The Bard and Jester

Welcome Readers! Here you will find some real life experiences and musings that I'd like to share with you. So, come on in, if you have the time and I'll do my best to be entertaining... Please click on my sponsors' links!!! Established March 12, 2005.

My Photo
Name:
Location: New York, United States

I can be a clown, a poet, a fool, a romantic, a diplomat, a beast...it all depends upon the timing and circumstance.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Ghosts


ghosts
Originally uploaded by vraven.

I don't know if you believe in ghosts and the supernatural, but I'm open to the possibility. However, at the same time, I maintain a healthy skepticism because I really want to believe and, thus, I must be wary of deluding myself.

Let me tell you about an experience that helped me keep an open mind on the subject.

When I was a teen in the 80's, I was obessed with ninjas. I wanted to be a ninja more than anything else. When my dear parents gave me a ninja suit and mask one Christmas, I used it. Outdoors at night, stalking through shadowed alleys and backyards.

One night shortly after Independence Day, I decided to use my ninja outfit on "a mission" within Prospect Park. The mission: to harass drug dealers and gang members. The park had dark hills and trees...perfect for a young ninja-wannabe like myself.

So, I built a homemade bottle rocket launcher and convinced a couple of my friends to accompany me on the mission. They wore dark clothes and ski masks.

Into the park we went, making our way over a dark hill as stealthily as we could. Our destination: the ball fields at the foot of the hill. We knew that drug dealers hung out on the stone bleachers there.

My plan was for us to remain concealed in the shadows at the bottom of the hill, while I launched bottle rockets at the thugs on the bleachers. Then we'd run back up the hill to safety. After all, who'd be crazy enough to chase us up into the darkness, right?

Well, apparently someone was.

The thugs let out some suprised curses at the rockets' red glare and the bombs bursting in air. When the last bottle rocket exploded and crashed to the earth, a solitary figure detached himself from the gloom of the bleachers and came towards us.

"Holy shit," one of my friends whispered, "He must have a gun!"

We ran hard back up the hill. At the top, we stopped, panting and glancing over our shoulders, confident that the guy wouldn't come all the way up the hill.

But he did.

We ran down the other side as fast as we dared, risking a fall and broken limbs.

At the bottom, we dashed across a well lit road to the next hill, where we hoped to lose the potentially-armed drug dealer. With me in the lead, we plunged into the brush and comforting darkness at the foot of the next hill.

I was the first to emerge out of the bushes and into a gloomy clearing before the fence of a historic old Quaker cemetary that sprawled up the hillside. I stopped short and gaped at something ahead.

A shaft of streetlight broke through the foilage overhead and fell like a pale spotlight upon a tree stump just outside the graveyard fence. And sitting beside that stump, in left profile to us, half in shadow, with it's front paws resting on top of the stump, was what looked like a german shepard in that uncertain light.

What really freaked me out--aside from that we had stumbled upon a wild dog--was that the animal didn't react as you'd expect it to; when we came bursting out of the bushes, the dog didn't stiffen and jerk it's head towards us.

Instead, the dog's head turned in our direction with unnatural slowness and in a way that made me think of the deliberate arc of a security camera. I spun around, crashed through my startled friends and ran back the way I had come, heedless of any pissed-off gun-wielding drug dealer. My friends followed.

Fortunately for us, the dealer had given up the ghost (forgive my deliberate pun) and was nowhere to be found.

The dog didn't give chase, but we kept running until we were on the streets outside the park. Only then did we stop to talk about it. Apparently, only one of my friends had seen what I had seen. The other looked at us like we were crazy.

Years later, I would learn, from my research into the occult, that in Celtic mythology there were creatures called the Cu Sith or faery hound. Sightings of them were considerated ill portents...an omen of death.

Do I believe that what I saw that night was a Cu Sith?

I don't think so. And I doubt that, in the 80's at least, the NYC Parks department used security cameras in the form of robotic dogs. However, one of my friends from that night, the one who hadn't seen that eerie hound...he died about a few years later. He was said to have "shot himself in the head while fooling around with his pistol."

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home