Moriah Trotter
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I Have Always Been Afraid of Werewolves
I have always been afraid of werewolves. I also know why they terrify me even in adulthood. To explain this, I will have to return to the beginning of the war inside my own body. Running through my small townhouse, pure dread coursing through my veins and tears pouring down my flush cheeks. BANG BANG BANG over and overcoming from the place beneath the stairs. The flimsy board placed in the threshold shook violently. I know it will not hold much longer. I run as fast as I can, using every ounce of strength I have to place as many heavy things against the second obstetrical this beast will have to face. My muscles spasm and constrict the adrenaline and fear mixed together has my mind swimming in fog. Collaborating to create what is me in every cell knows it's imperative; I have to block the door. BANG BANG BANG! The creature throws itself into the door, attempting to break it down. The tears fell like rain, blotching my shirt with liquid fear. I call my parents, hoping they will help me while running up the creaky basement stairs. The old carpet was dusty, and my skin crawled as I sprinted into my living room. I swung around and locked the basement door. It is not a great lock, but all I know is the little obstacles add up. This gave me time to run, hide, and maybe get away to safety. BANG, I place a chair against the door. Going into the kitchen, I open the drawer under our microwave. BANG desperate and shaking, I dig through the drawer. Finally, my fingers brush over the roll of duct tape. I grasp the roll and take off for my bedroom. I would be safe then; he can't get in again. Halfway up the stairs, my parents stopped me at the landing. They can tell I have been in hysterics and try to understand… they say they want to understand. Staring into my father's blue sky eyes as he stands a few steps down from me. Then to my mother, standing on the other side of the banister by the front door. Hesitant, I ask if they are sure they want to know? BANG, the basement door flies open, my stomach sinks. " There's a monster in the house, and it's here right now," I scream hysterically. Despite my protest, they turned around. This monstrosity moved fast, almost unnoticeable… "nothing is their kiddo," my dad says, concerned still. The level of terror I was in grew when he said this. At that moment, I felt totally alone. It was only me and this monster. I can't let it in; it cant be inside me, and keeping it out is my mantra at the moment. Taping my clothes to my body as fast as I can. The growing concern for my mental well-being is growing in my parent's eyes. I continue to tape every possible part of my body to keep the evil out. This thing stops….behind my mother. It should not be possible to have so many tears in my own body, yet they flow ever harder with utter despair and defeat. It is disgusting enough to make my knees quake and my stomach churn. Taping even faster to cover every inch of myself in the closest thing to armor I had. "what are you doing, honey?" my parents exclaim! This beast was solid black. Blacker than black, even with greasy slicked back fur. Its horrid eyes held my gaze and locked me in place. Eyes that looked more like a man's than a beast, a pale & putrid color. Then, it did something so horrid it disturbed me to my core. This beast waves at me, brandishing long claws like daggers. I threw up on the landing of my stairs. I taped my ears shut along with my eyes and mouth. My parents confused screams became muffled. The calm was coming, and then I felt it. The clawed hand ran down my body, starting at my face. My screams do nothing, but I just keep screaming. Then just like that, I am awake and aware it was all a dream, a horrible dream. I have a lot. In a way, I am used to them by now. This one shook me, though very deeply. I spent years of my life better understanding my own trauma and how to heal my inner child. There is never an easy way to talk about child abuse and trauma. This dream was very significant to me years after I had dreamed it. At that time, I would have been around 16 years old, and in the deepest pit of depression I have ever been in. like a stitch in time, my mind cracked and chipped away until my suppressed trauma was part of surface consciousness. I was drowning in it all and barely keeping my head above water. I wished I could just drown and be done most of the time. The support I had all around me was a blessing I didn't understand at the time. When I gave the dream a closer look, it began to make sense. This creature was my abuser; only my mind refused to truly accept who they were. So they became this creature that tormented me in my sleep. It would be too painful to face, or maybe I would get in trouble. That was a deep rooter fear. What if I get in trouble for telling. So I hid my own painful moments that should never have existed in the first place deep in my mind. When it came back, it came back with a vengeance. I had to face who this creature really was. My uncle abused me, and I hid this deep inside myself. This creature in my dreams looked in a way like him too. Dark hair slicked back and hairy in general. I just wanted it to stop. I endured my body being invaded for 4 years, from 5 to 9 years old, and then it just stopped. It took me 5 more years before I told another person about this traumatic time in my life. In the 4 years after, I had a normal...even good relationship with him. I would tell myself to shove the bad things into the deepest parts of my mind. This led to us having a good relationship, and everyone was none the wiser. The shame I wore draped across my heart grew heavier each day. The weight grew over the years until my mid-twenties. This was when I learned how to truly forgive someone. My uncle died when I was 14. I cried so much the day I found out. I was despondent for losing him. Many people don't understand how I could say I had good memories with a person who would sexually assault a child, specifically, who abused me. The truth is, going through trauma young. My understanding of life had been tampered with. Famieliel abuse always will cause a lasting displacement and understanding of cognitive and emotional behaviors. I learned how to care for my inner child to show her the world is breathtaking and safe to love. It took a long time to help her heal and empower her. Now I look back at the good memories, seeing a different man. He is one but also two, the uncle I loved and the uncle that became an abuser. I am no longer afraid of that creature; I know it is my uncle, the only way my mind could bear to see in that time. I was not ready mentally or emotionally to address these traumatic events. As an adult in my late 20's, I truly forgive my uncle for his transgressions. Forgiveness does not always require interaction between two people. Sometimes forgiveness is letting go and finding serenity because it will not affect you again. So, yes, I am afraid of werewolves because they look like the way my psyche portrayed him to me in a dream as a huge hairy, disgusting, drooling creature. I won't be able to ever forget its rotten toothy grin with drool pouring out of the gaps in its teeth. The way it waved as if it was taunting me. Telling me, I will never be safe. I just remind myself that I am safe, and it won't happen again. I don't dream about him anymore. My nights are calm and quiet, like before it began nothing to fear… Well, I don't fear that beast any longer. Never again will I be tormented by such a disturbing sight because my monster is dead.
By Moriah Trotter4 years ago in Psyche
The Beauty of Time
Black was the early morning sky with few specks of diamond stars that shown hardly enough to illuminate the way. So black it swallowed up every bit of gray smoke pouring out the chimney as though the roaring fire inside the humble cabin’s belly did not exist at all. As the winter wind and biting cold kicked up snow and ice outside, a man sat alone inside the four wooden walls, warmed by the flames mingling among themselves. His face was tired and deeply creased with time, as if a map of every moment of his life were displayed in the frail flesh. Now left with tired and faded gray eyes, the man’s eyes which were once glistening deep pools of blue and green, were now no longer filled with wonder. The youthful excitement in them was now gone replaced with the wisdom and heartache of age. He stroked his long bushy white beard thinking back to when his grandchildren were small when they called him Papa Christmas with such glee. They were grown now with kids of their own. They still called and wrote but he saw much less of them. He accepted this though; it’s human nature and he was proud of them. His old bones ached as he got to his feet. It was time to go. The light of day had begun to shine over the top of the mountains. If he was to get to where he needed to be, he would need to leave now. Picking up a small leather satchel, he tucked it into his coat pocket. The old man patted his pocket speaking to it as he opened the door into the bitter cold, “Okay honey, one more trip up the mountain for us just like we promised each other.” The cabin door slammed shut as the wind took hold of it while the old man and his most precious belonging made their way to keep a promise to one another.
By Moriah Trotter4 years ago in Fiction
