Sunday, December 23, 2007

Monster in Highgate

Authors Note: For lovers of the occult, horror, mayhem and for gays who like to dress up, halloween is probably a lot more fun than Christmas. However, for people who actually have seen ghosts – or who can sometimes pick up the vibrations of the dead – I can tell you it is not fun at all.

The following story is based upon a haunting experience I had while I was in London. For many years, I studied the occult and ways to enhance my sensitivities and improve my creativity. Generally, most of the experiences I had were positive and have helped my creativity. But one bad side effect I discovered – is that when you are sensitive you can't always control what images come to you – and in this instance what came to me was dark and horrible. This is a true ghost story, which I believe are the most scary of all. I call the story:

Contessa Isabella Vacani

The flame haired boy is drinking cola. An ordinary looking man sits across him in adoration.

"Do try the Gucci moccasins. You now have six pairs of Levis and six cashmere jumpers. The school bag from Italy is the latest fashion.”

"That’s cool sir. Thank you,” replies the boy.

“Don’t mention it Rory. We’re friends. Please call me Frankie.”

Rory is taking a Jacuzzi bath in a huge copper Victorian tub. The music of the Who is blasting on the stereo speakers in the bathroom. Rory’s eyes are closed. Frankie enters through a secret panel. He is naked and he has an erection. He enters the tub, turns Rory over on his back and breaks his neck. Then he sodomizes the dead boy, slashing him everywhere with a hunting knife. The Jacuzzi is still on. The scarlet waters overflow into the pristine tiles.

“ Aaah!” I gasped, cried out and woke up.

I need to breathe deeply. Dio Mio, what have I just dreamt?

I bounded out of bed and tried to lock my door. It was a strong lock and my hands were quivering. I was terrified.

Am I overreacting? I’ve had revelatory dreams before. Only time will tell. In the meantime I am in the hands of Jesus.

I couldn’t help but recall what Andreas Resch, priest, psychiatrist, exorcist, demonologist and friend had told me years ago. He was then teaching metaphysics at the Jesuit Gregorian University in Rome.

“If you have a prescient dream, never tell the police, or any of the authorities. I have seen people killed or even arrested for revealing what they saw in dreams. Trust no one. Confide in no one. Your dreams may be true or a product of your subconscious.”

I was alone in this big house in Highgate. My absentee host was Sandro Paternostro, Bureau Chief of RAI, Italian Radio and Television Network. My deposition as star witnesses in his acrimonious divorce was crucial to ending a seven-year stalemate.

“Do stay at my house. It’s the least I can do. You’ll have it all to your self. I’ve stocked the house with everything you love, including Krug Champagne. Ciao!”

I need to clear my head after that brutal dream. I think it’s time I ventured into Highgate Park.

The Park was less than a few meters away. The stench of charred and burning human flesh caused me to stop dead in my tracks.

I can’t continue. The smell of Death is around me.

Then I remembered. The Great London fire! Thousands perished in that Holocaust. They were buried in the Park. Plagues in the 16th and 17th century killed thousands. Highgate Park was the place for them. Corpses in the 1940’s blitz that lacked faces or heads also rested beneath my feet. When the billionaires bought the grand old houses on The Bishop’s Avenue in Highgate, it became necessary not to mention that the park was the largest secret cemetery in the world! I was standing in the same spot, but I couldn’t stop my legs from trembling.

What is wrong with me? I’ve walked through Bataan, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Auschwitz.

Later that night I had what some would call a vision. Or what others call a dream. To me it was a nightmare.

A brown haired boy lay in the copper bathtub while the Jacuzzi was on. The speakers vomited deafening rock music. The boy had removed his earphones and opened his eyes just as an aroused Frankie stood before him. The boy’s veins puffed out in his slim neck. He was screaming but there was no sound. Frankie pulled him out of the water by his hair and with one stroke severed his head from his vertebrae.

I found myself sitting up in bed coughing and gagging. I was about to retch into the waste paper basket when I heard a series of loud knocks on the door directly below my room.

“Are you all right Madame? It’s the Police."

I walked over to the window and opened the wooden shutters. Two armed policemen stood tensely in the garden.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. What’s the trouble, escaped convicts or lunatics?"

“I’m Constable Blaine. You’re Mr. Paternostro’s guest I presume.”

“Indeed. Constable Blaine. I’m Countess Vacani. What’s wrong?”

Both men cleared their throats. "We apologize, Countess. It must have slipped Mr. Paternostro’s mind. We have been patrolling the area for weeks to reassure its residents.”

“Why is that Constable?"

Please don’t let it be my nightmares!

Long Silence. “We found the corpses of boys buried in a garden a couple of houses away from this one.”

“Oh no! Dear God! Have you arrested the murderer?”

I have to find the strength to face this without getting sick.

“Yes, Countess. He confessed to killing the boys but he has not as yet specified how many.”

“I live in Florence. The Italian media are preoccupied with our own monsters.”

I won’t ask for his name. I don’t want to know. I can’t bear it.

“He is being held without bail. We hope he will be put away a long time.”

“I am truly grateful that you are in the neighborhood.”

“Our forensic experts are still digging in the hope of finding more bodies. Don’t be alarmed by their activities."

“I won’t Constable. I’m flying to Italy this afternoon.”

“Have a safe journey then.”

“Thank you. All the best.”

No wonder I have been having these nightmares! Rory and the others are probably buried close to Sandro’s house, perhaps even in his garden. I must leave immediately and check into a hotel. Then I will go into the nearest Anglican or Catholic Church and pray for the souls of all the boys that fiend raped and murdered.

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