Post #55607 by Alnshely on Fri, Oct 17, 2003 2:19 PM

Our story today starts on November first in 1972, I was eleven years old. I was riding my bike down Pacific View Dr, I was with my good friend Chris Hart. I don't remember where we were going . Since this is a Halloween story, I'd like to tell you it was dark and stormy, but, I grew up in Southern California so it was probably sunny and 75 degrees. As we rode by Eliot crook's house we made a gruesome discovery. What we found was the Crook Family cat, it had met a most unfortunate end. The cat's name was "Black Bastard" and it was one mean kitty, sort of a neighborhood celebrity. He was all black and as large as a cat gets. The "Bastard" ruled the street, It beat up the other cats, made noise at night and all the kittens on Pacific View looked just like him. If you tried to touch him he would SHRED you with zeal. His ears were ripped up his face was scarred and he was fat, miss-shapen and ugly. Like I said, he was one mean cat and on November first in 1972, he was quite dead.

Before I go on with my little story let me give you some background. I was raised Catholic, did the Altar Boy thing, went to St. Paul of the Cross Parochial School. The Nuns taught me a few things, like the stations of the cross, how to feel guilt for almost everything, but, mostly I learned about Satan. Yeah, you know, the Prince of Darkness , the King of Lies, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Mephistopheles, the Walking Man, The Devil. I was told terrible stories of intense torment and agony that would last "Forever". The horrible pictures those Nuns painted of this unseen monster still stay with me. My young mind could imagine nothing worse.

The Mother Superior At St Paul's was about 110 years old. Back then the Nuns wore black habits, they were completely covered except for their faces. The ancient face peering from the dark shapeless clothing combined to create a freakish appearance.The first time I saw the old broad I was six years old, I literally did not believe her to be human. The Mother Superior didn't teach class like the other Nuns. She was in charge of the Rectory and telling the other nuns what to do. She would spook around and glare at us. The word was she carried a big hatpin in her habit and if you had your elbows on the pews when you were praying she would stick you with her pin. I'm not saying it's true, but, it's the story we told.

One day the old battle axe sat down next to me when we were in the church. She pointed at the Statue of the Crucified Jesus. Now the Crucified Jesus statues in Catholic Churches tend to be in more agony than other denominations, unlike the Protestant jesuses (Jesi? sp) who look like they're watching telivision. The crown of thorns, the nails thru the hands and feet, the wound in the side tend to be visceral, horrible, real. The look of intense suffering on the face of that particular Jesus still haunts me. He looked awful. Here's a little fact that many Christians don't know; Crucifixion kills you by suffocation. When you are crucified the series of muscles you need to breath with eventually fail, you die a horrible, desperate, agonizing, gasping death.

Cute, cuddly, Protestant, bobble headed Jesus

Spooky, scary, Catholic, Wes Craven Jesus

The Mother Superior told me that the statue was to remind us of the horrible sacrifice Jesus made for us. (Alright Jesus! way to take one for the team!!!) It was also to remind us of the torment we would have to endure if we were bad Catholics and went to Hell. Hell, where Satan and his demons were waiting for sinners to torture for all eternity. "For your agony in Hell with Satan will be one hundred times worse than Jesus on the cross if you are a bad Catholic".

I knew I was a bad Catholic. Good Catholics didn't steal money out of the collection plate and eat cheeseburgers on meatless Fridays.

Now where was I, oh yeah, November first 1972. The date is significant because it is All Saints Day. The Catholics assign saints to particular days, like St. Crispin's day or St Hanford's day. You are supposed to honor a particular Saint on his day. November first is when you Honor all the Saints, hence All Saints Day. Since this is a Holy day (or Haloed, as they say) the day before has come to be known as "All Haloed's Eve" or Halloween to you and me. Nov first is when the saints walk the Earth, it is a time for miracles. The day before belongs to Satan and his dark minions.

So on Halloween Night in 1972 the Black Bastard was sleeping. (Do not read further if you are a cat lover). He was asleep on on top of the garage door. The kind of garage door that doesn't rool up, the kind with black springs on either side. The kind of door that is paralell to the concrete floor when it is open. At about midnight Mrs. Crook came home and found the garage door open. She parked in the garage and pushed the garage door button. What happened next is the stuff of my nightmares. Black bastard awoke with a start, the door under him was tiliting closed. As the door closed the Bastard ran "up" the closing door. it was the last mistake he would ever make. You see when the door closed it "caught" his neck between the top of the door and the door jam. His head was inside the garage his body was outside. He was trapped. When we found him the next day it was clear he hadn't died right away. The cat had fought for his life like a lion for what looked like hours. the garage door where he hung was deeply and repeatedly scratched. the bastard had shredded the door like a wood chipper. His blood stained the door from top to bottom, his large lifeless body hung limply. Our concern was to hide the body before Mrs. Crook saw it, it was a hideous scene. Releasing the body from the door was difficult, it was really wedged in there. The cat fell with a plop, its dead eyes locked in an unseeing lifeless stare. His tounge had swollen up and was hanging out of his head. He had died a horrible, desperate, agonizing, gasping death. We hosed off the door and buried the Bastard in a gulley. We marked his grave with a wooden cross that read simply "Bastard".

That night as I lay in bed, I wondered about a black cat that died a horrible death at midnight on Halloween. I thought about superstition and religion. I thought about Satan. I asked myself if Evil was real. The neighbors porch light was on, casting a shadow on the far wall of my room. As I was pondering these points a cat walked across the fence between me and my neighbors house. He cast a seven foot tall shadow of a black cat on the wall in my room. My blood ran cold, I could hear my heart beating. For a split second it wasn't a simple shadow, it was a demon from Hell. Scared the life out of me. I had never been terified before this night. A minute later I told myself not to be such a little girl. After all it was only a stupid cat. I laughed it off and went to sleep.

The next day, November second, is the day the Mexicans call El Dio Del Muerto (Day of the Dead). I decided to walk over to Chriss's house and tell him my cat story. I walked through the gulley where we had buried the Bastard. The cross was still there, but , the Bastard was gone. An empty hole marked Bastard was all that remained. Part of me knows that a coyote dug him up. But part of me knows it was him on the fence between me and my neighbors house that night. Checking up on me, watching me, waiting for me. Who knows, maybe he's waiting for you too? Pleasant dreams children.
Mahalo,
Al

[ Edited by: Alnshely 2006-10-11 15:36 ]

[ Edited by: Alnshely 2008-10-24 16:03 ]