• you just cant run from the past.

Posted: **Tue Jun 12, 2012 12:50 am**

So... it has come to my attention as of late, that it may be helpful... or even therapeutic, to give a small detail or two about my life. let's just say, my younger years are somewhat undesirable. so, let's start when I was young... and defiant... ok, reckless. that all changed the day I busted up a cops face.

I was 19, filled to the brim with vigor and just getting a taste for the hunt... when I met her. I was making some cash delivering guns... um... tools, let's say... to my first fence, his name alludes me, but I recall everyone just called him roach.

I was at "Stark's roadhouse" a small watering hole in the middle of nowhere Arizona. I had just came out the back, pocketing cash with a smile, when I heard a loud smack, and a women scream from around the side. I grabbed a chunk of old lumber from near the trash can, and headed that way.

A young woman, maybe 18 lay cowering near a car... a man dressed in blue jeans and an old tan leather coat, stood over her... fist doubled. so of course, I did what any man would do... well after a few choice words (calling into question his mothers virtue and his father's legitimacy), he finally turned to face me... well, my chest at least.

he told me... and I quote... "watch your mouth little boy, or ill have to stitch it shut". well being the gent that I am.. I replied with a witty retort.. roughly... to go fornicated himself with a rusty rod, but in less mannerly terms. at this point, captain jackass... well, he draws his pistol from under her coat.

He got it nearly clean of the holster before my new lumber friend met his wrist with a sound crack. at this the girl shrieked and said, "please don't let him take me". well, ma'am... I'm always happy to oblige a woman in need. he reached for my plank with his off hand, I gladly let him have it... it's only fair now.

I stood still, and let him swing it once... I wanted him to know what it was like to hit a man, instead of a little girl. the board hit my right cheek and jaw... it splintered into many pieces. don't get me wrong, it hurt... it hurt like hell... but I just smiled at him. his reaction was priceless...

after a few hasty steps, in an attempt to flee... he managed to get around the side of the car. as he fumbled with the keys trying to get in his car, I picked up his revolver. it was a heavy piece for such a mediocre sample of a man. it was an old N-frame smith .44 super mag, with nickel coating. I dumped the rounds on the ground and rounded the car.

he barely had time to shut the door before the window shattered, showering him with glass. I grabbed him by the collar and reunited him with his pistol. it was only a few whacks before he was out like a light. I dropped the gun in his lap, and turned to the girl. she was shivering...

I reached for her, but she recoiled from me... I guess my display was something LESS then comforting. "I won't hurt you ma'am... I swear" I said as i removed my 5XL leather jacket and attempted to cover her. That's when I noticed the cuffs... crap... at this I hear from the car a slurred voice. "Offisher im meed ob aspisstanse".

My heart sank... I knew this wasn't just going to blow over. I knew I could bolt... but... what about her. her blue eyes called to me like a sirens song. I couldn't bring myself to leave. It wasn't long before I was in custody... they roughed me up pretty good... for "resisting arrest" HEH, my entire ass I did.

thankfully there was a camera that caught the whole thing on tape. He never identified himself as law enforcement, and I defended myself and another when he drew the gun... but they said I took it too far, chasing him down... and "giving him his weapon back"... and here I thought I was being a gent, returning his property. guess the judge didn't find that amusing either.

After only three months, I was released (gotta love slimy lawyers)... and on that day, I walked outside smiling as the warm Arizona sun hit my face. and there she stood... in her little pale blue sundress and white canvas shoes. Shelly... She explained that she had come to say thanks for helping her... but my mind went blank. It wasn't until she started laughing at me that I realized I had been staring at her for quite some time, all slack jawed and goofy expression.

She had apparently been his C.I. (criminal informant), and he was trying to take liberties with her that was, let's just say... not part of their agreement. when she resisted... he slapped her to the ground. well you know the rest of that story.

The camera caught their fight as well, and officer molester-pants, lost his job and his pension. she (because the police were afraid of a law suit), was released her from her C.I. contract, and had her record expunged. the local rag had posted the story, so she knew when I was to be released.

She escorted me over to a bench, where a large box sat. she motioned me to open it... there inside was my dear old leather jacket. I had come to the conclusion, I would never see it again. even though it was hot as hell, i put on my jacket with a smile. She looked up at me, smiled and said... "that thing looks awfully hot mister... let's go get a drink".

She was the woman that changed me for the better. six months later... I did the most terrifying thing of my life. I asked her to marry me. She said yes. I miss her dearly... I think... no, I know part of me died with her... but that's another story.

I love you Shelly... I'll see you and Annabelle some day...

Posted: **Fri Jun 15, 2012 6:37 pm**

So, things change… happiness turns to pain, love to sorrow, joy to despair. I should have known that I wasn’t meant for a family… look at my parents. My mom: a junkie who left me for a quick score and a short and useless life. My dad: a convict who gave me nothing but a tolerance for pain, and an old Harley. I practically raised myself.

That should have been a clue that I couldn’t have a family. But, then I met Shelly… and my life changed. When I saved her, she really saved me. I was young and wild; hunting the supernatural was more for kicks than for justice in those days. But, when a good friend (the man who taught me to hunt) sat me down and asked me what was more important… her or the hunt. I knew the answer was clear… her.

He cut me a check, his way of giving me a new lease on life I suppose. I nearly fell over when I saw the amount… 50k! That was more money than I had ever seen in my life. He went on to say, the cash wasn’t a gift, merely a stepping stone, or a building block on which to build us a new life far away from my troubled past. I gave him all my old gear, grabbed Shelly from the hotel, and headed east.

A year later, we found ourselves in a small speck of a village, called Woodville Maine. This place was so miniscule; its population was less than 300 people. I had found an ad a few months before in a small time publication. It was for a 2 story Victorian, with 5 bedrooms and 3 baths for less than 40k… just needed some TLC and lots of yard work. I should have known it was too good to be true.

The house was amazing, still filled with old world crafted furniture, chandeliers, books and paintings. It looked as though the last residence simply fell off the earth or disappeared. My hunter instinct was clouded by my new life, and a vision of beauty that still haunts me to this day. Shelly was expecting and I knew we had to settle now for, her and the baby’s sake. We moved our meager possessions in, and I took up odd jobs (all manual labor) for the local townsfolk. It seemed almost picture perfect.

When Annabelle was born, the light I had been searching for all my life shined on me. And I felt content and truly happy for the first time in my life. By the time she was 2 months old, I had got a full time job working as a contractor, building custom shelves and book cases for businesses in town, as well as shipping to nearby towns and villages. All was well it seemed. But that was just a lie… a cruel joke.

I began renovations to the upper floor, I wanted to have a room ready for Annie by the time she was a year old and a workspace for Shelly so she could follow her passion for photography. One room in particular had been closed up since we had moved in those months before. It always had a cold draft blowing through it. I had told myself that the drafty old room, simply needed to be patched up, but had not gotten to it. Shelly and I both, it seemed, had just forgotten it was there.

I brought my tools up, and turned on the radio for some mindless background noise. As I began to examine the room just off the master bedroom, I noticed the door at the end of the hall was open. That cold breeze was drifting down the hall like a long lost visitor. As I approached the door, I noticed something odd for the first time. The room seemed much smaller than the rest of the rooms on this floor. But, from the outside of the house, the wall appeared as though it went all the way to the edge of the building.

I found myself almost obsessively measuring the room; I needed to unlock its secret. I knew deep in my gut, something was just off about the room. Subconsciously we both knew, I think that’s why we just avoided the room altogether. The music, which was set to classic rock, suddenly seemed unusual to the point it snapped me out of my trance, a chiming lullaby echoed from the radio. I sat down my tools and walked to the door to glance back down the hall… the radio went to static before it simply shut off.

I stopped for the day, not having accomplished any real tasks. i spent the remainder of the day staring at the hand drawn blueprints I had made of the room. I noticed the room was nearly twice the size on the eastern exterior as it was inside, there had to be something there. The next day I crept out of bed, and headed down the hall. Still in my boxers, I grabbed my tools and sketchpad. I turned toward the room, and the door stood open already… I knew I had closed it the night before; perhaps Shelly went to see what I had got done.

I went inside, and headed to the eastern wall. I pulled out a hammer and turned it flat, so I would not punch holes in the wall, and began to gently tap. The wall around the borders was solid as could be, but towards the middle I heard a hollow ‘THUMP”. I placed the hammer back in the belt and reached up to where the wall met the ceiling and dug my nails into the wallpaper and pulled it downward towards the floor. There, hidden behind a few layers of long forgotten wallpaper prints and old paint, was a layer of boards, inset in the wall, covering what appeared to be a doorframe.

The room filled with a chill, I could feel an icy breeze from between the planks. My rational brain told me, this is where the cold breeze has been blowing from. But something buried in me told me to leave well enough alone, and simply cover it back up. The radio sparked to life and began to play that chiming lullaby once more. The music seemed to draw my attention, and for a while my mind was simply blank.

Shelly was standing next to me, Annie was in her arms and she was crying. Shelly was yelling at me to stop, demanding to know what I was doing. I looked over towards the wall. The planks were torn down, plaster, wood, wallpaper and debris was scattered all over the floor. My hands were bloody and I was covered in dust, soot and sweat. Shelly snapped at me sharply… “What the hell are you doing hon… what’s with all the racket, the baby is scared to death” she walked out of the room with a look of concern and fear.

The radio, now silent… room filled with trash, my mind felt like it just rebooted, as if I was simply gone for a while. I turned to look at the wall, and there inset in the center, was a heavy black oak door. The hinges were black iron, and the knob had been removed. Something compelled me to find this door. Something that should have remained asleep..

Posted: **Sat Jun 23, 2012 7:16 pm**

The acrid stench of burning flesh and bone fills his nostrils; the burning sensation across his body has subsided into a cool ache, nerves burnt beyond the capacity to feel pain. His eyes, clouded with tears, soot and smoke which barely allows his vision to focus. Pinned below a fallen support beam, his left portion of his face and body remain exposed to the searing heat and flames. His arm, barely recognizable as human, outstretched towards the stairs, he knows it too late, but he still tried to reach them...

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury… does this sound like the actions of a man, who just tried to murder his family?”

The lawyer paced the courtroom, as photographs taken of my injuries were shown to the jury. They seemed less stunned at the photos as they did by my monstrous appearance in person. My graphs had hardly begun to set, before I was hauled to a prison infirmary. The doctors didn’t want to let me go, but this was no trial… it was a witch-hunt.

A town like this, a tragedy this horrible, they needed to blame me. The father… the husband… the criminal who snuck into their community and their lives. I was an outcast, a pariah… the big bad wolf. My lawyer didn’t stand a chance. My prints were on the gas can, the lighter and the hammer and box of nails used to board up the doors downstairs. Hell, even I thought I was guilty.

It all started with that door… that room… that day.

“Danny” her voice sang from the stairs, “lunch is almost done”, and I smiled at her and nodded… I had almost forgotten the problems of that morning. The crashing of lumber and drywall that had awoke my infant daughter and beloved wife. My sudden and uncontrolled obsession with this room… it all seemed like such an unusual misunderstanding, and nothing more. I had almost finished cleaning up the mess I had made while tearing down the wall, when I felt that cold breeze once again.

I turned and looked, and sitting there on the table nearest the wall… was a heavy, black iron doorknob. I know it wasn’t there before… I know I hadn’t seen it. But there it sat, awaiting discovery. The room felt as cold as ice, the breeze had taken up the room… numbing my fingers and face. I found myself compelled to approach it. The radio sparked to life, playing that demandable lullaby, as I walked towards it. I reached out with one shaking hand and grasped the knob.

I felt a flood of energy rush through me, like grabbing a bare electrical wire… both stunning and painful. I watched as my vision turned to the door. I strolled to it casually and calmly… I felt a smile cross my lips, as the knob was inserted into the hollow on the door. I was there… inside me, but like a passenger or visitor. I had no control over my own actions. I felt the cold iron in my grasp, as I turned the knob. The radio fell silent, all the lights dimmed, and a shadowy blast of mist and frost poured from the cracked door, as it creaked open.

Fire… pain… smoke… panic…

My mind was racing… I heard a voice, as cold, dark and empty as the depth of space. “Run boy, save them if you can…” The voice had escaped my lips, but was in no way mine. I suddenly realized I was standing on the porch; smoke belched out from all the upper windows, and fire a glowing all across the ground level. I don’t know how I got there, I still don’t know how this happened, where I had been, what I had done or where my family was. That’s when I heard the baby crying from upstairs. I backed up to the end of the porch, and charged the boarded door like a rhino. I blasted through the door and right into a fire.

The center support beam had already began to tilt from fire and heat, and as I approached the stairs, I heard it crack… the noise was loud, like a gun going off… the beam snapped and whipped down into me before I could react. It stunned me for some time… I must have been able to push part of it off me; my next recollection, I was lying on my side near the wall, pinned under the heavy old oak beam. My body half outstretched to the stairs, but by this time, my wounds were too severe. I could see Shelly, curled into a ball on the landing to the stairs, her arms wrapped around a small bundle…

I was too late…

Posted: **Sat Jun 23, 2012 7:49 pm**

I feel very sad for you, Mr. Frost.

There are lots of dark things out there that try to turn people into big bad wolves. And sometimes they succeed.

I'm sorry you lost your family and your freedom. Both are precious.

Posted: **Tue Jun 26, 2012 1:23 pm**

You’re a very brave man, Frost. Never forget that, however painful your experiences might have been, people here are still willing to help.

I wish I could have done more.

you just cant run from the past.

you just cant run from the past.

Re: you just cant run from the past.

Re: you just cant run from the past.

Re: you just cant run from the past.

You know better what Celeste went through than many