Here I am on a Saturday night trying to get some homework done, that I DON’T FUCKING FEEL LIKE DOING, and so to postpone that moment of actually having to put two coherent sentences together I will throw something out for the wolves that surround my cyber-fortress.
Long, long time ago (In Taiwan), I shared a very nice apartment with a married couple. My drinking/whoring to responsibility ratio was even…meaning a balanced and healthy life. Working and playing hard. Life was good.
The first night of this story was a night of playing a game of Axis and Allies (of course I won) with Bob, the godfather of my eldest son. It was a night of a few beers and ONE bottle of, in those days, a 50NT bottle of rice wine (the small bottle) handcuffed to a couple of cokes. I don’t believe that any other sedatives were involved.
After humiliating Bob on the battlefield he said his goodbyes and left. It was around 10pm and Horton didn’t even hear a Who. I lay down on my bed, recapping the ass-kicking laid down by the Axis (yeah, I’m that good). The fan was a’blowing, the windows were a’open, and I was just a’thinking. Then, it seemed that the neighbors were arguing…I couldn’t understand what they were saying but I heard loud and angry voices…the fan got louder. Then…
Wham…it seemed like some person just sat down on my chest…couldn’t move at all. Pinned on my bed just trying to figure out what in the hell is going on around here. It lasted, to my best estimate, more than 10 minutes but less than 25. I chaulked it up to the rice wine and the euphoria that victory induces and rolled over and went to bed.
Three nights later it was about 10 pm. Long day at work…also trying to convince Mrs Bane’s father that his future grandchildren from his first-born won’t end up mentally disabled because his oldest daughter was marrying a foreigner. Perfectly sober and wired and ready to go for whatever hits me the next day. The “neighbors” were screaming at each other again. Nastier than the first time. The fan was on and the windows were open. Wham…it seemed like some person just sat down on my chest…couldn’t move at all. Unlike the first time, I was sure of the accuracy of the input being forwarded to me by my five senses. The voices getting angrier and I couldn’t move. Now I’m kinda a big guy in a lumpy sort of way and if a normal person were to sit on me I could probably throw them off (unless of course it was Liv Tyler or Halle Barry… then I would say, “okay, stay on top, it’s good for me also”)…I couldn’t move even though I broke out into a sweat trying to fight the good fight. The arguing that I was hearing was getting louder and uglier.
Then it stopped.
I sat up and checked my shorts to make sure that my bowels didn’t respond to Man’s most basic enemy, Fear. And then I ran out of my bedroom, waking up my flat mates, and screaming, "I’m not going to sleep in that room again (profanity deleted in insure a PG rating). I slept on the sofa that night until three days later I got smacked by a really big truck.
I have looked up this kind of stuff in order to better understand it. I have tried to rationalize it by blaming it on “personality enhancements”, or fatigue, a heart attack, or insanity…all options should be considered.
But what freaks me out is that the second time it happened is that I was able to turn my head to see, VERY CLEARLY AND BEYOND DOUBT, how much time was going by on my digital alarm clock. I was trying to get up…I was fighting. It was no dream.
Ghost? I dunno…kinda hard to put into writing what happened. Needless-to-say it was pretty freaky.