Avoiding the truth, an interesting occurrence in East Providence

I’m not sure if there have been more escalations at home. I wasn’t home most of the weekend, truth be told. I used every excuse I could to keep us out of the house, and Wendy gladly accommodated my whims – going out for breakfast, shopping, movies… I believe whatever is going on, she is definitely experiencing something… something she’s not ready or able to deal with.
There is a genuine feeling of ‘otherworldlyness’ in the house that I can definitely feel when I return after being gone for a while, but soon after I get back it just seems to fade away – or I get used to it, which is even scarier.

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Another small piece of the puzzle – the sword

First – I’ve barely slept since… the dreams, the sleeping pill.  I’m not sure, I might have given myself insomnia, if that’s even possible.  I keep seeing glimpses, too – like forgotten fragments of memory trying to worm their way back into my consciousness. I won’t let them.  I can’t let them.  I don’t want to know.

I found another letter in the steamer trunk – this one was to my Grandpa Joe.  It’s dated November, 1959, and it’s hard to read – it’s handwritten and the writing is tiny, from a small feminine hand.

The letter is from Adelle Roberts, apparently the daughter of Kevin Roberts, my great-grandfather’s army buddy.  From what I can read, it sounds like my grandfather asked for – and received – that bizarre sword that Roberts brought back from Germany, so now at least I understand how it came to be in his possession, and subsequently, mine. Continue reading

The most terrifying truth of all

OK, I’m going to try this again.  I’ve started this post four or five times now and deleted it every time.  Wendy has officially noted her ‘concern’ over my recent bourbon consumption, but I need it after this, after yesterday, and it was Grandpa Joe’s favorite drink.  It makes me feel more connected, I guess.  It also stops my hands from shaking so I can type.

I found a stack of pictures yesterday, pictures of my grandfather during World War II – I posted about those already.  They made me feel a sense of pride, a sense of honor.  Mixed in with them, though, was something else.  Something I’m having a very hard time with.

Grandpa Joe's Secret

Grandpa Joe’s Secret

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Grandpa Joe…

I don’t usually drink, but I’m on my second glass of bourbon.  My hands aren’t shaking so bad now, so let’s see how this goes.

I was never super close to my grandfather, to be honest – we were from very different worlds, different generations, of course.  I respected him, though.  He was truly a ‘man’s man’ – rugged, self-made, a dedicated family man.  He and my grandmother had five kids, sixteen grandkids… they had a good life, a life anyone would be proud of.  They were never rich monetarily, but they always had family, and to my grandfather, that’s what was important.

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Not just dreams now, there’s more to them…

I’ve had more dreams – some nights they don’t wake me up, and other nights I wake up sweating and shaking.  Last night was a bad one, with that cursed portal, humming and shrieking and filling my head with fear and a deep horror.  There was something beyond it, on the other side of the portal, but I can’t be sure.. I don’t think I want to look at it, I don’t want to know.  It just sits there, hovering over that blasted, damned landscape, and I just feel terror.  I thought that was the extent of it  – I thought it was a nightmare scene, a hellish dreamscape.  Nothing like that could ever exist in the real world, right?

No Man's Land, WWI

No Man’s Land, WWI

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Another letter with mention of Germany and the sword

I haven’t been back to the steamer trunk since the incident the other day, but I found another letter in that envelope, another sliver of information from my great-grandfather, and I know I’m going to need to go back to the trunk soon.

This was a letter from ‘Roberts’ – apparently Kevin Roberts, one of my great-grandfather’s army buddies – talking about Arthur’s death.  It seems like my great grandfather felt there was something unusual about the death, but this Roberts character is trying to convince him that it was suicide.  I know that so many terrible, real-world things happened during the war, and lots of guys came home different, couldn’t handle it, but this letter seems off somehow.  It’s trying too hard to convince my great-grandfather that nothing strange is going on, which in itself seems strange.

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An old picture but a familiar image

I haven’t touched the steamer trunk since weird sounds the other day, but I had grabbed an envelope of old stuff to look through before that – just a stack of old documents, pictures, etc…

I started looking through them and found something weird and, to me at least, frightening.  It’s a really old picture – I’m not sure how old, but it’s definitely pre-world war II, so I’m pretty sure it’s not my great grandfather.  It’s not the people in the picture, though – it’s that familiar round shape between two of the seated gentlemen…

Gentlemen with orb?

Gentlemen with orb?

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