One of my friends called me a couple weeks ago and told me she’d met hundreds of people over the years…but never anyone who was as unlucky as I am.
That’s an honor I’m pretty sure I easily could live without.
She then asked me if I’d ever considered consulting an exorcist because there might be an evil spirit living within me.
I immediately thought of the 1973 film, The Exorcist, with actress Linda Blair’s head spinning as she spewed pea-soup-like vomit on everyone. I’d definitely never experienced any of those symptoms.
Still, the next day, out of curiosity, I looked up “exorcists near me” online...and there actually were a few listed. But they seemed to specialize in saving people who were unable to control their urges to do demonic things.
I swear, I’ve never had any such urges.
As I’ve mentioned before, I think if there are any evil spirits lurking about anywhere, they have something to do with my parcel of land, not my body – although at my age, every time I happen to see my body in the mirror, I do tend to think something evil has to be playing a cruel joke on me.
Seriously, I’m not a superstitious person, nor do I believe in anything I can’t witness with my own two cataract-impaired eyes. But the longer I live here, the more I’m getting the distinct feeling someone or something doesn’t want me on this property.
Regular readers of my blog for the past 13 years are familiar with all of the weird occurrences that have happened since I bought this piece of land and tried to build a house on it – like going through five contractors (one quit with no explanation after only a week, one fell off his backhoe and injured his back, another filed for bankruptcy and I lost my deposit of over $100,000, and the fourth suffered a stroke).
The fifth guy finally succeeded in building the house - and with all of his body parts still intact afterwards.
Then there were tons of problems, like being land-locked because we couldn’t get a driveway permit, and ending up with an artesian well that contains 100 times the allowable levels of arsenic. And there were the trees that fell in the wind and formed an “X" directly over a path on the land, and the basement walls that cracked, also in the form of an “X," only 10 months after the house was built.
I could go on and on, but you get the idea.
I brushed off most of the weird things that have happened here as a “that’s life" sort of thing, even though more people than I can count have suggested that maybe my house is built on an ancient burial ground or on sacred land.
But I have to confess that the past month has made me seriously begin to wonder if they might be right…all because of an old stone wall.
When I purchased the land, I was told the stone walls on it were boundary markers – and according to the deed and the property map, they were. I could see them clearly marked on the paperwork, and their locations and measurements were listed in detail on the deed.
That is, except for one.
The mystery wall looks very old and begins on the left side of my driveway, about halfway up it, then continues through the woods into the center of my land. It's not listed on any of the paperwork and doesn't mark any boundaries. It also has a section that forms a circle, but there is no evidence that anything – like a camp, foundation hole, family graveyard, etc. – ever was there.
But I assume it must have been built for a reason...
Anyway, when I fell on black ice in my driveway and fractured my wrist and arm this March, the first thing I noticed was it happened right where that stone wall meets the driveway. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but then something really scary happened at that very same spot just three weeks ago.
It was dusk and I’d walked out to the road to get my mail. As I was walking back toward the house, I saw an animal run out of the woods up ahead. I thought it might be a fox, so I stopped dead – right where the stone wall is. Within seconds, another animal ran out after the first one. They both stood in the driveway and stared at my house, not even noticing me.
I then was able to see they were dogs – cute-looking ones. I breathed a sigh of relief and cheerfully called out to them, something like, “What are you two doing here? Are you lost? I’m sure someone must really be missing you!”
Two heads snapped in my direction and to my shock, the dogs charged at me, growling and barking. I froze and spoke to them in a calm voice, saying, “pretty dogs, good dogs," but it soon became very clear to me they didn't care about anything I had to say.
At that point, I realized I was doomed.
Still growling, they circled me, as if they were vultures waiting for me to drop dead, for what felt like ages. I honestly was afraid to breathe because I had the gut feeling they were going to pounce on me, knock me over and break my other arm.
I then made the mistake of trying to slowly back away from them. The more aggressive one wasn’t about to let that happen. He bit me on the calf. When I cried out, he bit me again. I tried to reach into my jacket pocket for my phone, but even moving only that much set him off and he nipped me – hard.
So I stood there, not moving for 15 minutes, until they finally took off…into the woods near the wall.
I was so shaken, I still was afraid to move, which turned out to be a good thing because they circled right back and charged at me again. At last, they finally ran down the driveway and took off down the road.
Long story short, the dogs turned out to live in the neighborhood and had escaped from their yard. The owners, who were super-nice, concerned and caring, assured me the dogs were friendly and loved belly rubs, and weren’t aggressive at all (that is, until they set their paws on my land from Hell!).
I ended up with bruises all over my legs, but thankfully, no skin was broken. The fact it was a cold night and I was wearing thick fleece sweatpants and woolen knee-socks might have helped me.
Last week the orthopedic surgeon removed the cast from my arm. I wasn’t at all prepared for the misshapen, alligator-skinned horror that was lurking beneath it.
But the doctor smiled with satisfaction and said the arm was looking good (on which planet?)!
I now have a spiffy new wrist-brace in place of the cast. It’s black velvet with black laces up the sides. All I need to complete the look is a whip, fishnet stockings and a dungeon.
On the bright side, after six weeks, I’ve finally been given the okay to drive again.
So I decided to give it a try yesterday to test how my arm would feel when I attempted to steer around a corner.
Alas, my car refused to start.
I’m honestly surprised it didn't let me drive it as far as the stone wall – just so it could die right there…for effect.
So as much as I hate to, I suppose I’ll have to call AAA.
Either that, or an exorcist.
# # #
Sally Breslin is
an award-winning syndicated columnist who has written regularly for newspapers
and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a
variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at:
sillysally@att.net
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