1993 The Voices/Stalkers had a full tilt no holds barred 24/7/365 scream fest going on. But that was not what garnered most of my attention. 1993 brought three irrevocable changes.
In June of 1993, my sister Katherine died, the car that I’d purchased back in 1989 and finished paying for in February of ’93 was so severely tampered with that it was rendered virtually useless, and my new basement apartment flooded.
All these random things I attributed not to The Fates, but to The Voices/Stalkers. And even if they were not directly responsible for them, they none-the-less took credit for them as a way of torturing me.
As God is my witness, I sincerely believe that The Voices/Stalkers were responsible for my sister’s death. Now I’ll admit that I’ve heard a lot of rumors about how my sister obtained the injury that eventually took her life but after giving the matter considerable thought over the years, I always come back The Voices/Stalkers.
Reason being I use to visit my sister, Katherine a lot. She had just gotten fired from her job at Sears and she had two young kids that she was trying to support on unemployment compensation. I tried to lift her spirit by letting her borrow my car to run errands versus her having to catch the bus with the kids.
One day during a visit, I saw my sister Katherine (this by the way is the same sister who was pushed into the fire by one of the shadow creatures when she was younger) do something a little odd. But it was something I did myself for a long time, when The Voices/Stalkers were toying with me, until rational reasoning took over.
Whenever I had a plate of food that I looking forward to eating, The Voices/Stalkers would scream, “We’re going to spit in your food.”
This part, you may find hard to believe, but they could actually put it into your mind that someone was standing behind you trying to spit in your food. I would move my plate around on the table or try to cover it with my free hand while I ate with the other. And that is what I saw my sister Katherine doing. She was hunched over her food trying to protect her food and eat. I knew then, that The Voices/Stalkers were tormenting her!
On another visit, I brought my sister some new shoes. A few weeks later she broke her foot. She died, officially, from a pulmonary embolism. A blood clot had formed in the broken foot and traveled to her lungs. I was the first one at the hospital. I got there while the hospital staff was mopping up her blood off the floor.
For a very long time, I blamed myself for Katherine’s death and The Voices/Stalkers stood by my basement apartment window every night pouring fuel on that fire, hoping I’d crack. During the time I mourned my sister, this is what I listened to:
“If you hadn’t given her all those shoes, Kathy would still be alive. She was taking the kids to school wearing a pair of those shoes you gave her and she slipped on the ice and broke her foot. Or, she slipped on the icy steps and fell down them breaking her foot. Sis, it all your fault!”
“If you hadn’t loaned Kathy the car, she’d still be alive. She left the kids in the car with it running and one of them tried to drive it, and when Kathy rushed over and tried to stop the car, it ran over her foot. Sis, it’s all your fault!”
‘If you hadn’t moved the dining room table into the kitchen, Kathy would still be alive. She dropped the table on her foot moving it back from where you moved it thinking you’re some kind of decorator. “Sis, it’s all your fault!”
Compared to my sister’s death the other things seemed trivial but, like her death, would have long lasting consequences.
That same summer, after my sister died, the brakes went out on my 1989 Hyundai. I was visiting my sister Precious to check on Kathy’s two kids who were living with her. I remember I got back into my car to go home, backed out of the driveway, and made it to the stop sign – a four way intersection – and I had no brakes. I just barely missed colliding with a Maywood Police car. It took me a half hour of coasting down side streets to make the ten minute trip home. I called a towing company who hauled the car to a mechanic who charged me half of my bi-monthly salary of six hundred to repair the cut brakes.
Next, it was the oil pan that mysteriously fell off. Then one of the belts broke. Then one afternoon I ran out of gas bringing my elderly aunt home from her senior citizen daycare. To my surprise, the gas gauge had stopped working. I stopped driving the car after that and took the bus to work.
By Christmas, I had all of the repairs done on the car. I was in a good mood and I was getting over Katherine’s death.
On a sub-zero Christmas Eve the water pipes in my very warm apartment broke while I was out to dinner.
I remember I was singing as I went down the stairs. I was wearing a black wool coat, black and silver lurex sweater, black velvet skirt and black evening sandals. When my foot hit the last step, I was ankle deep in ice water. It took the joy right out of Christmas. Everything that was on the floor was soaking wet. It took about a half-hour for the landlord to arrive. He asked me why I hadn’t had the heat on. I screamed back at him, that I had.
I remember I had gotten a bottle of whiskey as a present. I broke it open and poured him a drink and me one too, as we surveyed the damage.
Matthew 5:9 “And He asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, sayin, My name is Legion: for we are many.”