everything that went wrong with me I tried to figure out who didn’t like me.
Little did I know that I knew things and others knew nothing. When Sharon the night house-mother at one home was screwing the male teacher, I knew it and which closet.
I did not like television as a young child. People watched it instead of loving me. At age 9 I could be in another room and cause the TV never to work again. There is life without television. Until I left a place they had to take us to movies. Sometimes I would allow those to go on, if I liked the story.
I had this tendency toward doing evil things, selfish little me. Also if your smarter than your dog or your cow you often feel a fool if you let your animal control you. I could distract my keepers. There was a fancy dressed woman who was the home manager. She got paid much more than anyone who changed the bed sheets — and in the homes the little kids ALL wet the beds about every night! The smell is horrible in ALL the places I was ever in. The kids are scared, or stupid, and urinate like water spickets.
So this fancy dressed woman came, and walked around looking at everyone, critical, and said things like, “Discipline them more!” or “Keep their allowances this week, and they will be more careful with the playground equipment.” Our allowance was 50 cents, when they remembered it. She also was trying to get the kid who was tearing up the TV. She hated us. Back then I had developed two major tricks, other things I often tried and they either failed or turned out wrong. One trick was to make people itch.
The witch woman with long painted fingernails was Mrs. Carmichel, and she wore high-heeled shoes and very red lipstick. When she would come and leave she would shout, “I love you children!”
We were supposed to shout back all at once, “We love you Mrs. Carmichel.” The unit keepers would say it to. But the bitch didn’t love us. In her mind we were her big ‘paycheck’. So when she came in our door and we had to say it, I would give her hives on both her big breasts. The first time she went running into the staff bathroom. She was in there for about half an hour –scratching and crying. She had big old fat tits. And when she didn’t come right out of the bathroom and go away I put the rash on her neck and face. Thats when we heard her scream. She went screaming out of the house. I was standing in the play yard near her Buick when she came running out to it. I said as she was fumbling with her keys, “We love you Mrs. Carmichel.”
She said, “shut-up!” She crunched her gears good as she went down the road. It was a long way out in the country to find a doctor.
She didn’t come back when I was there for about 3 weeks. She might have been there while we (the children) were in school. But then on Sunday she came to lunch. It was fried chicken, and our keepers were going to drive us out to the lake, but then she called and was coming over with some people. I loved the warm water of the lake, but she ruined that.
She came with her husband a small mousey man, who weighed at least 50 pounds less than her. He was also shorter than all the home workers. I could imagine her pulling him around by his ear. I know she had done that, how I know such things is beyond me.
Also with her was a Rev. in his white-collar. I gave the most loved manager of the house, in her Sunday red dress, and matching high heels an all over itch right in the middle of the prayer when she was saying, “Let us eat this meal knowing that all good things come from Jesus Christ and He blesses..” Well then she screamed. Everyone opened their eyes and saw the welts come out on her face and she stopped in mid sentence and ran for the bathroom. We could hear her howling on the other side of the door. Her husband and the Rev. just finished a bunch of chicken. Some of the smaller children laughed about the noise, but the rest of us said nothing.
I guess she thought there was something around the house that bit her because she sent the experimenter out to spray the place. The last time I ever saw her was sitting in her car outside talking to a new employee. I guess she was afraid to get out of her car. it must have been a month after that Sunday dinner. As soon as I saw her I gave her the itch right in her car. this time she drove away screaming, all I could hear was “Hells bells!” She didn’t even keep the Buick on the right part of the road as she drove off.
The other trick I used as a child was the ‘Flame in the hand’ trick. I don’t know really when I first used it, and like so many other things I just ‘knew’ I could do it. I could make a fire burn or go out in the palm of my hand at will. It never burned me, and enough of the children ‘told’ at each place I was placed that I was labeled by various foster parents or shelter keepers as Jack the Pyro. Now I was a pyro, but the stuff about killing my parents was not in my mind. In the shelters I believed, really, that my parents had just abandoned me again. I remembered enough about them to think it was a good, very good idea for me that they had gone away. I also thought they had killed my brothers and sisters, but I thought my parents were alive. I had trouble thinking of a name for each of my parents, because they used so many in our travels. They had new names for every town. Mostly back then I was called Jack, but not just Jack.
I gradually knew more and more about my powers. I’ve probably always had many powers, but until the knowledge of how to use something it’s not too important that you have it. There was no one around to discuss my talents with. When I could read I found books about magic and extra sensory perception.
Whenever I did something bad I tried to make it up with something good. Once in a movie there was a man by himself who was breathing loud, like someone snoring. As children we had to sit together where the staff told us. I was tired of giving people the itch. I was afraid someone would guess I could do it. So it was a mistake, but I used the same side or part of my brain that started people itching to concentrate on the noise of his breathing. Well it stopped, the heavy breathing stopped. When I looked around after the movie had gone on just a little more, there were people in white uniforms putting the man on a pallet. He was dead.
To make up for the bad I had done in the theatre, I did another horrible thing, which scared me so bad I could hardly talk for several days, I was so distracted
All the kids were taken to the funeral of Mrs Kruger. She was an old lady who lived near the home and came in Wednesdays to show us how to do needlecraft and crafts. She was 95, but didn’t look more than 70. I knew nothing about funerals, I had never been to one before. All I knew was that in the coffin was the nice woman who helped me learn to sew little ducks on my shirts. She hugged and kissed us more than any of the other workers. It was not the hug of a Mrs. Carmichel, where she hugged us but thought of how much money each of us meant to her. Miss Kruger loved us, and wanted us to each be her little child.
Well all the children were crying. We could all see Miss Krunger she was dead as a doornail and as still and lifeless as a dog hit by a big truck, but she had a bunch of makeup on and her go-to-church yellow dress. She really looked good for someone that old that had died of heart failure.
I don’t think Miss Kruger had any close family so all that were there were the kids and workers from the safe-house unit where I lived and the funeral people and the minister. So in my mind I would try to do a good deed. I had made the old man in the theater quit breathing when I only wanted him to not be so loud. The preacher said, “She was the most loved person in all of Sheppard (that was the rural part of Texas where we lived) He was concluding his statements when I did my head thing that usually made people itch or quit breathing, but this time i looked right in that casket and told Miss Kruger in my mind to, “Get up and go about your life.”
She got up and climbed out of the casket. It was noisy, her doing it. The casket turned over as she got out. I guess caskets need little steps like trailer houses do, so that people who are getting out, can get out safely. Well the whole casket turned on its side, as she got to her feet. She knocked over some flowers. I think that the funeral home has some flowers that are potted for those that don’t have any normally.
She climbed out, and I saw the minister clutching his heart. He slumped back into a chair that was near him. Thank God.
Well Miss Kruger came right up to our group of workers and kids and said, “Sorry I missed last Wednesday children. I will teach you to sew little horses on your pants next time we meet. I love every one of you.” She just made that announcement, and then left. I guess to go home and fix herself dinner. As she walked out of the First Presbyterian Church I noticed that someone had cut the back of her nice dress, all down the backside, and she was naked on her rear side. Well she knew how to fix that at home.
Well what I did was a big mistake, again like the movie thing. The Kruger getting up caused a tremendous stir. Five psychologists came to our home the next day. We didn’t go to school and they kept asking us what we saw. I didn’t tell them what I saw, but almost everyone who was there saw the same thing. We saw Miss Kruger get up and walk out of the room. We all knew it was her, she talked like herself, and was coming to see us again Wednesday.
They questioned us all morning and then gave us ice cream and real coke, all we wanted, and it wasn’t watered down, like usual. I liked the really strong taste of regular coke, where it burns your throat a little bit. That’s the best! Only an orphanage can make you enjoy little things like that.
So in the afternoon after hot dogs and more coke, there was this blond psychologist, real pretty like a TV mother, if any of us could have picked an ideal mother we would have like that one. She was like a story-teller. She said , “There was a real wonderful woman named Miss Kruger who died. She was an old, old lady who died of old age. She had been dead for almost five days.” Then she said, “I hate to have to tell you things that are done to dead people, but I have to explain this to you so we can all understand what happened yesterday, and then forget it.”
The details were, as she told it, “Funeral people have to drain out all the blood from a dead person. You can’t get up and be alive without blood. Also so that doctors could know exactly why someone dies they cut up the insides of a person, and the person is totally dead, and doesn’t feel anything. And when the doctors put the organs back in they don’t do it right, just stick them in any old way — because now it won’t matter.”
She hesitated and looked for hands, like teachers did in school, and then said, “So children Miss Kruger, the nice lady who came here on Wednesdays was dead all day yesterday and she is dead today.
I said, “If she is really dead how did she walk out of the church, and tell us she would be here Wednesday to sew horses on our pants?”
“It was some sort of trick.” the blond psychologist said.
“So your saying the woman who looked dead all during the service and we thought was Miss Kruger was really not her? I said.
“Exactly, you’re a smart little boy. Someone else was acting like she was Miss Kruger.”
“Why would someone do that to us.” a little girl named Letty said, I say she was little because she was 2 years younger than me.
“We don’t know why someone would do that to all of you. It was a terrible scary thing. Right now the police have a suspect in the jail. They think it was the woman who left here dressed as the dead woman.”
“I think she was like Jesus” Letty said, “We all cried and she came back from the dead.” All the other children agreed. “Just like Jesus”, several of them said, “It’s nothing like that, ” one of the male psychologists said.
“You’re a fat liar!” Lettie shouted at the big boy. He was really fat, and had a wart on his nose, “She was just like Jesus”. Letty was always calling people liars, but the psychologists were upset by being labeled like that.
First they transferred or fired the staff at the home, then we were transferred away to other places. I was not there the next Wednesday to see if Miss Kruger came. I’ll bet she never missed, even if were all gone. Now that I think about it, what could they hold her in jail for? Is it a crime to get out of your coffin to help kids sew horses on their pants? No she comes to that abandoned home to sew every week, without blood or organs in the right places.
When I was 12 I lived with a foster family in Winnie California. the families last name was Gastomie. We went to this Holy Roller Church where they look for signs. So when someone got an itch they said it was a sign from God.
That year I was in the 6th grade and it was very boring. I did lots of reading, but my grades were not high. I would not complete the crazy projects to build a Revolutionary War Fort.
The most interesting thing about my life with the Gastromie family was their church. It was a very spiritual place. the brand of church was Pentecostal. When yo went into the church there were people, and spirits of people in there. Good and evil were both in there in each person, and in the church as a group. It was like everywhere but not so much on the surface. When the service was going people would dance, or have convulsions. They would speak in tongues, many they didn’t understand. Sometimes I understood what they said and it was far from Holy.
So skipping over other schools and college I found myself age 35 and by some stroke of luck i had not been nailed up to a tree, or phone pole. I traveled around a lot staying in hotels, or renting lake side cottages. There were books written about me and numerous pictures of me in tabloids. I was the greatest thing the tabloids had since aliens from Mars, or a human baby born to an elephant. The tabloids were exactly correct that I could do miracles, and also I could do things to my looks.
At 35 I looked 20. My identity card said 19 and I had in large print UNDER AGE across it. When I rented cottages the landlord often asked about my parents. I always said, “I’m an orphan.” That usually stopped that line of inquiry, but they always warned me about loud music.
I would often move near colleges and register in religion courses. It was enlightenment that I would see in the discussions in these courses. I also sought out the CoEds in my classes. Young women who were looking for a blast of spiritual light were looking for me. they were always my undoing and caused me to move on. I lost something ethical about women over the years, and I could make them pursue me. They would be compelled to offer themselves to me.
God had never spoken to me. I prayed a lot, and I expected some word or words to reach me. Some said ‘God is everyone’s father’, but I had gifts, not everyone has gifts.
I was always reading books, and listening to great thinkers. IN my classes professors were amazed by my depth of reading. They thought I was a 19-year-old boy. One spring and summer I was at Union College in Clearwater Florida, classified as a graduate student teacher. On my first day of class in my assigned Comparative Religions we had a discussion of “Good and God”.
Before the class I had a vision of it that included a freshman student named Held Clarion, long legs, and wavy dirty blond hair. It really isn’t fair that I knew she was practically slobbering to get at me. It distracted my focus on God, but based on my urges I was thinking maybe God didn’t mean for some of us to be celebrate.
I wrote my address on the board and said we could have discussion groups on Tuesday nights there. It was Monday and i figured she would be there at the door when I got home.
The on topic speech or argument was brought forth by another student named Sammy Fellows. He said, “I think evil has good in it. God has to allow evil or badness so we will understand what is really good. If there was no robbery, murder, or adultery then crimes and sin would be on the order of talking in church, or jaywalking.”
A girl with glasses and fat arms and legs named Soyeta said, “god has nothing to do with sin. He made us good, and we deviate.”
“How do you know about God?” I asked Soyeta.
“It’s just how I see Him.”
“Maybe God made us to be evil and we deviate by trying to do good things. There is more evil than good in the world.” Sammy said.
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Please comment here, or write me with suggestions at rcates2@cox.net or fax me at: 1-352-629-1573
Other stories about this same character can be found at:
http://goconstitution.wordpress.com
http://youngdevil.wordpress.com
http://jacktricks.wordpress.com
http://jesusjack.wordpress.com
Another off the topic story with links to other stories by the same author is found at: http://unsightlyteeth.wordpress.com
To write the author the address is: 2505 NW Magnolia Ave. Ocala, Florida 34475
Some other stories are: http://veryweird.wordpress.com
