The leaves on the trees beneath us sway gently, the hills beyond them somehow resembling the past more than the future. And all around us the night pours in, as if it is one thing and not many. Impenetrable and complete, with or without us.
The light flickers again and somebody makes a joke about a spirit trying to contact us and everybody laughs but still, there is something brittle in the laughter. Everything is softening at this hour and it’s easy enough to imagine a soul loosening itself from the body. People start to tell stories of the supernatural. Tales of coincidence and premonition. Angels and ghosts. Messages in dreams. All these encounters and intuitions unresolved. And when the last story had been told, we sit quietly, goose-fleshed and knowing nothing. All so small beneath the night and the just-glimpsed shooting star above, a luminous proof sent to us from distances and realms unknown.
The only thing it said was, “Stop.”
Intrigued, I called the number to investigate and see who had left the mysterious message and what it might mean, but was immediately sent to a voicemail box that gave no indication of who, or what, might reside at the receiving end. Not wanting to give up on this communication, I texted back. These are the messages that ensued:
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Unknown Texting Entity: Stop
Me: Stop??? Stop what???
(One day passes)
Me: Can’t stop.
Me: Won’t stop.
Me: Maybe in the name of love. Maybe I will stop in the name of love.
(Another day passes)
Me: No. Changed my mind. Will NOT stop in the name of love.
(Two days pass)
Me: Is this the Instant Pot?
Me: You can see into the future, can’t you, Instant Pot?
Me: Is it true? Is it death by water for me? The Tarot reader said it was, but I’m not sure I believe her. I think she might have been unreliable. She was weird, smelled exactly like a Harveys. Very suspicious.
( One day passes)
Me: And I’m never even in the water.
( One day passes)
Me: My wife told me that the Instant Pot cannot send texts, so sorry. I guess you’re not the Instant Pot.
( One day passes)
Unknown texting entity: Just stop.
Me: STOP WHAT???? YOU’RE KILLING ME HERE!!! JUST KNOCK OFF THE MEAN GIRL BULLSHIT AND TELL ME WHAT IT IS I HAVE TO STOP DOING!!!
Me: Sorry. I don’t normally lose my temper like that.
Me: I haven’t been sleeping well.
Me: Lots on my mind.
( Two days pass)
Me: You’re a demon, aren’t you?
Me: I always knew a demon would pick me to seed.
Me: I knew this would happen. Ever since I read The Amityville Horror when I was eleven.
Me: That’s when I created a portal for you to enter into my life, wasn’t it?
Me: Fuck it!
( One day passes)
Me: Well demon, as you can see into my soul, you know that I’ve wanted to stop for a long time.
Me: The problem is I can’t stop.
Me: That’s why I haven’t been sleeping well.
Me: I. Just. Can’t. Stop.
Me: It’s all I fucking think about.
Unknown Texting Entity: Paske, gen anpil moun ki rebèl, plen diskou sans ak desepsyon, espesyalman sa yo ki nan gwoup la sikonskripsyon. Yo dwe bese, paske yo ap deranje tout kay ki nan kay yo lè yo anseye bagay yo pa ta dwe anseye-e ke pou dedomajman pou malonèt.
Me: Is this you, Jen?
Me: Are you fucking with me?
Me: If so, this is NOT funny.
Me: So not funny.
Me: I just had to take two Lorazepams, you fucker.
(One day passes)
Me: Okay, this is Michael’s wife Rachelle writing now. Listen, if you actually are a demon, why did you start off communicating in english and then switch to whatever you switched to, when you saw my husband start to panic? Why not just continue with english? Seems like a rookie mistake to me.
Me: I think you’re a false prophet!
Me: Demon! It’s Michael here again! The above, the blasphemy about you being a false prophet? That was written by my wife, not me! I would NEVER say that about you!!
Me: Rachelle here, demon. Could you make yourself useful and tell me where Jones put the car keys? And if you’re the reason why the remote is always disappearing, you’d better knock it off. Don’t think I won’t holy water the shit out of this whole place. I will. And I have a Bissel steam cleaner that can suck you right out of the sofa.
It’s a real ghostbuster, so just consider yourself on notice.
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When the girls first met Rachelle and I they declared us their “real” parents–probably due to our liberal rules regarding drugs and alcohol and my collection of hats. No matter, since then, they have relegated their actual mom to “birth mother.” They are currently off working as camp counsellors for the summer, and have requested that I write them a letter each week. Here is one:
************************************
My most cherished daughters:
It’s really hot in Toronto right now. So hot your birth mother might even consider putting on the AC. I, as you know, perish in the heat. Humidity is my enemy. I am TOTALLY racist against humidity. Not woke at all in that department.
Fuck the humidity!
I would vote for anybody who proposed building a huge wall between me and the humidity.
I really would.
Anyway, as you should, but probably don’t know, I work-out up to three hours a day.
Fact.
Not fake news!
Part of this routine includes walking ( pretty fast!) on a treadmill for 30 minutes a day. Today, on account of the heat, I took my shirt off to do this. Just as I was finishing and stepping off the treadmill, sweaty and a little bit dizzy, I spotted three young women passing by our front window.
I have to admit, I kind of froze.
Obviously, I wanted to dive out of the way and hide from sight, but startled, I guess, I made eye contact with one of them. Have you ever seen a face collapse? I don’t mean literally, like in a horror movie, but more an unmediated emotional response in the face of calamity.
This woman, the one whom I made eye contact with, had a normal, even confident resting face, but when she saw me standing there shirtless, all conscious control she had over her facial features simply vanished. It was like everything caved in and turned upside down at once—as if she had been seized by a kind of supernatural possession. She gasped and then leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees and stated to gag. One of her friends looked at me and started to desperately wave me away and out of their sight line, which of course, I dutifully did.
Really, really hate sorority girls.
Pretty sure they were from Alpha Gamma Delta.
Don’t you ever join Alpha Gamma Delta. They are the worst. Very stuck-up. And sororities are all about upholding cultural and social hierarchies. Sororities are not woke!
Thankfully, I am a middle-aged white man so the incident did nothing to diminish my mystifying confidence.
Anyhow, that is how my day started.
Soon I will clean the bathroom. Did you know that Rachelle made a chore list, laminated it and has now posted 8 copies of it throughout the apartment?
That’s more copies than there are rooms! It’s true, and you would not believe how unfair the list is!! Do you think I should be cleaning her hockey equipment and the Diaper Genie three times a week??? I swear, Rachelle thinks she’s such a big shot just because she has a job. Let me give you some fatherly advice, daughters, never, ever allow yourself to be defined by paid work. Or becoming a member of a fucking sorority.
We love you very much and ask that you please send photographs of Bigfoot and Mothman,
Your father
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Me: That’s not true.
Me: I hate Donald Trump.
Me: Yes, I do.
Me: I really do.
Me: What on earth makes you think I don’t?
Me: The way I’ve been shaking hands?
Me: Look, I’ve always had a strong, Presidential handshake. It’s one of the things that attracted you to me, you know that!
Me: Oh C’mon, Justin Trudeau didn’t beat him! The media, so many lies! So unfair!!
Me: Trudeau was just trying so hard to be macho. Sad.
Me: Fake. Not true
Me: I am not talking like Trump now.
Me: Trudeau’s a bad hombre.
Me: Bigly.
Me: You see the way he was ogling Ivanka?
Me: Disgusting.
Me: An embarrassment to Canada.
Me: No, you’re an embarrassment to Canada.
Me: You are, too.
Me: Hell, I don’t even think you root for Canada during the Olympics.
Me: You’re not a patriot.
Me: You’re not helping to Make Mike Great Again.
Me: You’re a disruptive technology.
Me: Sorry????
Me: My Google Autofill?
Me: That’s a sacred precinct!
Me: You shouldn’t be poking around in there!!
Me: Well, I really don’t know why “Trump Anime Sex Fantasies” showed up there.
Me: Probably some keys Jones hit by accident.
Me: That little nugget gets into everything!
Me: What?
Me: He did what?
Me: Fuck!
Me: That was a gift from my sister.
Me. Sentimental value. Huge sentimental value.
Me: Don’t have a clue where I’m going to find another The Apprentice: The Board Game.
Me: Jesus. I feel sad.
Me: That was a fun game.
Me: Better than fucking Catan.
Me: Who wants to buy goddamn wheat?
Me: Really, you think you can make an night of it with friends “buying wheat?”
Me: Please.
Me: My attitude is fine.
Me: Anyway, we’ll see how he feels when I destroy his dog toy.
Me: I swear to God, that dog is evil.
Me: It is, too. The tail wags for no reason.
Me: No!! There was no battery in it!
Me: Really!
Me: It was creeping me out so much I removed all the batteries, but it still barked and tilted its head!
Me: Oh.
Me: I just thought there was the one spot for batteries.
Me: Who ever heard of two spots for batteries?!
Me: That’s insane!
Me: Whatever.
Me: Still think it’s possessed.
Me: Gonna murder us all in our sleep.
Me: I am going to build a wall around that dog and make Jones pay for it.
Me: No, watching Poltergeist hasn’t poisoned me against a toy dog!
Me: Well, maybe.
Me: Yeah, I guess you’re right.
Me: I had forgotten how scary that movie is.
Me: Netflix should be more careful with the types of movies they broadcast.
Me: Yes, I was.
Me: Have you ever watched Poltergeist stoned?
Me: Fucking terrifying.
The site enables people to trade all manner of goods, absolutely anything you have lying around or might want to cook. If somebody likes what you posted, they send you a message and the bartering begins.
This was my first post:
Posted by Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Genuine Sialkot Pro Field Hockey Stick
Made in India, this vintage field hockey stick is a real gem! Nicknamed “Sally,” it was used by high school Goddess Victoria Reid during the season that saw her team, The Lisgar Lancers, win the Ottawa city championship in 1983. Victoria scored a record 36 goals with Sally!
The stick, which feels solid and sure in the hands, is also rumoured to have been used as a murder weapon. So if you’re looking for a little bit of security around the house and are still unsure of guns, this is what you’re looking for, as the stick’s hooked nature guarantees that irregular and jagged wounds would be cut into any invader. I hate to give up this wonderful piece of history, but my wife insists, believing it to be cursed. Ha, ha. Let me assure you, Sally is not cursed, just brutally effective, as many squirrels and at least one homeless man rooting through our garbage for empty wine bottles can attest. It is also important to note that Sally never has conversations with me. I don’t get “different” around her, and you won’t get “different” around her either, just stronger, more violent and a little unpredictable!
All reasonable trade offers will be considered. #Sports #Hockey #Vintage #Murder #Weapon #ProbablyNotHaunted
Response from Dealer Dave
Toronto Division
Bullshit.
I don’t believe your story for one second, but I need something to use for my son’s birthday pinata and your field hockey stick sounds like it would work. I have a Chinese bootleg CD of the U2 album How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, would that work?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
No, a crappy U2 CD will not do.
Do you have any wine?
Response from Dealer Dave
Toronto Division
No, I am not giving you wine for a piece of wood. I have a CD by the Tea Party, would you prefer that?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
No deal!! Sally says no!!!
Response from Cindy84
Toronto Division
Your dog is super cute! I also like your carpet. Would you be willing to trade either one of those instead of the creepy stick? I have gift cards…
Response from Make$2000AWeekFromHome
Toronto Division
I’m impressed, I have to admit. Seldom do I come across a blog that’s both equally educative and interesting, and without a doubt, you have hit the nail on the head. The problem is an issue that too few folks are speaking intelligently about. I’m very happy I found this during my search for something relating to this.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
Interested in the weapon.
Do you know what became of Victoria Reid?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Heard it was a suicide, but even after all these years there’s still a lot of controversy surrounding her death. Th CBC is said to be making a mini-series on it called, “The Possession of Victoria Reid.”
Sometimes she comes to me in my dreams.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
I work at a packing plant and have meat to trade. Lots of ground beef. One pound of ground beef for the weapon?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
I’m worried about food safety. I got Listeria once and will not go through that again. Do you have any wine? Sally likes you and wants to serve you.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
I have a half-full box of Jackson Triggs Merlot.
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Deal!
]]>“Oh, I just feel like stretching, really and thought you might like to sit down, and of course, I am a very, very classy man.”
“No, you’re not. I see the way you’ve been looking at that black girl over there.”
This took me aback.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t give me that,” she said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she pointed to a young woman sitting about 10 yards away. “Her, the one with the tits. I bet you just wanted to give me your seat so you could get closer to her, get a better look, eh?”
“ Jesus,” I said, “I wasn’t looking at her, I didn’t even know she was there.”
I sat back down in the seat.
“You’re at least twice her age. You could be her FATHER,” the woman declared.
Across from me a woman pulled a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed at the conjunctivitis that had taken hold of her left eye, and just over her shoulder her sat a woman of about 60 who had a look of abject defeat and exhaustion to her. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she had what must have been hundreds of old, cutting scars on them. Her hair was colourless and she seemed so spent on this planet as to be virtually a ghost.
The woman who did not want my seat looked back at me.
“What is it with middle-aged white guys and black girls, anyway? I mean, really? You think you have a chance?
“Look,” I said, “ I wasn’t looking at anybody. I’m happily married. I’m just a guy sitting on a subway, a guy who made the huge, terrible mistake of offering you his seat.”
I gave the woman a hard look, inviting her to say something else.
She looked like she was going to say something, but then she bent down, picked a penny up off the floor, put it in a plastic baggie and then moved along to the next car.
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