When I was younger I was terrified of many things. I can easily remember the haunts of scary movies that would keep me up at night- and some of these late night scares may have actually been true. When I was five years old I can remember waking up late at night (probably no later than 10pm) walking down the hallway of the mobile home we lived in with my grandmother and a blue figure waving to me from her empty bedroom. Of course, this moment left me hiding in my bathroom and I always believed in spirits or ghosts thereafter of course, there were quite a few other experiences when I was younger as well that I can recall. Did they happen? Can memories be false?
Of course, I know now that they can. My writing now has become a concoction of horror and psycho-terror. By this I mean that while the typical monster tale is always fun, but now my stories are darker prying at the confines of the human state. Constantly questioning reality and the human state. These little pieces of psychology invoke me to discover the answers to those questions.
When I was a little older. probably ten at this point my friend and I used to wonder around our mobile park with nothing to do. Our mothers were hard at work supporting us and our fathers were off somewhere- neither of us kept in touch. But for some reason our favorite activity to due was to ‘hunt’ ghosts. Now it was common knowledge around the neighborhood that the abandoned mobile on the corner was haunted by some sort of evil spirit. It would often move the blinds, make the house creek, and far worse the occasional groan. Of course, the idea of some animal or homeless man finding shelter was far from our childish minds; we hunted the damn things though.
For the better part of a year during the days after school we would run around the circular neighborhood with our fingers clutched as guns eager to save the neighborhood of any ghouls or gremlins. We were ghost hunters and we were damn proud!
Now we joke about this, but we do so with a silent glance. These thoughts conjured from pure boredom have actually manifested objects within our memory. Both of us can remember these events and the appearance of these spirits in the exact same way. Can two people share a false memory?
Of course, one day these events would appear in our lives one last time during our early adolescence, but that is a story for another blog post. Trust me.
Now as I write fiction I can draw upon the strangeness of my own reality. Perhaps an imagination is a scary thing.
Has your imagination ever brought you along in an adventure? Has this helped you or hurt you?