When I turned twenty-nine, I was given a great power – the power to resurrect the ghost of a monster. This wasn’t some ordinary monster, hiding under the bed or lurking in the closet. This was darker, more sinister. This was a smiling monster, full of jesus and wrath, ready to pounce at any moment of vulnerability that a six-year-old child would have.
It showed its malevolence for any infraction, whether a glass was broken or when a bed was wet. Wetting the bed really sent it into a frenzy, terrifying the six-year-old child. It would hurt the child, without mercy. Then its toady would pull out the Bible and say that it was okay to hurt the child because he was wicked. After all, Evel Kinevel was of the devil (had to be because his very name was Evel) and the monster was only trying to destroy evil.
The child’s father and his wife didn’t believe in the monster. Surely someone who believed in Jesus wasn’t all bad. The child knew better. His mother, for whatever reason, had put the child and his brother in the clutches of that monster, having forgotten his attacks on her. She finally left when the monster attacked the younger brother for putting a towel around his neck and playing Superman (Superman was of the devil).
When I grew up, that child became me. Always the monster’s ghost followed me. Finally the monster died in 2004 and the ghost always remained with me, waiting for me to awaken it as it was ready to devour my children. I was able to fight it for so long, and then the stroke happened. For a while the ghost tried taking over me, as I was trying to reassert my personality. By then I didn’t even remember the monster or where the ghost had come from. It was alive again, in me, because I had forgotten about it.
The ghost and I fought many battles, always it going after the most vulnerable: my own children. A few weeks ago, I remembered the monster and his toady, and where the ghost came from. The monster is dead. The ghost is more subdued. I still have the power to resurrect it and it is harder now to resist. I keep it under lock and key, angry that took over me after the stroke. I am angry that the monster so frighted and hurt that six-year-old boy and that his ghost still haunts him.
I forgive that monster. I wish I had when he was still alive. His toady is old and frail. I forgive her too. Hopefully soon, the ghost will go to hell where he belongs…