by Joel Levy
“I read somewhere that crazy people always claim they are sane. Conversely, sane people who have a weird encounter always think they have gone insane. Is that true in your experience doctor.”
Dr. Tracy made no reply to the question. Instead, he pointed to the tape recorder upon his desk. “I am making a tape of our conversation strictly for my records. It can't be used in court and is completely confidential. You can begin now mister…”
“I prefer to be called Joel mister Tracy.” I interrupted.
“And I prefer to be called Dr. Tracy.” the psychiatrist replied. He switched on the tape recorder. You can tell me about yourself and about the stolen rapier. Begin now.”
“My serious mental problems began with a visit to the New Age bookstore and shop on River Street you know the place Doc? Before then I was a somewhat colorless young man with a mild obsession with horror stories and good horror movies. The blue meditation candles they sold me triggered a slide all the way from mild obsession to completely flipped out in only a month. The candles cost a dollar each. I purchased 60, a 2 months supply. Along with a messed up brain, confinement for observation in a mental hospital and trouble with the police I am also out 60 bucks plus tax.
“I plead guilty to an obsession with Stephen King's wonderful horror stories especially his vampire tale ‘Salem's Lot'. In particular I can identify with the boy in the story who loves monsters and constructs a model cemetery in his room. Not unusual you might say especially in an adolescent boy. But, I never grew out of my interest in night haunts. Experiencing some sort of supernatural encounter became an obsession. Any legitimate encounter with the supernatural, a werewolf, a vampire, even a B movie zombie trying to eat my brain would have been acceptable.
“At the New Age bookstore I purchased several books on deep meditation and a box of sixty blue candles. Gazing into the blue flame has enabled mystics from the druids till now to astral project their spirits through the Otherworld. Anyway, that's what the clerk in the bookstore told me. Perhaps those blue flames did cause me to astral project. Perhaps they only induced self-hypnosis. Anyway, they sent my brain on some weird trips!
“For the next forty days, two thirds of a box of candles, I followed paths through the Otherworld of the druids. Many times I came tantalizingly close to the encounters I sought. Often, I would almost reach a small ruined tower; Stephen King again with his novels about Roland the Gunslinger and his quest for the tower. Also, I once saw quite clearly where a missing child wrapped in anchor chain lay rotting in Long Island Sound. I could not go to the cold case detectives with my story, or I would be labeled, perhaps rightly, as a nut job.”
When I mentioned a missing child, Dr. Tracy sat upright in his chair and gave me a hard and cold stare. I realized I had used the wrong buzzword and might be getting myself into even more trouble. I quickly moved on from the topic.
“One evening drifting off to sleep, I found myself walking along a country lane with an apple orchard on both sides of the road. The road was firm beneath my feet, the low wall on either side of the lane quite solid to the touch. Up ahead, the lane dead-ended at a driveway leading up to a ruinous and deserted mansion. My mind was quite rational and I spoke aloud 'walking along Apple Lane to The Haunting of Hill House'. I distinctly remember laughing out loud. Through the gates and up the driveway, both of which were straight out of ‘The Haunting' up to the main door, which was locked. Banging the knocker loudly brought no crazed housekeeper. I walked all around the mansion, which really did not look like Hill house, and found no unlocked entrance other than a broken cellar window. To enter the mansion this way was risky. I had no flashlight and might very well hurt myself bumbling around in a dark unknown cellar. Somehow I suspected that recovering from any accident here would not be as simple as waking up and calling it all a bad dream. I fell into a natural sleep and awoke the next morning feeling rested and with a clear memory of my journey along that dead-end lane in the Otherworld.
“A few nights later, I settled myself in my recliner with a heavy rock hammer in one hand and a powerful flashlight in the other. (O.K. so maybe I am crazy.) Then staring into the blue candle flame, I drifted along an abandoned rail line in my imagination, or in the Otherworld before coming to the lane through the apple orchard. Eventually, I reached the broken cellar window, switched on the flashlight and peered inside. The drop to the cellar floor was perhaps five feet. I could see some paper bags and some shapes that could have been pipes or tool handles. Crawling in backwards while avoiding the broken glass and holding a weapon in one hand and a flashlight in the other was even tougher than it sounds.
“The shapes on the floor turned out to be weapons, mostly broken off. I saw several halberds, short spears with jagged heads straight out of the Wizard of Oz, a battle-axe and several swords. There was a beautiful rapier sticking out of a human skull. I do not know much about weapons, but it was obvious that this rapier was beautifully crafted and probably valuable. I held the skull secure with my foot and pulled the blade free. With a piece of cord, I tied the naked blade to my belt. There was nothing else of value.
“An unusual audio illusion occurred when I succeeded in removing the rapier and claimed it as my own by tying it to my belt. There was a moaning sound from somewhere in the cellar. This was not a moan of pain, but rather one of almost sexual ecstasy. Conan once stole a sword from a mummy seated upon a throne. The mummy was pissed off which is the traditional response for dead things whose artifacts are plundered. Why had the skull moaned in ecstasy when I removed the rapier? Perhaps the sword belonged to someone else and gave the skull a migraine.
“The cellar was long and wide, probably running the length of the house. I found no ladder to use in climbing back out the cellar window. My way out had to be into the house and out the front door. Lightly I climbed the broken stairs and entered a room that appeared to be a pantry off the kitchens. I wandered around the downstairs for a bit, finding nothing worth looting and nothing to indicate the actual period of history to which the building belonged. There were 2 corpses, both with the weapons that had killed them still lodged in their bodies. The weapons, a dagger and a large sword did not appear to be worth stealing so I left them undisturbed and started up the main staircase.
“Faint music, drew me to a large drawing room in which couples in formal attire swirled to the Blue Danube waltz, a piece of muzak I had always loathed. A scraping sound from behind made me turn. The two dead men from the first floor were coming up the stairs. Had I mentioned that one had a large sword embedded in his body that split him almost in half? Well, the scraping sound was the sword hilt dragging behind him up the stairs. Call me old fashioned but this was much more interesting than a bunch of ghostly dancers who could have been holograms in a fun house. I made a mental note to bring a camcorder if I came this way again.
“Roughly they crowded me through the open doorway and onto the dance floor. All 3 of us looked really out of place at this white dinner jacket affair. Understanding finally struck me and I recognized what I was seeing. This was a fifties prom night at the local high school. I almost expected to see Sandra Dee dancing with Bobbie Darran. (Did you know Doc that Sandra Dee was in a horror movie ‘The Dunwich Horror'? I can't remember any of those movies she made with Rock Hudson. She wasn't in those Gidget movies was she?) These were teen-age evildoers who must spend eternity learning classical dances while good teens danced to Little Richard, The Shirelles and Ricky Nelson.”
I paused a moment and silently wondered what my own fate would be when judgment day came? Perhaps condemned to an eternity of line dancing in cowboy hat and boots as in ‘The Country Music Awards'. Hell is where your worst fears are forever realized.
I continued, “The dead men began the slow and awkward process of removing the weapons from their respective bodies. Apparently, they intended some sort of martial arts demonstration. It was also possible that the zombies actually intended to attack me. I had never done them any harm but still they might bear some hatred for the living or desire to consume my brain. Speculation upon their motives was useless. With my heavy flashlight I struck a massive blow to the smaller ones head which splattered dusty globs of tissue about the room. It also destroyed my flashlight that had a five-year unconditional return guarantee.”
Imagine sending the smashed up flashlight back to the company and asking for a replacement because my original purchase was ruined during a fight with a zombie.
“Mister ‘split down the middle' now attacked with great sweeps of the sword that he had removed from his hips to his hands. No doubt now that he intended me harm. His attack was slow, clumsy and almost comic. Unfortunately his severed body had adversely affected his motor functions. An article in my Kung Fu magazine stated that becoming a martial artist required agility, coordination and strength. It seems that being alive and not split down the middle should be added to the list of requirements.
“ When attacked with a long weapon, the natural inclination is to step back. This is exactly the wrong thing to do. The trick is to get in close where the reach weapon cannot be used effectively. Conan once escaped a skeleton by cutting its feet off. If a Cimmerian can do it, an American can do it. We circled the room and each other for perhaps 30 seconds. Mister Zombie gave up trying to cut me and struck clumsily at my head and shoulders with the pommel of his great sword; a hunk of bronze weighting several pounds. Ouch! Blood began to flow from my scalp into my eyes and down my shirt. My right shoulder and neck were black and blue. You've seen my medical report Doc.”
I noticed Dr. Tracy had put down his note pad and shut his eyes. He seemed bored by my description of the fight with the zombie. The whole story was being taped anyway. I might as well let the man catch a nap.
“I struck the places where kneecaps and testicles should be. Kneecapping slowed the creature down a bit. Blows to the testicles were completely ineffective. The undead do not plan on having children and so do not automatically protect the groin the way a living man does. My hammer blows at its groin region were however lengthening the split in its body. A few hard blows at its midsection and the creature fell in half.
“The dancing ghosts were beginning to close in around me. I seized the enormous punch bowl and hurled it at some dancers barring my way to the door. Then I sprinted down the stair and out the front door. Conan once hurled an immense cauldron of soup and rubber gloves down the stairs at his enemies. I guess the audience was supposed to think the gloves were hands. Personally I would rather eat a hand than a rubber glove. Pausing only to give the pursuing ghosts the finger I headed back down the lane for home.
“My recliner was soaked with blood when I found myself back home. Both the rapier and the rock hammer had returned with me. The flashlight had vanished. I hid the sword in the cellar pipes, a trick that had baffled the police in the original Highlander movie. Then, I drove myself to the hospital where they bandaged my bleeding skull, gave me some painkillers and called the police. Maybe the real life cops watch Highlander also, for they searched my home and found the rapier in about 2 minutes.
“So that's my story Doctor and you don't believe it for one second. I am happy for you at least. If you believed that story both of us would be crazy.”
Dr. Tracy opened his eyes and switched off the tape recorder. “That will be all for today Joel. We will talk again in a couple of days.”
I met with the doctor 3 more times. After 2 weeks of ‘observation', they sent me home.
I was right about the rapier being valuable. It turned out to be half a matched set of engraved dueling rapiers made especially for some noble in Ireland. They had been stolen from the British Museum in 1987. After a lot of trouble with Interpol, the whole mess was dropped. I returned the rapier to the museum and received a reward of 100 pounds, about $450 in U.S. cash. The museum's insurance company hinted that if I returned the other rapier they would make it 300 pounds no questions asked. It could still be somewhere in that haunted house. Maybe I shall go back to look for it sometime.
I returned the remaining blue candles to the New Age store and told them to light them, shove them and meditate. From now on, I leave paranormal investigation to Agent Skully on Xfiles.
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