I imagine dead people (and zombies, and aliens...)
My imagination is good — too good. I’ve known it since I was a kid, and I realized it once again last night as I laid in bed, trying to fall asleep.
On most nights I lay awake under the covers because my mind can’t stop working. It’s like a runaway freight train rumbling down a straight stretch of track. It may not be Casey Jones in the lead engine, but the engineer has definitely been snorting away at an eight ball, and might be passed out on the floor. My brain charges through anything and everything that pops into the forefront of my consciousness. I wish and wonder, dream and fanaticize; I try to work through writers block and generate new story ideas. I love sleeping, but on most nights it’s almost impossible for me to fall asleep for another hour after lying down.
But last night was different.
During the day I got lost on Wikipedia, as is my custom when I have down time at work. I don’t remember the exact chain of links, or what I was reading, but I stumbled on the entry for the Bell Witch.
Ever since I was a kid I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the unknown. “Love/hate” is too strong, but the term fits the juxtaposition of my feelings. Whether it’s poltergeists, the Loc Ness Monster, or UFO sightings, I’m very intrigued and interested. I like watching shows on the History Channel about Big Foot, conspiracy theories, and all things paranormal. I love “Unsolved Mysteries” episodes about ghost tales and alien abductions. A few weeks ago I watched a show about close encounters in the 1970s (the ‘70s are unparalleled when it comes to baffling and mysterious events). But the fact is, even though the unexplained may capture my attention during the daylight, it scares the shit out of me when the lights go out.
While reading or watching stories of unsolved reports, my imagination soaks in the images and details. During the day I forget about what I read and saw, but at night, as soon as I turn off the lights and pull the bed sheets over my shoulders, my mind uncovers the particulars, as if to say, “Going to go to bed, huh? Oh. Look what we have here.” The haunting eyewitness accounts race into my consciousness once again. My ears become hypersensitive, scrutinizing every sound, and I don’t dare shut my eyes for fear something will materialize. I suppose it’s one of the unconscious reasons I prefer to have my bed in the corner. That way I can survey my entire room without having to worry about what’s behind me. And like hell I’m going to roll over on my other side and forfeit my position.
After reading the Bell Witch page I was a little spooked. But as the minutes passed the information descended into the deep storage of my mind, like the catacombs of Paris, where little used, obscure knowledge is shelved (a fitting simile, since it’s where my French is collecting dust). I drove home, ate, read, wrote. Ready for bed, I turned off my lamp and crawled under the covers. As soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind was filled with the eerie legend of the Bell Witch.
I rolled over and laid on my right side, keeping my eyes peeled for anything strange. My pupils adjusted and I could see everything in the faint light. Despite having the best vantage point, and my eyes roving the messy landscape of my room, the near darkness became the stage for my imagination’s twisted and horrific fantasies.
The thing that gets me — the reason why my imagination can run wild and paralyze me with the mysterious and unexplained — is I’m not a skeptic. Certain claims and stories may be over the top, and there are some things I am weary of believing. But for the most part I like believing in the unknown. Something inside me (maybe the sucker in me) can’t dismiss the paranormal; I’m not willing to accept that humans have discovered and explained all there is. The world we live in is a very unique place, and I’m sure there are many things we won’t ever understand or even recognize. To me it’s both cool and freaky.
To get my mind off the series of events surrounding the Bell Witch, I used my imagination against itself. I tried changing its focus by thinking of something else, but it didn’t work. Like a conversation I can hear behind me while talking to someone else, the frightening accounts of the Bell family stayed on my mind, dominating any other interesting brain waves I could conjure. It was useless, and I watched minutes pass on my clock radio.
I let the haunting go on unchallenged until my mind was too tired to scare me, when the runaway train of my imagination had begun a long, uphill climb, slowing its speed. Before then I had become brave enough to close my eyes, and relied on my heightened hearing to alert me of anything odd in my room. Finally, despite moving my arms and legs to augment my position in bed, I had to roll over on my left side to find comfort. I had turned my back to my room and my imagination, and that’s about when I fell asleep.
It must have been around 2 am, three hours after I went to bed.
On most nights I lay awake under the covers because my mind can’t stop working. It’s like a runaway freight train rumbling down a straight stretch of track. It may not be Casey Jones in the lead engine, but the engineer has definitely been snorting away at an eight ball, and might be passed out on the floor. My brain charges through anything and everything that pops into the forefront of my consciousness. I wish and wonder, dream and fanaticize; I try to work through writers block and generate new story ideas. I love sleeping, but on most nights it’s almost impossible for me to fall asleep for another hour after lying down.
But last night was different.
During the day I got lost on Wikipedia, as is my custom when I have down time at work. I don’t remember the exact chain of links, or what I was reading, but I stumbled on the entry for the Bell Witch.
Ever since I was a kid I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the unknown. “Love/hate” is too strong, but the term fits the juxtaposition of my feelings. Whether it’s poltergeists, the Loc Ness Monster, or UFO sightings, I’m very intrigued and interested. I like watching shows on the History Channel about Big Foot, conspiracy theories, and all things paranormal. I love “Unsolved Mysteries” episodes about ghost tales and alien abductions. A few weeks ago I watched a show about close encounters in the 1970s (the ‘70s are unparalleled when it comes to baffling and mysterious events). But the fact is, even though the unexplained may capture my attention during the daylight, it scares the shit out of me when the lights go out.
While reading or watching stories of unsolved reports, my imagination soaks in the images and details. During the day I forget about what I read and saw, but at night, as soon as I turn off the lights and pull the bed sheets over my shoulders, my mind uncovers the particulars, as if to say, “Going to go to bed, huh? Oh. Look what we have here.” The haunting eyewitness accounts race into my consciousness once again. My ears become hypersensitive, scrutinizing every sound, and I don’t dare shut my eyes for fear something will materialize. I suppose it’s one of the unconscious reasons I prefer to have my bed in the corner. That way I can survey my entire room without having to worry about what’s behind me. And like hell I’m going to roll over on my other side and forfeit my position.
After reading the Bell Witch page I was a little spooked. But as the minutes passed the information descended into the deep storage of my mind, like the catacombs of Paris, where little used, obscure knowledge is shelved (a fitting simile, since it’s where my French is collecting dust). I drove home, ate, read, wrote. Ready for bed, I turned off my lamp and crawled under the covers. As soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind was filled with the eerie legend of the Bell Witch.
I rolled over and laid on my right side, keeping my eyes peeled for anything strange. My pupils adjusted and I could see everything in the faint light. Despite having the best vantage point, and my eyes roving the messy landscape of my room, the near darkness became the stage for my imagination’s twisted and horrific fantasies.
The thing that gets me — the reason why my imagination can run wild and paralyze me with the mysterious and unexplained — is I’m not a skeptic. Certain claims and stories may be over the top, and there are some things I am weary of believing. But for the most part I like believing in the unknown. Something inside me (maybe the sucker in me) can’t dismiss the paranormal; I’m not willing to accept that humans have discovered and explained all there is. The world we live in is a very unique place, and I’m sure there are many things we won’t ever understand or even recognize. To me it’s both cool and freaky.
To get my mind off the series of events surrounding the Bell Witch, I used my imagination against itself. I tried changing its focus by thinking of something else, but it didn’t work. Like a conversation I can hear behind me while talking to someone else, the frightening accounts of the Bell family stayed on my mind, dominating any other interesting brain waves I could conjure. It was useless, and I watched minutes pass on my clock radio.
I let the haunting go on unchallenged until my mind was too tired to scare me, when the runaway train of my imagination had begun a long, uphill climb, slowing its speed. Before then I had become brave enough to close my eyes, and relied on my heightened hearing to alert me of anything odd in my room. Finally, despite moving my arms and legs to augment my position in bed, I had to roll over on my left side to find comfort. I had turned my back to my room and my imagination, and that’s about when I fell asleep.
It must have been around 2 am, three hours after I went to bed.
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