Haunted
An Unspoken Language
Gerry Clifford sat on his bed at Candlelight Ridge Care
Center trying to make sense of his thoughts. He had attempted to write them
down in one of his increasingly rarer moments of clarity, but the results of
that were a puzzle.
“At the recent Grimster’s Convention, it was agreed that
lanmiters would no longer be allowed.”
Before his brother Paul, sister-in-law Sophia, son Daniel,
daughter Amber, and son-in-law Vance had gone home for the night, he’d asked
them to see what they could make of the odd sentence. The tall, cadaverous,
black-haired bloke and his big Sumo wrestler mate who worked at night came in
to take a crack at it as well.
There were pictures of Gerry’s loved ones and frequent
caregivers on a bulletin board near his bed with their names under their
photos. Sometimes he could read the names and sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes
he butchered the pronunciation of the names only to have a loved one gently
correct him as they would a child just learning to read. This frustrated Gerry.
He had dropped out of school at fifteen, but he knew perfectly well how to read
and write and had always prided himself on his innovative nature.
“A-C-E,” Gerry spelled out the name under the skinny bloke’s
picture. “Ash. No, Ace. ‘Is name is Ace. Lad looks like a Frank, though, like from
that Rocky Picture movie. Frankie Furter. Sez ‘ere that Ace is a night nurse.
Well, that makes sense, don’t it, since he’s always around ‘ere at night.”
Gerry turned his attention to the picture of the big fellow.
“T-O-M,” he read. “Toom. Tomb. Well, that’s a dreadful name.
C’mon, Gerry, ‘is name ain’t Tomb, ya ninny, it’s Tom. I always call him
something else, though. It’s another bloke from the Rocky Picture Movie.
Freddie, innit? Nah, that ain’t quite right. It’s Eddie. ‘E looks like Meat
Loaf Man from the Rocky Picture Movie. The note says ‘e’s with security.”
Gerry turned his attention back to the sentence he’d
written. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on being what Gerry really
was and not a symptom of his corrosive brain.
“Brain ain’t corrosive,” Gerry murmured. “The disease what’s
eating it is corrosive. Ain’t gonna sit ‘ere and quibble with meself about
syntax. That’s just a ruse ter throw me off the scent of danger. I’ve gotta use
all me questionable detection skills ter work out what’s goin’ on in this
place. I’ve gotta consider every possibility, no matter ‘ow crazy it might
sound.”
Gerry smacked the heel of his hand against his temple as if
to shake the thoughts free. Frustrated, he began slamming both hands into his
forehead.
“Blast this useless feckin’ rotting sponge in me dome!” he
snarled.
“Oi, Gerry!”
Misshapen Realities
A pair of hands firmly grasped Gerry’s forearms to stop him
from hitting himself. Gerry opened his eyes to see the black-haired nurse and
his big friend looking at him with concern. When Gerry ceased his aggressive
battle with his broken brain, the nurse released his arms, smiled at him, and
patted his shoulder. He sat on the bed beside Gerry while the big fellow pulled
up a chair.
“No sense in beatin’ yourself up, Mate,” Ace advised. “So,
what’s goin’ on here, Ger? What has you in such a whirl of ambidextrous
pugilism against yer forehead?”
“Well, you ain’t no use if yer gonna talk like that,” Gerry
admonished.
Thomas smirked and Ace shot him a withering glare.
“Got ya dead ter rights there, Mate,” Thomas chuckled.
“Zip it, or I ain’t givin’ you none of me deviled ham,” Ace
warned.
“Oi, I like deviled ham,” Gerry declared.
“Well, then, we ought to have some. Tom, go grab the tin of
ham and loaf of bread from me bag. So, what’s goin’ on here, Gerry?”
“Well, I was just tryin’ ter make sense of this
higgledy-piggledy hodge-modge I wrote earlier,” Gerry explained. “I know I
wrote it, ‘cause that’s me writing. I remember you lads being in ‘ere when I
asked about it, or at least I think I do. It’s so ‘ard ter tell sometimes what
really ‘appened and what I just imagined. These bloody misshapen realities in
me head are quite enough to drive me stark raving barmy.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you fer feelin’ that way. It would
starch my shorts too. If it helps, me and Tom were in here earlier and you did
show us that sentence.”
“So that bit was real realities.”
“Yeah, definitely real realities.”
Thomas entered the room carrying a tin of deviled ham, a
loaf of bread, and a spreading knife. He portioned out the deviled ham and
bread for Gerry, Ace, and himself.
“Tom, you remember the sentence that Gerry showed us
earlier?” Ace inquired. “Do you remember what you said to him?”
“Yeah. I said it looked like a couple of them words were
from an alien language.”
“Well, that’s what I was tryin’ ter think about,” Gerry stated.
“See, I suppose it don’t matter if I sound crazy, ‘cause I ain’t goin’ home for
me wife to cuckold me no more in this life. You lads don’t wanna hear about
that soap show, though. The thing is, ever since me brain decided ter fuck off
ter shite, I’ve started remembering things about this other place. It looks
like a city from the future, like on one of them space programs like Star
Tracks or such, but see, I know it’s from the feckin’ dark past. Them weird
words, Lads, they’re from that life.”
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Acknowledgments
The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a 1975 musical horror/comedy film written by Jim Sharman and Richard O’Brien, based on O’Brien’s 1973 stage production of the same name.
Prompts Used
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie
Photo Challenge
https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/02/02/photo-challenge-352/
Sunday Writing Prompt
Tale Weaver
Wordle
https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/02/01/wordle-225/
Lure
Ruse
Danger
Detection
Dry
Corrosive
Blast
Crazy
Cuckold
Snarl
Ambidextrous
Basement
October Spooky Writing Challenge: Haunted
Putting my
Feet in the Dirt
http://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com
About the
Story
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Blasted blogger has taken to hiding your posts from me.
ReplyDeleteI am so glad I tracked this one down.
Poor Gerry, poor poor Gerry. I fear that corroded brain will come my way and doubt that I will come out the other side...
Thank you. My biggest health fear by far is the fear of developing dementia. It would most likely be vascular dementia, although my aunt on my mother's side had Lewy Body dementia. Any way you slice it, I don't want it and would off myself if I were to discover I had it. I worked with people who had dementia for a number of years but had to stop doing so when it became personal.
DeleteGmail likes to hide emails that I actually want to look at. It's more than happy to let the spam ones that it's supposed to be blocking through to clutter my inbox.
It goes with MS sometimes, and like you, it is not an indignity I am prepared to endure.
DeleteI don't know if this will be a comfort, but in the many years that I worked in long-term care, I never saw an MS patient who lost their cognitive abilities.
DeleteOne of the sadder cases I worked with was a woman who had Huntington's disease. She was only in her 40s.
It is sort of a comfort, but sadly it is also a very real possibility.
DeleteCertainly I hope it isn't the case. I try not to think too much about the potential for a stroke or vascular dementia. If I ever have anything more than a minor stroke, I hope it finishes me quickly. My dad had a major hemorrhagic stroke in 2004. By the time he died in 2010, he wasn't the same person. Looking back, I think he had been having TIAs for several years leading up to the first big one. He had undiagnosed hypertension. High blood pressure runs in the family, so guess what I have along with all the other shit. I've been on antihypertensive meds for 10 years. Unfortunately, they can depress the mood as well as the blood pressure, and we all know what a ray of sunshine I normally am.
DeleteThat's definitely got to be hard to experience forgetting things you know you should remember.
ReplyDeleteI think it would be the absolute worst. One of the people who inspired Gerry's personality was diagnosed with Alzheimer's at 55--the same age that I am now. I mostly worry about the possibility of vascular dementia because I have diabetes, which means that my vascular system is vulnerable.
DeleteThis is a chilling visit inside a rotting sponge. Brr.
ReplyDeleteDementia is the worst. As Glen Campbell's wife said, it's better to die some other way. Having cared for people experiencing physical decline vs. cognitive decline, I am inclined to agree.
DeleteYou do Gerry well. I so feel for him and I really want to know what that sentence means!
ReplyDeleteThank you. I got the sentence from the Mindlovemisery Tale Weaver's prompt.
DeleteHis frustration is palpable. Well done!
ReplyDeleteThank you. Gerry is partially inspired by some of the people I worked with over the years. The retirement community I worked in was near a major university and there were a lot of former academics. I remember one woman telling me that she "felt stupid." This woman had been a professor, an activist in the Vietnam war, and had written several books. I had an autographed copy of one of her books. It was heartbreaking to witness her decline.
DeleteWow, I really got a sense of his struggles here. Tough snippet (but well done!).
ReplyDeleteThank you. I started writing this series back when I was still working in a retirement community. I had worked with the elderly for a number of years and was always able to be clinical about working with dementia patients until it became personal and I saw it happening to people I cared about.
Deleteinteresting snippet. you do well bringing across the emotions.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteI love Ace and Thomas and it's such fun to say the dialogue aloud in your head with an accent.
ReplyDeleteThanks! I enjoy writing buddy pairs. In many ways, I like it better than writing romantic couples.
DeleteGreat description "rotting sponge." Hubs has the beginning of dementia, so this really hit home. We also watched Alzheimer's steal my mom's mind. Hard on the family, harder on the person. You did a great job with this snippet.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I'm sorry to hear about your husband. I was always great at having a clinical approach to taking care of people with dementia until it ended up hitting home for me when people I cared about on a personal level developed it. Then it became too depressing. I ended up working with medically fragile children instead until I became disabled.
DeleteInteresting bit. I wonder what's wrong with him
ReplyDelete