Lucky Numbers Dream Guide | Dream guide, Dream book, Guide

Part 1
Minds “play tricks.” That’s a thing people say. I was questioning my own Uncle’s state of mind to begin with. Did he really think he parked under the only yellow marking? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he walked by it, thought, “hmmm interesting, yellow marking,” and convinced himself he had chosen that particular spot for the oddity of it all.
Who's to say my mind didn’t somehow imagine a woman nestled in the terrifying darkness? Maybe when my mind couldn’t understand what it was seeing it associated it to some cliche Hollywood Horror film featuring the typical woman in an off putting outfit and hairdo. Maybe my eyes aren’t as sharp as I thought of them to be. Maybe I was psyching myself out. How could I’ve not? The tiny rock, the Jeep, Casey’s Drive-Thru. The clear, undeniable fear in everybody’s eyes.
I could only read Felicia’s profile. Her mood was vulnerable, I could tell she was paralyzed. But because no one had confirmed, out loud, that this was not the fuck normal at all, and we should all be very scared, helped.
Bur and my uncle knew I was in on it. We were the guardians of Felicia and Bebe Rene. There’s nothing they could’ve done about it. They knew I knew; I knew they knew. We were lucky Felicia was so much younger, didn’t know which way was up. She could, however, sense the vibe. Dread. Confusion. Insecurity. What was actually real? What were we truly seeing?
I would’ve said something about what I thought I saw, if it wasn’t for Bur finally giving up on pretending.
“Just pull up a driveway and let’s turn around,” Bur said, Bebe Rene falling asleep on her shoulder.
“Okay.” My Uncle was hunching over his wheel too much, almost as if he wanted to look at the sky through the windshield.
A couple of minutes went by but it felt like an hour. We were all holding our breath the whole time. There were supposed to be properties along the road, a dirt driveway was not a hard find by any means.
“Why aren’t you pulling over?” If Bur could, she would have started yelling at my Uncle. Sleeping angel saved the day as always.
“I haven’t seen any.”
“Are you even paying attent-”
“Yes!” He whispered yelled.
Their exchange made zero of us feel safe.
Then, without warning, my Uncle decided to park right in the middle of the road.
After a few minutes of Bur bombarding my Uncle with ‘what are you doings and what’s wrong with yous,’ he explained he should check if he had signal. He figured it’s possible one of his buddies suffered through the whole ‘taking the wrong turn at the McDonald’s’ hellish experience’ and might remember directions. Plus, offer words of encouragement, that was quite vital.
He opened his flip phone to find the screen completely white. It hurt my eyes to look at it, it was so bright. The keyboard was unresponsive. He tried to hold the off button to reset it, but nothing worked.
I was already reaching for Bur’s diaper bag when she asked me to get her phone. When I opened it -- same. White. Bright. Unresponsive.
Bur’s eyes when she saw her flip phone’s screen are tattooed in my memory for the rest of my life. Catching her eyes swelled up with fear earlier absolutely did not hold a candle to her eyes at that moment.
“Just turn around now.” Her voice told a story about trying to have strength when you are paralyzed, and figuring out if what you are feeling is terror or insanity. She wasn’t allowed to break, she wasn’t allowed to cry for help. She had to find that strength.
“I can’t see on either of my sides. I’m scared to turn onto the wrong spot, I might hit something.”
“Reverse on the road!” She demanded. Louder this time, almost breaking.
“Let me just go for a couple more miles-”
“No! We have to turn around now!”
I had to intervene. She was about to break, she needed my help.
I told them my mom makes me keep an emergency phone in my overnight bag and we could check it. I told them maybe it was the outage making the phones freak out. That seemed to help Bur breathe a little, at least. I offered a lie for comfort, for some grasp on logic.
All of us, in our very gut, knew I was full of shit. We chose to pretend. We chose to not break.
I had to crawl in the trunk to fetch my bag. My legs were hanging off the seat while I, with great difficulty, dug through all my crap. At one point, I stopped to look out the back window to stare at the now familiar pitch darkness. No moon. No porch lights. No headlights of passing cars. Just suddenly the grey figure of a woman, much closer.
At that moment the physiological response was my stomach turning. My blood drained out of my veins. An ice cold stream down my spine. Aggressive sweat breaking from my hands. A bird nest stuck in my throat. The oppressive thirst.
I was abruptly reminded of my mission when Bur looked over at me. I was suspended over the seat. Motionless. I didn’t know much at that point -- didn’t know if a woman was really there, if that was ever Alamo Rd in any capacity; did not know about life or death, and especially did not know what was real and what was... not.
I didn’t want Bur to notice me looking at the woman. I found the strength to flip open my phone.
When I realized its state was the same as the other’s, I decided to not be the victim anymore.
“Turn now,” I finally said. “Just go right now!... Please.” By the time the “please” came out, my voice was cracking. My eyes were already full of tears. I couldn’t be strong for that long, I guess.
If there’s anything you should know about my Uncle is that he’s stubborn. He’ll carry out whatever idea he sets his mind to, with no regards for anyone, in spite of anything, above everything, selfishly, forever.
He did move. But he moved forward. He kept going deeper into the belly of the Woman in Grey.
When he behaved like this in actual safe situations (when our perception of reality wasn’t being distorted) we always managed to let it go. Like when he insisted on going to midnight movie showings without asking my mom first. When he would take us on motorcycle rides without helmets on. When he forced me to go to a haunted house for Halloween and then I had to sleep on my parent’s bedroom floor for the rest of Winter.
This was beyond intolerable. Bur and I were just looking at each other with our mouths hanging open, unable to understand how he could do what he did. He took it to a new level. He really had.
I don’t want to get into how loudly Bur was screaming at my Uncle and Bebe Rene crying because of it. Or how Felicia started frantically asking questions. By that point, I let my tears fall down my cheeks freely. My tongue catching the tears traveling near my lips. Anything to alleviate the thirst.
The only thing to note amongst all this chaos is that my Uncle never stopped driving.
Felicia was hyperventilating. Her mind clearly on overdrive, trying to comprehend something she didn’t have the ability to.
“Come here,” I said to Felicia, unbuckling her seatbelt. I slid my arms under her armpits and pulled her up so I could slide her to the backseat. In any other situation, if you tried to pick her up, she would verbally abuse you. This time, when I picked her up, her hands grasped mine -- so sweaty, so scared. That alone made me want to keep crying, but it was too late, I had already wiped away my tears. Felicia couldn’t see me break. There was no time for that.
As carefully as I could, I made my way to the front seat. It was cooler up there and somehow darker. When I saw my Uncle’s face, his back hunched over in a painful looking way, I noticed he was on the verge of crying.
I told him that I’ll do my best to look out the window and guide him to make sure he didn’t hit anything or went inside a ditch. I told him that everything was okay. That I was there to help him.
I don’t know how he trusted me. I don’t know how I trusted myself, where that calmness came from. How did I sound so collected? When I look back at this experience, that fact is what sends the most chills down my spine. It was as if something, someone else, was operating me. As if I wasn’t in control of my own decisions. Most people would’ve felt proud of themselves. I just felt suspicious.
What matters, however, is that it worked. He stopped acting like a maniac. And maybe I’m just being hard on him. For Bur, myself, and especially him as the driver, keeping our composure was the hardest part. He just needed someone to hold his hand. I was that for him. Somehow.
I looked out, squinted my eyes, got as close to the window as possible. I asked him to keep under five miles so I could see better. Then after a few minutes, like a heavenly apparition, I spotted a dirt driveway.
My Uncle pulled up the mysterious driveway. We could still only see 5 feet in front of us -- courtesy of the world’s light switch. He put the Jeep in park. Took his phone out. He wanted to give it another try.
The screen was still white, bright, and unresponsive; however, this time it was blinking uncontrollably.
Good thing I’m not prone to seizures. That would’ve done it. Although, to be perfectly honest, I would’ve rather a seizure than what my whole body was experiencing. Terror is not an episode that only affects your mind. Your whole body is subjected through the whole experience, to a point where sometimes you leave your body. You allow whatever it is that might be controlling you to take over. I reached towards the backseat to grab the first phone I saw. Bur’s was sitting closest to me, but before I could touch it -
“NO!”
Her scream startled all of us. It was the first time she’d ever been stern, or had yelled at me, period. I didn’t take it the wrong way. How could I? She was just as petrified as me. She didn’t want to face the unfamiliar reality; the terrifying fact that we had absolutely no control of the whole situation.
She wanted, above everything else, for what she knew was going to happen when opening the phone, to not be confirmed.
I was about to ask my uncle to reverse and head back when suddenly the dark began to dissipate. It was almost as if the darkness had always been just fog. From one moment to another, the outside began to take form.
Behind us we could see the lands more clearly, as well as the barbed wire that divided them. Miles far off were a couple of unassuming houses with no porch lights. You could barely see it, but it was something. We could also see a bit of “Alamo Rd,” at last.
There was a moment after looking around when all of us decided to face forward. I would assume in such circumstances most people would be facing towards each other -- perhaps even hold each other’s hands, huddling up a little closer. That wasn’t us at that moment. There was this power that completely overtook us. We just felt compelled to look forward.
Into view came a house.
Now, this part is where some backstory is needed: my mom, Felicia’s mom, and my Uncle are all siblings. For years, my aunt lived up North in a ghost town. Very rural and remote place, but cozy enough. She’s a writer so that lifestyle suited her. Since I was a baby, my mom and my Uncle, along with my dad and I, would take the 4 hour road trip to visit her every other weekend. We loved getting away from mundane suburbia and taking in the country air. I would say her house is one of those places where a lot of my most significant and earliest memories were born. It was a second home. And quite honestly, my favorite place in the world. I loved swinging on her gorgeous, hefty tire swing, forts and movie nights, chasing her chickens, watching her bake me cakes using the eggs from her chickens. After she got pregnant with Felicia, she and her boyfriend moved down to be closer to us. She went on to publish several books, which means she constantly travels for her book tours.
At first we could only see that it was a two-story house with a big tree off to the right, at the end of the driveway. This big tree was looming over the house, massive and intimidating. As I stared at it, I noticed a tire swing. Big enough to hold four kids at once. Hefty, old, and dirty. It took a couple of seconds for me to notice this -- the tire was swinging back and forth, intention behind every movement.
Just as the fog of darkness was clearing, so was my realization that this place felt… familiar. This wasn’t information that my eyes were communicating to my brain. It was my soul. It was my past. The cells in my body. My heightened senses. I’ve been here before.
When the fog finally dissipated, I saw color. The two-story house was a dusty sky blue, sunflowers fencing in the porch area -- it gave the illusion the porch was suspended on them. A ceramic piece of a sun and a moon kissing, hung off the right of the front door.
It was my aunt’s country house.
As unbelievable as it felt -- it was fact. An undeniable fact.
I had to make sure I wasn’t crazy. I had to make sure what I considered facts were actual facts. So, how did I make sure of that? Well. A grand total of two people in a car of five had ever been to my aunt’s country house. Back when.
Yes. My uncle saw it, too.
His mouth was hanging open. Wide. Open. Dropped it like it was oven hot. His brain visibly miles an hour. I could almost see the smoke come out of his ear from overdrive. That’s all I needed to confirm my sanity was in check. As unfortunate as that situation was for the both of us, I did feel relieved that he saw it, too.
My aunt’s country house is four hours away heading North. Just about an hour had passed since turning right at the McDonald’s and we were heading East -- impossible. More importantly, my aunt had sold her land. There was a big possibility that house wasn’t even there anymore.
Lights off.
This time it wasn’t my Uncle. This time the whole Jeep gave up. It threw the towel, laid down for good. Or at least it felt like for good. It was the least desired outcome. So we thought, at the time. It was inconvenient, nerve-wrecking, but almost not surprising. The stereo could’ve turned on and off with a creepy song playing, but seeing what my Uncle and I were seeing was worse than anything the Jeep could’ve done.
My Uncle didn’t immediately try to re-start the Jeep. No one asked him to, either. We, instead, chose to share a deafening silence. Holding our breath. Communicating through our eyes. Felicia was looking at Bur, her eyes said: I’m beginning you, please protect me, please do something. Her cheeks glossy from the tears.
Bur and my Uncle were looking at each other, so deeply. I could see resentment. I could see fear. I could see desperation.
Bebe Rene was standing on Bur’s lap, his whole body facing forward, towards the house. He wasn’t making a sound, just staring. Noticing this made me want to look forward, as well. When I did, my Uncle had turned the Jeep back on. It didn’t put up a fight. There was nothing wrong with it. Somehow the Jeep just simply turned off.
The headlights shone right on a familiar figure. The Woman in Grey was standing on the porch.
And, this time, I could see her face. Turns out, I knew The Woman in Grey.
It was my aunt.
My aunt. Felicia’s mom. My uncle and mom’s older sister. A writer who that year, that same night, was in Seattle for a book tour. My aunt who is NOT terrifying. Who is a kind human. Who does not have a twin. Who does not wear grey t-shirt looking dresses and walks around barefoot at night. Who does not stalk and scare the living shit out of me.
That… person -- whatever it was, looked exactly like her. Long, chocolate brown hair. Olive skin. Full lips. An unmistakable unibrow. It was her. It was someone, or something, that looked exactly like her.
I reached to the back seat and grabbed Bur’s phone. I opened it, forgetting the phones were unresponsive, and found the glitch had intensified. There was now what resemble static, like a channel out of service on a T.V.
So much for trying to call my “real” aunt to make sure she wasn’t some psycho character from a sequel of The Ring.
In the corner of my eye I saw Bur shifting Bebe Rene around, her eyes scanning, looking for something. She wanted to save the day the best way she could. As everyone else, including my Uncle, was panicking. That was very brave of her. And I never got to tell her that.
She was going for the window. I still don’t know why exactly, to yell out for help? But I knew I had to stop her. It was life or death. Inside my very being, I, by some miracle, just knew that if we popped the bubble we were in, there was no going back. We had to stay confined. That was our best bet. We all knew what was, wasn’t anymore. Even if no one said it out loud. We knew.
“Don’t!” I whispered yelled.
My reaction startled Bur, and Bebe Rene, too. He started crying. The first wail that escaped his mouth pierced through space, through our bubble. “Aunty” noticed. Her neck snapped towards us. And this time, there was nothing to deny, we could all see her very, very clearly.
Felicia’s face was excruciating to watch as she realized that monstrosity resembled her mother. Monstrosity not in how she looked, just in how she made us feel. Because, after a long, long minute of her watching us like a wild animal, she began to dart towards us. Full speed. Mouth wide open -- omitting a scream that wasn’t really a scream, more like a vibration. A weird, electrifying wave penetrating us.
“GET OUT! GET OUT!” Bur yelled at my uncle.
My Uncle’s lips were trembling. His eyes just as wide as the fields behind us, as treacherous. Our lives depended on him at that moment. My fear convinced me not to trust, all there was: insecurity, uncertainty. But he proved me wrong. He managed to reverse the Jeep. A second more and Aunty would’ve touched the hood. She was jumping at us, as aggressively as she could. Her mouth still opened, still omitting… whatever it was. The closer she got, the more physically uncomfortable it felt.
The moment the Jeep touched “Alamo Rd.” the fog of darkness came back. Aunty tripped and rolled down into a ditch by the driveway while trying to chase us onto the road. She crawled out of it easily; her movements animalistic and ungodly. Like a possessed werewolf. She chased us down the road, on all fours. My uncle floored it.
Our lives were at risk. It was like driving with a blindfold going over 90 miles an hour.
We prayed for headlights. Or porch lights. Or moon light. We prayed for a literal sign -- whether it said “Stop,” or “Alamo Rd.” or “Psyche, we got you!” Anything.
Sadly, in this life, if you want something bad enough, it usually means you’re gonna get it, but not in the version you asked for.
So what we got instead: a Jeep telling us it was running out of gas, a fog of darkness wrapping around us like a scarf, an alternative and terrifying version of my aunt chasing a moving vehicle, a young daughter wailing out of pure fright, “IS THAT MY MOMMA?! IS THAT MY MOMMA?!”
No one dared to answer her, or even look her way.
A heavy blob of anxiety sat on my chest, penetrating me, highlighting the thirst, choking to death my will.
Then -- a sign off the road. A picket sign. Displaying a single yellow arrow, pointing right.
“It’s NOT a trick!” Quick on my feet, I shouted at my Uncle. I know how his mind works, which was our saving grace. “It’s not a trick, turn right!”
Indecisive, he grasped the wheel tighter, streaks of sweat trailing behind. Aunty losing speed. The heavy blob taking turns between resting on my chest and floating up to my throat. Everything warmer, the stakes higher, my mind barely catching up.
We were approaching the sign, I could see the distrust in his movements.
“TURN!” I had to scream as loud as I could.
He began to turn the wheel to the left, but before I knew it, with an abrupt yank, he stirred the wheel right and travelled down the Yellow Arrow Road. We lost Aunty during the whole commotion. Guess she couldn't catch up.
Gas was running out. Nothing was calming the choir in the back. My uncle was speeding faster and faster, when suddenly, rows of houses appeared, on both sides of the road. The same house over and over. Aunty’s house. Same dusty sky blue, same sunflowers, same tire swing. The houses had no end in sight. Just repeating themselves along the road, endlessly. My uncle accelerated, somehow faster than before, desperate to get to the end of whatever the hell was going on. For a brief, bleak moment, I felt defeated and believed the rows of houses were gonna go on forever. We were gonna grow old here, and die.
I felt the speed, I felt the desperation of breaking free. I concentrated on the end of the road, squinting my eyes, believing I had some sort of power to change the course of events. I had to imagine something. I didn’t know what, but something.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, at the end of the Yellow Arrow Road, the familiar “4D” marking appeared. My Uncle had to step on his breaks until he almost broke them. We were accelerating so fast we almost crashed onto the light post. We ducked down, sure we were going to die on impact. But sure enough, we made it, with about 2 inches to spare.
We sat there, looked up at the infamous parking number and realized we were back on the lot. Right on the spot where my uncle was pointing at the “4D” frantically, where a tiny rock was thrown at me, where the staring contest took place. The carnival came into view. Still bright. Still posing. Like we never left.
A collective sigh. A speechless moment. A realization that we had no way of explaining what had happened. The time was just past midnight. The gas tank filled again.
Like we never left.
My Uncle opened his door and threw up. Bur was rocking Bebe Rene and Felicia back and forth, shushing them, telling them everything was okay, that we just took the wrong street and it just got scary for a second. Me: the thirst. Like a fucking curse. This warm wave of desperation, needing water more than I had ever in my young 12 years of life. I reached down Bebe Rene’s diaper bag, pulled out a bottle containing formula milk and chugged the whole thing in five seconds.
After re-grouping, we cautiously drove out the parking lot. But we didn’t turn onto Canary Ave. We didn’t go anywhere near “Alamo Rd,” or the McDonalds. We took the high road and drove on our trusted highway. It was easier to breathe, but we were still at the edge of our seats.
…
We pulled up in front of Felicia’s house. All of us holding our breath. The phones were working once again, no surprise there. My Uncle, with shaky hands, ringed Felicia’s mom. A groggy, cranky voice on the other end startled us all. We felt silly right after calling, but it was better safe than sorry after the shenaniganz we lived through.
We told Felicia that a random psycho trying to impersonate her mom stalked us and somehow led us to a creepy road where she swapped the real sign for a misleading “Alamo Rd” one. We were honest enough to tell her that there’s people who are sick in their head in this world, but we assured her the scary stalker was gone forever and it was never coming back. Her exhaustion made it easy to convince her. Now, years later, she has forgotten the whole thing. I tried to bring it up once when she got older, but either she repressed it, or her mind was simply too young to retain the memory -- bless her heart.
When we pulled up to my house, we shared, yet again, a deafening silence. That time there was no threat. Only the traumatic feelings that remained. I broke down, hyperventilating, crying out my entire tear reserve. My Uncle and Bur joined me. Bebe Rene was in his car seat, at last too deep into dream world to be awoken by our wails. We allowed ourselves to hold each other’s hands and just let it out.
We never spoke about what happened. Shortly after, I started school and was hardly spending the weekends with them. I mean, not only because of school, but something just didn’t feel the same anymore. Then, not long after that, Bur left my uncle. She moved towns, a couple of hours away, so we only get to see Bebe Rene once every two months. She stopped all contact with me. I’m sure it’s nothing personal, I’m sure it has to do with whatever issues she had with my Uncle.
I’m in college now, but it still hurts. She was my best friend, above anything else. We lived through a traumatic experience and we never go to talk about it. Which was strange for us. It was almost as if a greater force was keeping us from dissecting it, or even speaking about it at all.
I hope she still thinks about me.
One thing is for sure: we all felt crazy, and truly believed that if we were to share what happened with our family they would just dismiss us and believe we were insane. So we never spoke up.
Not too long ago, my family was having a BBQ. My Uncle was there. At one point, he was left alone at the grill, mindlessly turning the fajitas over. Just lost in thought. I knew if I brought it up, like I had in the past, he was just going to shut down. For some reason that time felt different.
I stood up, walked over to him, and just took a chance: “what do you think happened?”
He stayed silent for a long time. I was used to that. But then, to my surprise, he spoke.
“I knew there was something off the moment I stepped on that lot.” Then he looked over at me, “I’m sorry.” That’s all he said. His head hanging low, like a scolded child. He thought it was his fault, like he should’ve listened to his gut. I wanted to tell him there was no way we could’ve anticipated that. That he did the best he could, that I was proud of him. But I didn’t. I just let him cook the fajitas in silence. At that point, I made the bad decision to repress it all and just move on with my life.
Needless to say, we never drove on Alamo Rd ever again.

Ever since I was a small girl, I remember my grandmother drinking afternoon tea. Everyday she would sit at her table, dressed in one of her many expensive gowns, and sip on a cup of hot tea. She had never offered me any, until my mother died.
I arrived at Grandma's estate, three days after my mother’s funeral. It had been twenty years since I had seen her last, but her home was still as extraordinary as ever. Nestled on 50 acres of classic English countryside, was her enormous British manor. Located deep in Suffolk County, amidst rolling green hills, is a grand iron gate, whose bars hide the place where childhood dreams are made. Behind its guard, runs a long cobblestone driveway that gently meanders through perfectly shaped maple trees. It is nearly three miles before you reach the clearing where the manor lay, rising above intricately designed flower gardens that cascade downward to the driveway. At the base of these colorful gardens, guarding the entrance, is a hand carved marble water fountain. Inside the crystal blue water is a 20-foot statue of Aphrodite, standing nude with long flowing hair draped over her breasts, stationed in a seductive pose. Her stone eyes glare out at all who approach.
On the east side of the property are the stable grounds.I would spend countless hours there learning to ride the most beautiful horses money could buy.
I stepped from the black Rolls Royce, which had shuttled me from the gate and stood, taking in the exquisite home. It was three stories of classic British architecture, modeled from Kensington Palace. It rose from the ground like a historic, stone wonder. For two weeks every summer it became my personal playground. And my God did I love it here.
I walked up the granite stairs, pictures of my mother’s funeral under my arm, to the massive oak door. I rang the bell and took a deep breath, repressing my anger deep inside. Mr. Jeffery, my grandma’s head servant, greeted me at the door.
“Hello Madam, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Jeffrey said, bowing his head as I stepped inside. “Hello, Jeffery. It has been a very long time.” “Far too long I must say. I have missed you dearly. You are a woman grown.” “My grandmother sent for me. I was told it was urgent.” I replied coldly. I was in no mood for idle chatter. “You will find her in the Tea room. Does my lady need to be refreshed of its location?” “I know where it is,” I said and turned away. “Misses? Where are you bags? I’ve made up your old room, just the way you like it.” “I will not be staying long Jeffery.” I snapped back and walked from the foyer. “I am sorry to hear that. I hope you reconsider.”
I entered the grand hallway, where hundreds of exquisite pieces of artwork adorned the walls. My grandma obsessively collected them over her lifetime. Many were hundreds of years old, and she often bragged how some were painted by the Renaissance masters. It was mind boggling how much money this old woman had. I never thought much about it as a child, but now, it seemed obscene that one person should have this kind of wealth.
My heels clicked rapidly inside the grand corridor, reverberating off the 20-foot ceilings. With each step, I become even angrier. Oil paintings, sculptures, and stained glass littered the walls, each piece worth thousands of dollars. The place reeked of opulence. How could a person, so filthy rich, leave her child completely defenseless? Just one of these paintings could have provided my mother the care she so desperately needed.
I stormed through the French doors and found my grandma sitting at her tea table, sipping from the same weathered tea cup she had always used. Compared to the rest of her things it was odd that she used such a simple cup.
“Hello Teresa,” She said quietly, looking my way with her piercing gray eyes. They were as brilliant as ever. “Hello, Grandma.” I chided. “Please sit with me, child.”
I sat down at the perfectly set table, fuming on the inside. It lay inside a magnificent room, whose architecture utilized many intricate arches and columns. Lavish artwork filled the space on the walls, and marble statues of nude men and woman looked on with steady eyes. The ceiling rose 30 feet to a golden dome, highlighted with an incredible Byzantine style mosaic. It was more a museum than a place for tea. Grandma’s chair faced a wall of windows which peered out into vast gardens behind the estate. Gardens which required its own full-time staff to maintain. The polarity of our lives could not be more striking.
“How is Cassandra?” She asked. “Please, do not feign interest in my daughter’s wellbeing.” I said, the words bursting forth. “I did not fly halfway across the globe to indulge in small talk.” “Go ahead child. I imagine you have many strong words for me.” “How dare you. You cold and heartless bitch.” I said, staring at her, unmoving. There was a hint of guilt deep behind her gray irises, but nothing more. “You wonder how I could miss the funeral of my only daughter. I bet it quite unimaginable from your perspective.” “Do you know that she called out for you, under her dying breath? She wept like a small child, begging for her mother as she passed. You were not there, like always. Instead, you sat, hiding here inside your castle.” “Mothers are not supposed to outlive their own daughters. Being a mother, I assumed you understood that.” She replied. Nothing I said had gotten through. I wanted to reach out, grab her turkey neck and squeeze. “That does not make it right. You left her cold, alone and penniless as she slowly deteriorated. Look at this place, all this money and you couldn’t spare a nickel for your dying daughter.” I said, seething with anger now. “I understand. You are not wrong child.” “And why couldn’t we visit more often? Once a year you would bring us here, to this fantasy land. A place you used to your advantage. You knew its power, the seductive force it had on me as a child. You must have thought it may make Mom and I forget how little you were there. Well, it didn’t work. My mother knew, and as I grew older, I came to understand it too.” “I am so sorry. But it had to be that way. It is hard to understand now, but that is why I brought you here. It is time you learn the truth.” “I don’t want to hear the pathetic excuses of a bitter old woman. Talking to you is meaningless. I had hoped, that maybe, you would exhibit a sliver of regret. But there is nothing here but an old woman and her things. No matter how many pretty horses and fancy things you gave us, in the end, it didn’t buy our love. We knew it was all fake, just like the woman who gave it.” I said getting up from the chair. It was time to leave. “Teresa wait. You can leave, believing whatever you may about me. But please, let an old woman speak, if only this last time.” “Spit it out then?” I said. “Look at you dear, the last shreds of youth has left you. It is plain for all to see.” “What did you say? I said facing her, astounded by her words. The gall of this woman was incredulous. “You used to be so beautiful. Flowing long black hair, which shone brightly, even under the darkest of nights. A physique so flawless that you had your first modeling contract by the 7th grade. You were a beacon of youth and beauty to all those around you. But that has all vanished, gripped by father time’s heartless grasp. You can continue to dye your hair, but the gray will always return, peeking up from your roots for everyone to see. And that skin, which you so foolishly aged from all that heavy partying in your twenties. That will only get worse. But worst of all was your daughter. What her birth did to your body is impossible to hide. You are a poor, single woman, closing on fifty with a teenage daughter. Do you think another man will look upon you as so many did long ago?” “How dare you,” I screamed, a lone tear leaving my eye.
I hated to admit it, but she was right. Once, I was the most beautiful woman in any room I entered. But age is not kind to pretty woman. It comes like a monster, eating away your identity, turning it into a shell of who you used to be. Then it mercilessly rips away the man you love and points him in the direction of a newer, better model.
“I am sorry, but it’s true. Time always wins. It will only get worse until you are old and alone. This must be a horrible perspective for you, Teresa. You did always prefer the attention of extraordinary men. Average never quite cut it with you. “Please. Stop. Why are you doing this? I came here, hoping you would show some remorse. But instead, I come, and you insult me. You are truly pathetic. I hope when your time comes you remember how you left your daughter to die alone. Goodbye. I hope you rot in hell, alone and afraid. And by the look of you, death cannot be far off.” I said walking from the room. “If you leave, I cannot help you.” “Fuck you, Grandma. You can’t help me. You have never helped anyone but yourself.” “You can have it all back. The perfect hair, the beautiful face, your angelic skin, and best of all, all the elite male attention I know you desire. It can all be yours again.” She said smiling.
This woman had truly lost it.
“Are you mad? You said it yourself I am almost fifty. There is nothing I can do.” “You are mistaken Teresa. I can give it all back. Just sit down and let me speak. Five minutes is all I ask.” “I don’t need your money. I refuse to become some hacked up plastic monster.” “I am not suggesting plastic surgery. What I offer is a miracle.” “I cannot believe I am doing this. You have five minutes.” I said and reluctantly sat down. “How old do you think I am?” She asked.
It was an interesting question, and one I had pondered before. My grandma’s age was always a mystery. She had always looked like an old woman, but she had rarely moved like one. Her mind was always sharp, and I had never heard about her getting sick. It was strange to think about.
“Eighty?” I said, factoring in my mother’s age. “Not a bad guess, but a little low. I turned 101 last week.” “That is impossible,” I said chuckling at the preposterousness of her claim. “Oh, it is far from impossible. I was born April 2, 1915. I can show you my birth certificate if you’d like.”
I studied her face and decided that she must be lying. A centenarian could never look this good. Strangely, even though I had not seen her in twenty years, she did not look much different. Her hair was a little whiter and her skin a bit more wrinkled, but her eyes were the same. Strong and full of life.
“Let me ask you this Teresa. When was the last time your remember seeing my hands?”
This was another interesting question, and one I had to think hard about. I thought back to my summers here as a child and realized I had never seen her without her lavender gloves.
“Oddly, I do not think I have ever seen them. You have always worn gloves.” “You are correct. Now please, stay seated, I do not want you to be alarmed.” My grandma said, standing up from the table in a smooth motion. There was no struggle in her movement. A woman of her age should not move that gracefully.
My grandma took one of her lavender gloves and slowly pulled it off. Underneath the satin fabric was a small, delicate hand, whose skin was pure as milk. There was not a single wrinkle or any visible veins. It was the hand of a young woman.
“But. How?” I said astounded. “Wait. It gets much more interesting.” She responded with a smile.
My grandma raised her hands to her snow-white hair and tugged. As the wig came off, a cascade of long golden hair fell to her shoulders. It was healthy and beautiful.
“Who are you,” I said nervously. I was beginning to get scared. Someone was impersonating my grandma. “It is me, child. Listen to my voice.” She said, softly.
She was right. It was her unmistakable voice.
“Now, this will be the worst part. I need you to stay calm.” She said reaching up to her forehead. Her manicured nails dug into her skin and ripped the highly detailed latex mask from her face. My jaw dropped. Underneath the disguise was a portrait of a young, beautiful woman, no older than twenty. Everything had changed except the eyes. They were just as when I was a child.
“What the hell?” I said stumbling up out of the chair. My heart, pounding from my chest. “I know how shocking this must be. But do not be scared. It is me. Your grandmother.” “But…how?” I said listening closely to her distinctive voice. “We are descendants of a very rare ancestry, down our matriarchal line. You and I are very special people, and now that your mother has passed, it is the time you learn who you really are. I promise to explain everything over a cup of tea. Something I have been eagerly awaiting for a very long time. “ “But we are forbidden to ever drink your tea,” I said. “That was true. Until today.”
I reluctantly sat back at the table and stared at this woman who claimed to be my grandma. My hands were shaking, and I was struggling to breathe as I processed this strange turn of events. She walked over to her china cabinet and pulled a small tea cup and saucer from inside. It was off-white porcelain with hand painted floral patterns. Identical to one she had always used. She carefully placed it on the table.
“This is yours, Teresa. It is very old. Do not let anything happen to it. Breaking it would be the ultimate tragedy.”
She grabbed the teapot from the table as a faint trace of steam rose from its spout, and poured a small cup of tea for us both. It was light brown in color. When finished, she peered at me, her eyes encouraging me to drink. I put the cup to my lips and sipped.
“Uhhh,” I said gagging on the foul tasting drink. “What is this? Poison?” “Quite the opposite.” She said, chuckling.“The taste will get better in time. Eventually you will come to enjoy its flavor.” “I can’t drink this. It tastes like it was pulled from a septic tank.” “Just give it a moment.” She said taking a long sip of her cup. “What do you mean?” “Do you feel any different?” “If you are talking about a horrible taste in my mouth, then yes.” “Oh yes, forgive me, I forgot. It may take a bit longer to act than my own. Go on and take another sip. I assure you it is safe.” “I will not. That stuff is vile.” “You will change your mind here shortly.”She said calmly.
I leaned back in my chair, as the wave euphoria trickled through my body. It was like a switch had been flipped. When I arrived here, I had been angry, jet lagged and utterly exhausted. I had slept little more than a few hours since my mother’s passing. But now, a surge of euphoric energy was pulsating inside me. Like a hit of pure cocaine, but different. It didn’t feel like a drug.
“What the hell is going on?” I said, the effect intensifying with every breath. “Finish the drink. What you are experiencing now is only the beginning.”
Without hesitation, I emptied the contents down my throat. The taste was worse the second time, but it didn’t matter. I wanted more. As the next wave of tea hit my stomach, I felt an ever stronger explosion of energy permeate my entire body. It was incredible, like the world’s greatest drug was pumping through my veins. But instead of high, I felt alert, clear headed and best of all, alive.
“What did you give me?” I said. “Welcome to afternoon tea my dear. Now please, come with me.”
My grandma took my hand, her skin as soft as a child, and led me away from the tea room. I was floating high in ecstasy as we moved along her marble laid corridors. Everything was perfect until something bad happened.
“Something’s wrong with my eyes. I can’t see.” I exclaimed, as my vision suddenly became extremely blurry. I could only see fuzzy patches of color.
My grandma reached up and pulled off my glasses. It was like I had a blindfold removed. The world around me came into sharp focus, with an incredible clarity I had never experienced before. Ever since my early twenties I had worn glasses or contacts, and my vision had continually gotten worse from that point on.
“How is your vision, Teresa?” Grandma said, with a gleeful pitch in her voice. “This is incredible,” I said astounded that I could see everything in perfect detail. “What happened to my eyes?” “They’re healing.” “Healing? But how?” “That is only the beginning.”
We traveled deep into the manor towards Grandma’s ground floor bedroom suite. Adjacent to her bedroom was the closet, a closet which was bigger than my entire apartment. It was loaded with racks and racks of expensive clothing and shoes. We went inside, and she guided me in front of her mirrors.
“The change will subtle at first, but take a hard look at yourself, and tell me what you see.”
I stared deeply into the wall of mirrors, my naked eyes inspecting with newfound precision. There was something different, but I could not pinpoint it.
‘What am I looking for?” I said. “Look at closely at your face.”
I moved closer to the mirror and studied my face. It was my wrinkles. While still visible, they were lessened considerably. I looked like I had good night sleep and professional makeup applied. The bags under my eyes were gone. The sun marks had lighted. And my hair looked vibrant and alive. The gray roots had faded away.
“Holy shit. I look five years younger.” “Precisely.” She said with a grin. “How is this possible?” “This is your inheritance, Teresa.” “My inheritance?” “You have been given a very special gift, a gift that has been passed down in our family since the early 18th century. It is extraordinarily powerful. What you are experiencing now, is just a sample of its full potential, which is beyond your wildest imagination. But to realize this power, I must first give you a choice. Either, you can forget any of this ever happened and return home, or you stay with your old Grandmother, and join me tomorrow for afternoon tea. The choice is yours. I’ve had your room prepared by Jeffery. I assume you still remember where it is?” “Of course. How could I forget?” “Stay for the night, explore the stables as you did as a child, and come to a decision. Return to your life as you once knew it, or travel down a rabbit hole. I do hope you choose the later, and then maybe, you will come to understand the decisions I have made in my life.”
And with that, she left, to where I do not know. But one thing was certain. I did not need time to reflect on a decision. She had me at that first sip. I was heading down the rabbit hole.
I entered the tea room precisely at three o’clock. Tea time had always been 3 pm in my grandma’s house. Although neither my mother nor I had ever participated, we could always see her, behind the glass, sipping her afternoon her tea as she watched us play in the garden.
Grandma was already seated, wearing a beautiful sequined black gown. There was no mask. She was still the young, beautiful woman I met yesterday. Apparently the need for a disguise had concluded. She smiled as I walked in, no doubt pleased I decided to come. On the table were two cups and a teapot, steam pouring from the spout.
“Hello dear, I am glad you decided to come.” She said “How could I resist,” I replied, taking a seat at the table. “Truly.” She said nodding. “I was in your position once, a very long time ago.”
I did not respond. My attention focused on the kettle.
“You want more don’t you?” She said. “It...It was incredible. I haven’t felt like that in years.” “And how do you feel today? “Still different, but like nothing like I did yesterday.” “Unfortunately, the effect is not permanent. It must constantly be maintained.” “What is it? The tea I mean.” “It’s complicated,” She said pouring the tea into my cup. “Now sip this slowly. It is much better that way.”
I pulled the cup to my lips and took a sip. I gagged briefly but kept it down.
“Tell me what this is?” “Soon enough my dear.” She said taking a sip. “Are you ready to hop down the rabbit hole?” “I’m ready,” I said greedily taking another sip of the hot, rancid tea. “You and I were born into a very special family. Unfortunately, I know very little of our origins, but one thing is unquestionable. We have been blessed with a remarkable gift. It is your inheritance, revealed to you at your mother's passing. The source of this gift has been lost, but lucky for us, the benefit remains. What I do know it this. Our power comes strictly from the tea you are consuming, with nothing more required. Now this blend here.” She said holding up her cup. “It has a significantly stronger effect on me than it will you.” “Why is that?” “Well, because it is a unique blend, tailored specifically for me. Soon you have your personal blend, precisely brewed for your own use. When consumed, it will transform your entire life in a matter of minutes. “Like what happened to my eyesight?” “That is a small part of it, but the effect is more comprehensive than that. In its simplest explanation, the tea could be described as a fountain of youth. That exquisite beauty you enjoyed as a young woman will all be yours again, only now it will be amplified. Imagine being a young, beautiful woman, but never needing makeup or ever watching what you eat. You will have the metabolism and stamina of a professional athlete, easily able to accomplish any physical task you attempt. Your skin will be flawless and perfectly colored, without the need of any products. That long black hair of yours, well it will be perfect, every single day. Your body will be the epitome of health. Getting sick will be a distant memory, erased from your life like the wrinkles from your eyes. You will look like you are eighteen years old again.” “Eighteen years old? Are you serious?” “Very. Here take a look at yourself.” My grandma said handing me a small brass mirror. As I peered at my reflection my face was already looking brighter and healthy. I was changing with each sip. “And I won’t get sick?” “I have not had so much as a cough in the past 70 years.” She said. “Is that how long you have been using this?” “Yes, it is around that number. This is a very powerful asset. All of this you see, my youth, my extreme wealth, have all derived from drinking this tea.” “How did your youth bring you such incredible wealth?” “In many ways. The easiest method is simple enough. Seduction and manipulation. Combine a wise mind, with the body of a goddess, and you have a lethal combination. Men are like flies. Put out some honey and they buzz into the trap, billfolds and all. They are simple creatures. However, that is not your only weapon. The world has changed, and woman of today can make own way, without the need of powerful men. You see, youth and beauty, are not the only benefits. It also purifies the brain of all its imperfections, resulting in vastly improved function. Your intellect will increase tenfold. You will soak up and retain vast amounts of information with ease as long as you continue to drink from this cup. Amassing great wealth with these attributes is simple.” “This sounds all too good to be true.” “In some ways it is. I would be lying if I told you there was not a cost. However, I find it pales in comparison to the benefits. You may or may not feel the same way.” “What is the cost?” “Your mother.” She said. My mood soured. With all the excitement I had forgotten about her. “What happened to her?” I said, a revitalized anger rising to the surface. “I loved your mother dearly Teresa. Everything I did, the distant relationship, avoiding her funeral, it was all for her own good. But, we will cross that path soon enough. For now, just remember there is a profound cost. And you alone must decide if that cost is worth it. For me it was.”
“Our family gift is passed down on the matrilineal bloodline. Unfortunately, the ability to use it always skips a generation. I inherited it from my grandmther, whose Grandmother passed it on to her and so on for the last three centuries. It was revealed to me on the day my own mother died. And today, I pass it to you. Sadly, your mother was unable to receive the gift, and thus, it could only come to you, my only granddaughter. Cassandra, like your mother, cannot receive its power. It is reserved for your eventual granddaughter. If Cassandra does not bear a female child, the gift will end.” I sat back, deep in thought, and continued to sip the disgusting brew. It was bitter and grainy. But with each sip, it delivered was more of what I was craving. My physical senses were all heightened, hearing, touch, smell, sight, it was all so vivid and clear. This was truly a miracle. “Now that you understand the immense power, it is the time I reveal the source. Which I must warn, is incredibly unsettling. I can still vividly remember the day I learned the dark secret of its power. It was very difficult. But, I assure you, the negative feelings will pass once you ingest your first cup of tea.” “What is so great about the first cup?” “Everything.” She said, a smile curling upon her lips. “It is specifically blended for you. The blend we have been consuming, it belongs to me. It can only give you a brief glimpse behind the curtain. To reveal all, you must consume it at full strength. After your first cup, you will look thirty and feel twenty. This effect will last for several days, but if you drink it daily, well that is where the real magic happens. You will be thrust into the prime of your life, armed with an assortment of weapons you never had access to the first time around. Nothing can stop you. There is no death.” “No death?” “Correct. Let’s say someone you trust tries to take your life, something, which given your power, will probably happen at least once. Jealousy is a nasty beast. Imagine you are stabbed. Well, that’s no problem at all. Your body will just heal itself almost instantly. Strangulation? Doesn’t matter. You will just keep breathing. No illness or disease can ever harm you. You will be while under its effect, immortal.” I was stunned, imagining this must all be a dream. Immortality, eternal beauty, more money than I could spend. It all seemed too good to be true. “Tell me how to make it. I am ready.” I said. I was through waiting. “The million dollar question. Well, no use putting it off any longer. You will either accept it or not.” “What’s the catch? It must be important.” “Finish your drink. It is better I show you.”
I took the last swig, wincing as it went down. As I stood up, I felt no more pain in in my knees, and my lungs, well I bet that I could run a marathon on a single breath.
“Come this way.” My grandma said. “What you are about to learn will seem disturbing and grotesque at first, but I need you to remain calm and think of the bigger picture. This is an amazing opportunity for you, Teresa. Please try and understand that.” “Where are we going?” I asked as we walked down a small dark hallway. One I had never seen before. “You want to know the catch?” “Yes,” I said. “Well, it’s a big one.”
At the end of the hallway was a dead end. Grandma’s fingers touched the wallpaper and delicately drew a pattern. It was some sophisticated hidden keypad. She then pressed her palm on the wall, and a hidden door slid open. Cold air rushed out towards us.
“What is this place?” I asked. “This is my freezer.”
Inside the hidden room was a small table with various items on it. At the far side was a large steel door. A door to a walk-in freezer. I felt a bit of nervousness sweep up through me, briefly damping the euphoria.
“It is time. Behind this door is the truth.” She said slowly opening the freezer door. A fluorescent light flickered to life, just as I looked inside. I turned my head and retched, hacking up the tea from my belly. “Fuck.” I shrieked, staring at the corpse, which lay stiff on a gurney. The body had been mutilated. The left leg and arm were gone. It was the body of a woman. “Teresa, this is my mother. She was your great grandmother.” She said flatly. “My great grandmother? I said shaking with fear. “What the fuck is she doing in your freezer?” “Well, my dear. This is the catch.”
My grandma grabbed a large knife that hung from a ring and approached the body. The dead women was nude, and to my amazement, looked surprisingly good for a century old corpse. Without hesitation, my grandma went straight for right thigh and hacked off a small piece of the hardened flesh. I almost spilled up more tea, but I watched, hypnotized in a paralyzed shock. After removing the flesh, she left the freezer and approached the table. She placed the flesh into a small grinder. Seconds later it was morphed into a fine powder which she dumped onto the table. Once I saw her grab the empty tea bag I understood.
“That is afternoon tea?” I said horrified. “This is the secret.” “How could you do such a thing? That is your mother.” “Unfortunately, this is the only way it works. Our life is drawn from their death.”
The realization hit me like an oncoming train. I understood how to make my blend.
“You don’t mean, do you?” I said, not wanting to believe it. “It is the only way. To obtain the key to unlimited youth, you must continue down the same road as your ancestors.” “Do you honestly think I would hack up my mother and drink her? All those years away from us have warped your mind.” “What you choose is solely yours. I am just here to show you the way. As you must do for your granddaughter, when Cassandra passes.” “You can’t be serious. Cassandra will never be some extract so that some fictitious granddaughter can follow this path.” “I understand how difficult this is to comprehend. I have stood in your shoes. But, I am not here to convince you, only to show you the way.” “I will never,” I said firmly. “Fine. But please, you must let me finish. It is my duty. I am sworn to reveal everything to you.” “Get it over with,” I demanded. “You will need your mother’s body. This will not be a problem. Soon you will understand that anything is possible with the power of money. I suggest keeping the body frozen, as I have done. It will last much longer, and it eliminates the nasty side effects associated with the dead. You must drink at least a cup a week to stay healthy and keep a median age around 30. To get all the benefits, and relive your youth, then you must drink a cup per day. If my calculations are correct, freezing and conserving her body, and only living half the year drinking a cup a day, you will survive at least another two hundred years. You can extend that number an additional hundred years with proper rationing.” “How can you talk like this? So apathetic. That is your daughter we are talking about. Your flesh and blood.” “You think I do not know that?” My grandma said, a hint of anger in her voice. “You don’t think a part of me regrets this life? It is worse than just consuming her body, much worse.” “What did you do to her?” I said, anger seething from my insides. “Have you ever wondered why your life was so shitty growing up? Why you were always poor, and why your mother always seemed to have the worst possible luck.” “What are you saying?” “The gift requires a cyclical process. While I became younger, she became older. I got rich, she had to be poor. I was healthy, she was not. This path requires the ultimate sacrifice. Your only daughter. The moment you begin to consume, her life begins its decline. She will experience a rough life, but she will scrape by and survive, and eventually give birth to a daughter. That child will be one of us and inherit the gift. She too will enjoy a wonderful life. Cassandra will give her child the greatest gift imaginable, as your mother gave you. It is quite noble if you think about it.” “That is not my choice to make. How incredibly selfish do you think I am?" “Maybe now you can understand my absence, and why I could barely stomach seeing your mother more than once a year. And, I only went that far because I wanted to see you. It was devastating to see her falling, while I had it all. Early on I tried to stay, but it was too much. So, I moved to England. I disguised myself and hid the secret from you all.” “What about the last twenty years? Where were you then?” “I knew she would get very sick. It was inevitable. I couldn’t handle watching her suffer and die.” “And it was your fault, you disgusting woman,” I said glaring at her with disdain. “It had to be done. I did it all for you. Don’t you understand?” “I am done with this. I am leaving. It would be a cold day in hell before I would ruin my daughter’s life.” “I understand.” She said quietly. “Be aware, though, I anticipated this reaction and made some choices for you.” “Goodbye, Grandma, I will not be returning.” I said turning away from her porcelain-like face. I was on the next plane home to L.A that afternoon.
I arrived home, beat and exhausted. The tea’s effects had faded, and I was now back to my old self, trudging up the stairs to my one bedroom apartment. I almost thought how great it was to be home until I saw a passed out junkie on the walkway just outside my door. Cassandra was at her fathers, staying at his Malibu beach house with that bitch of a stepmother Kelsey. It should be me living there with my family, but instead, I am stuck here, old and alone. Seeing my grandma’s estate again only intensified the pile of shit that was my life. But, at least I would see Cassandra in the morning. I missed her. Just as I went to open the door, I got a text message.
CASSANDRA: Hi Mom hope you got home OK. Going to stay dads for the week. Kelsey got me a horse and is taking me riding up in Napa Valley. I hope you do not mind. See you later:)
My hand shook as I read the message. She had been spending so much more time with her Father lately. It wouldn’t be long until she fled for college, leaving her lonely mother behind. She had grown up so damn fast. As I opened my door, there were footsteps at my back. It was a delivery man.
“Ms. Taylor?” The man said. He was holding a box. “Yes, that’s me.” “I have a urgent delivery for you. This box, and a freezer. The freezer is still on the truck.”
It was her. That despicable old bag did not get the hint. I did not want her path. But, I also did not want my mother being dragged around inside a box truck for the foreseeable future.
“Bring it up,” I said reluctantly. I would get her back to the cemetery somehow. “Yes, ma’am.” He said retreating down the steps.
I entered my apartment and examined the box. It had been sent overnight from England. I ripped it open, and inside was a letter and eight small tea cups. They were all identical. I opened the letter and began to read.
Dear Teresa: I am sorry that we parted company under such unsavory conditions. However, I do not hold it against you. What you saw is shocking and difficult to understand. But, if you are reading this then you know that I have arranged for a freezer to be delivered. Yes, your mother is inside. If this angers you, then please send me a message and I will have her placed back in the cemetery. However, if you choose to follow in your ancestor's footsteps there are some rules you must follow. As I continued to read the man came in the apartment with a freezer.
“Where do you want it, ma’am?” “In the backroom please,” I said, and the man put it there and plugged in. I signed for it, and he left. I continued to read.

1. Conserve.To make your supply last, you must pace yourself. It can be extremely intoxicating to spend every day in youth, but you must restrain yourself. You will understand soon enough.
2. For your mental well-being, I strongly suggest you begin to put distance between you and Cassandra. It is in her best interest not to know the truth. You may need to move away, as I did so many years ago.
3. Safe guard the cups. If they are broken beyond repair, the gift is extinguished.
4. A piece of flesh no bigger than a penny is all that is needed. Steep the bag three times. Each bag can be reused to make 30 cups. Every part of the body will work, including bone. Let nothing go to waste.
5. The first cup will have a very intense effect. Be prepared. Your body will go through a drastic change in a very short period. I suggest being alone.
6. Create a nest egg. You will need lots of money. Use it to develop some alternate identities. Hire only people you can trust with your secret. Like, Jeffery. Pay these people handily to keep your secret.
7. When Cassandra passes, you must relay our secret to your granddaughter. Give her the rest of the cups I have included, and tell her our method. The gift is in your hands now.

That is all. Everything else will come to you in time. I hope you decide to visit. We have much to discuss. Remember, my door is always open for you Teresa.
With Love Grandma Terry
I put the letter down, my hands trembling, and rushed to the bathroom. I bent over the toilet with an urge to vomit, but it never came. When I stood up, I looked deep into the mirror at the woman I had become. Without the tea’s beneficial effect, I was reverted to my previous self. Old and weathered, haggard from the years of abuse I had inflicted on my body. All that partying from my twenties caught up with me, and I had lost everything. Now I was just another middle-aged woman, lost in the endless sea of ordinary people, and I hated ordinary. Gone were the days as a teen, where time was spent laying in the sun, tanning my golden body. Endless free vacations and gifts bought by men who barely knew me, all vying for my attention. My meteoric rise up the California social scene, where I was someone, making waves with the rich and famous. Then I got pregnant, and everything came crashing down. My body was ruined and along with it all my aspirations. Cassandra’s father was a successful Hollywood producer, a pretentious asshole who dumped me as soon he found out. With no formal education or job prospects, I was left penniless to raise my daughter on my own. Only years later did he come around, and became the now doting father. He proceeded to spoil her rotten, garnering her favor, while I was left dealing with the most challenging portions of parenting. Cassandra, oblivious to the struggles I endured as a poor single mother, came to love her father. And why wouldn’t she, he could give her anything she desired. And now, she barely came to see me anymore, spending ever more time with her new, hip stepmother. All the while her mother rotted alone, working a crappy minimum wage job, living in a shitty subsidized apartment.
I screamed and then cried. Cried until there was nothing left but anger.
I went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and moved slowly into my bedroom. The compressor hummed. Was she really inside?
I took a deep breath and pulled the hatch. Inside was my mother, crammed in the fetal position. It was the only way to fit a body inside. To my relief, her head was covered with a black hood.
After a brief hesitation, I went for it, slicing a small piece of flesh from her forearm. It was easier than I had expected. I shut the freezer and went to the kitchen where I pulled a coffee grinder from the cabinet. I ground the flesh into a powdery mix, exactly how my grandma had done. Then I wrapped the powder in a small napkin and steeped it in some boiling water. I had brewed my first cup of tea. It was brown and smelled foul, but I salivated with anticipation.
He will lust for me once more. However, this time it will be his life that is ruined. Not mine.
I sat back, thanked my mother, and took my first sip.

Previous Stories
Cousin Anna and the Ouija Board
The phone call was hurried; a rushed explanation, an address and a plea. They’d messed with something they shouldn’t have even known about.
And of course I was expected to fix it.
Most of my cousins knew better than to break out the Ouija board at a house party, but it’d been too late by the time Anna caught them, hands on the planchette, as the lights in the room flickered and something answered their call. She locked herself in the bathroom and called me from a circle of bath salt on the tile floor. The girl wasn’t dumb, but she was trapped.
Spirit boards were used as early as the Song Dynasty, but the Ouija Board is a Hasbro-owned term coined in 1901, by a man named Fuld, who thought he could speak Egyptian Arabic. (Later he admitted that Ouija comes from the French and German words for yes.) Yes-Yes Boards have been available in America since the 1890’s, and playing with one was considered a parlor game for many years before mediums and spiritualists took the rite up a notch and claimed to speak to the dead. Since then, boards have been given a bad rep, and are known as a surefire way to get your shit possessed, according to some Pagans, Christians, and other people that don’t know what they’re talking about.
Here’s what a Ouija Board really is: cardboard and ink, with just a bit of plastic.
Can it get you in trouble? Sure, if you let it. But it requires some power to do so. Outside of Hollywood, a couple college kids screwing around with a planchette are completely safe, unless one of them has a buried ability in their blood to summon up something actually dangerous.
Apparently the houseparty had one such attendee, and the moment her fingers guided that plastic pointer across the cardboard and ink, something answered. Idiots. If you want to talk to ghosts, meditate with some incense, a white candle, and a specific dead person in mind. Don’t just let anyone in. And keep your hands off spirit boards, unless you’re an absolute muggle. This isn’t a movie, and I can’t save everyone.
I pulled up to the house on the outskirts of a ritzy neighborhood. The address Anna gave me belonged to a mailbox with Rainiers printed neatly on it. It sounded familiar, but I gave it no real thought.
In the neatly manicured yard, a few party goers huddled together, talking quickly. I asked if anyone had called the cops yet, and they shook their heads.
“What’s going on?” one of them asked, pushing the others aside to follow me towards the house. She stopped at the bottom of the porch, as I continued on, without answering.
I’m by no means an expert in the paranormal. I don’t even much like it. But I’ve talked with the dead, seen some things that made me a believer, and as much as I hate it, I’d been marked by Death early in my life. So people tended to trust me to save their ass in stupid situations. Wish I got paid for it.
Inside the house, most of the bulbs had blown, a good sign something was drifting around. I checked my neck for the little star charm hanging there, and patted it twice, taking solace in its presence. From my pocket, I pulled out my phone, and turned on both the flashlight and camera. Likely nothing would show on the recording screen, but it couldn’t hurt.
I made my way through the foyer, and into a living room. The couch lay on its back, and ashes from the fireplace coated the entire room, as if a backdraft had torn through the chimney. Sooty handprints covered the walls and ceiling, with some of the fingers stretching down the sheetrock as if the person had been dragged along. I held my phone light high and surveyed the room. It was very dark outside of the beam. As I swept the phone around, checking the screen for any disturbance, something flashed by my shoulder. I froze, and in my peripheral saw a woman step up to my side. Refusing to look, I tried to make out her features in the dark room, the bright light of my recording screen ruining my night vision. She stood roughly five feet tall, just below my chin, with a tangled rat’s nest of black hair. Without warning, she screamed into my ear, her mouth stretching around the howl. I flinched and she vanished.
Great, she didn’t like me. This would be fun.
I stepped past the destroyed couch, and into the kitchen. I couldn’t tell what was a mess from the party and what was destroyed because of the supernatural haunting taking place in this suburban dream. I swept a spot on the counter clean with my arm, pushing red Solo cups and melted jello shots into the sink. The sticky countertop pissed me off, but I didn’t take the time to scrub it down before setting my purple Jansport in the driest spot I could find. From it, I pulled a repurposed Windex bottle filled with holy water, my banishing powder, and a white sage leaf. It misted as I sprayed it over my head, and the smell of black pepper and cloves settled around my shoulders.
Time for business. I played back the recording so far, and other than a dirty house and some minor static when the spirit screamed at me, nothing weird showed up. I sighed, and continued recording anyway. Hopefully my battery wouldn’t die before I got Anna out of the house.
Sliding the now sticky backpack onto my shoulders, I stepped out of the kitchen, spray bottle pointed forward, and swept my light around the hallway. On the ceiling, ashy handprints led to the stairs. As I looked up, something popped across the hall, from one room to another.
Bottle aimed like a gun, I crept forward, and pushed the bathroom door open with my boot. The room seemed empty, the mirror throwing back my camera light. The shower curtain was pulled shut, and I knew better than to look behind it. Whatever was floating around didn’t need to be given any chances to mess with me. I sprayed the room down with the banishing mix, and shut the door. Across the way was an office, also empty. Shelves lined the walls, and books littered the floor. It seemed like a standard pissed off ghost. The Ouija Board had likely pulled her memory across, confusing her, and making her angry. It didn’t happen often, but it wasn’t impossible.
Most hauntings are only energy, past lives echoing across time and colliding with us. Some spirits were cognizant enough to know what happened or where they were, some even came back with personality, but others were empty thoughts, and hard to get rid of. I’d try asking politely, before pulling out the big guns.
I took one last look around the scattered office, before it clicked that these Rainiers were likely the same as the local law firm on ALL of the billboards in the South. Best to get things done and get out before Mrs. Lawyer returned and sued me for property damage. Out of the office window, I could see that the small group of college aged kids on the lawn had grown in number, and were studying the house. I was glad they’d escaped the terror. I flashed my light through the glass and they all flinched back, unable to see me behind the bright light. With a laugh, I misted the room down, before moving on.
Upstairs, things looked much the same: lights blown, belongings and furniture scattered, and handprints along the ceiling, which honestly could pass for a crazy house party, if there’d been enough liquor.
Off the landing, a door was slamming into something repeatedly, the thump thump thump freaking me out more than anything so far. I made my way through the darkness, cell phone light sweeping back the shadows.
I checked the screen again to see if anything was visible, and a face popped up, eyes wide and mouth open. Hands came around the phone screen to grab me, and I jumped back, cursing. Too late, I sprayed the air with the bottle, but she was already gone.
Poltergeists cause mischief and mayhem just because they can, but it’s usually focused on one person, or family. I’ve seen them attach to a house over time, but rarely has a poltergeist ever formed so quickly after being summoned. Most things summoned take time to build energy or anger before acting out, even rudely awakened ghosts. The exception was demons. With them, all bets are off.
But I doubted this was a demon, just a fast reacting spirit. Maybe she’d died badly and the memory fueled her anger. It didn’t matter; she had to go.
I continued my investigation of the house, and came to a shut door. Knocking got me no answer, so I opened the door slowly, raising the light to see what lay beyond. It was another bathroom. On the tile floor sat a jug of spilled bath salts, the debris forming an interrupted circle. Anna had been here, had formed the safety circle, but the rose scented salt ring had been broken at some point. No ghost could get through a circle of power, so Anna would’ve chosen to scatter the salt line and venture out. That dumb girl. I noticed then that the mirror had cracked, a good trick to get humans to panic and flee. But Anna was smarter than that. She’d only leave the certain safety if she really needed to.
I misted my spray here too, effectively ridding the spirit of three rooms to hide in, before continuing on.
I reached the first bedroom where the door was thudding into a pair of human legs bent around the frame. Shit. I took a breath, praying it wasn’t Anna, and shouldered the door open, stepping into the room beyond.
Somehow I hadn’t noticed the smell, too preoccupied with Anna and the house, but every inch of this room was coated in blood and viscera. Bodies littered the floor here, all of them fallen back from the center of the room where a coffee table sat with a Ouija Board on top. The Hasbro box lay nearby, ripped up and coated in red. Anna hadn’t said anyone was dead when she called, panicked. Where the hell was she?
Stepping carefully around the bodies, I looked for her in the group of dead kids. I reached the other side of the room without finding Anna, and peered out the window. The kids on the lawn looked up at me. The house was dark, so they shouldn’t have been able to see me standing in the shadows. I studied their faces, trying to find my cousin, when I realized those below me were the same as the dead kids behind me. The room grew icy cold, and dreading what I’d find, I turned slowly from the window to find the ghosts of the dead kids standing behind me.
Had no one escaped the party house?
In the hallway, Anna flew by the door without a word. I paused, eyeing the kids, but they only stared me down. Spray bottle and camera at the ready, I stepped back across the room and into the hallway. The spirits parted to let me through.
In the dark, Anna had vanished again, but Death appeared briefly, passing by me, her black eyes, inky tears, and red smile bright in the dark. She turned into the bedroom, and I called after her, “Take the evil one with you too, while you’re at it.” She only laughed in response, and I shuddered. The sound was just as rough as I remembered it, sandpaper against silk, the last breath of a teenager and the setting of the sun. I let her go, unchallenged. May the kids in that room find peace.
There were two rooms left, both bedrooms if I had to guess. I entered the closest one, and immediately the bed sheets moved. I jerked my spray bottle up and shined the light forward. Shiny eyes reflected in the camera, and I breathed easier. On the bed, peeking out from the pillows, sat a little terrier. I stepped forward slowly, hand out and he sniffed my fingers before wagging his tail. Save the dog, rule number one in any paranormal event. I scooped the friendly beast into my backpack and zipped up the sides. He poked his head out, happy to tag along.
“Alright, Fido, where’s Anna?” I asked him, as I moved back to the hallway.
The last room in the house was the master’s bedroom, and I entered it cautiously. On the bed, Anna sat head in her hands.
“Hey,” I whispered, but she didn’t look up. “Hey!” I said louder, and she jerked, dragging her head up. It lolled backwards, as if her neck didn’t have the strength to support it, and then rolled along her shoulders until her eyes met mine. Her hands fell to the bed, and her jaw went slack. She gurgled at me, the same damn sound the Grudge girl made, and that’s when I realized she was screwing with me.
“You bitch,” I cursed at her, and she laughed. Anna returned to normal and waved me over.
“What happened here, other than the obvious?” I asked. “Kids, Ouija Boards, possession, the yuge,” she said, abbreviating usual and making my eye twitch.
“And?” I asked, wanting to know where the angry ghost had gone.
“Oh! She’s in the bathroom, I trapped her. I would’ve just taken care of it, but my bug-out bag is in the car, and I figured you’d hate to have wasted the gas and not be needed.” Anna paused, and as if on cue, a weird groaning echoed behind the master bath’s door.
“You trapped a ghost in a bathroom?” I asked, incredulous. It’s not impossible, but she had nothing but bath salt.
“Yeah, but only because it’s actually inside Sarah right now. I locked that thing in her just a minute ago.”
“Wait, who?”
“Sarah Rainier, lives here, goes to school with me, hosted this party?” Anna waved her hand around, the snarky tone of her voice only serving to piss me off.
“The lawyer’s daughter summoned a ghost with a spirit board?”
“Yup. Must not’ve not known she could. Her mom’s pretty vanilla. Their family likely hasn’t dabbled in the occult for generations.”
I nodded. “Right, well, I’m sorry about all your friends in the other room.”
Anna nodded, face softening. “Gonna be hard explaining this to her parents, and the cops.”
That was a problem for later.
I handed the backpack and camera to Anna, and she smiled at the dog. I pulled white candles from another of the pockets, and a lighter from my jeans. She aimed the flashlight at the bathroom, and noted the diminished battery life of my phone. I shrugged. We were almost done now.
Setting candles in front of the door, I lit them, and then made a half circle of salt around the threshold, so Sarah couldn’t get by me. I stepped over the ring and imagined white energy surrounding me. Properly grounded, I opened the door, and stepped into the bathroom.
Sarah crouched in the tub, staring at me. I held the spray bottle out, but she didn’t move. Locked in a body must have confused her even more. Sarah breathed heavily through her mouth, great gulping breaths like she didn’t quite understand how to work her lungs.
I knelt by the bathtub, and took Sarah’s wrist in my hand. There was a pen mark there, drawn by Anna. I licked my thumb and rubbed it off, but kept a firm grip on Sarah. She didn’t resist, nor did the spirit in her try to flee with the rune broken.
“It’s time to go,” I crooned softly. “Will you please go? And not hurt anyone else. They didn’t mean to pull you here.”
Sarah stared at me, dazed. Her eyes were too wide, and her mouth drooped on one side. She tried to speak, but it was less than a gurgle.
I sighed, and spoke again. “I need you to go. Don’t make me bang a spoon on a pan, please. It looks ridiculous and hurts my ears.” The stupid Tumblr advice actually does work in a pinch, but Anna would never let me live it down.
Sarah chose that moment to start choking, great shuddering coughs that wracked her entire body. Something was happening. Not taking a chance, I turned on the shower, and cold water cascaded over us. Running water solved Sarah’s ghost problem.
The shaking grew worse, but the angry energy dissipated under the waterfall. She collapsed in the bottom of the tub, and I turned the faucet off, before returning to Anna.
“Call the cops, and stop the camera,” I said, and she did.
It was not a fun night that I spent talking to the cops. I couldn’t tell them much, other than Anna called me from inside a locked bathroom when she heard screaming, and I came to help her immediately. We didn’t show them my video, and Anna explained that she called me instead of 911 because she’d panicked.
They took my info because I’d wandered into the room of dead kids, but otherwise dismissed Anna and me, since we were both women and barely 250 pounds together.
Sarah rode to the hospital, still unconscious.
I still don’t know what the official report says (and I’m curious because they had to somehow explain the handprints on the ceiling,) but I can say Sarah is very lucky her mother is a lawyer.
In less than a year, the case was closed unsolved, the Rainiers had moved across the country, and Anna had a good reason to skip house parties.
As for me, well...I’m still not getting paid to save dumbasses.
Those ungrateful jerks.

“I’ll have the triple crispy chicken combo, with an unsweetened iced tea.” Bruce says to a garishly painted metal pole in front of a big sign.
“Anything else for you?”
“Nope.”
“$8.75 at the second widow.”
Without comment Bruce pulls forward to the second window. I personally think it’s a bit early for such garbage, but compared to breakfast, I’m not sure it’s any worse. Ordering food is the only thing he’s said since we left the Candied Apple. I am curious about it all, but I think I’ll ask after he eats. Most people are nicer after they eat. It’s a gamble with Bruce, but I’ll hope for the best. At the window Bruce shoves a card to her with a grunt for no, when she asks him if he wants any sauce. I get the feeling that they have crossed paths before. She hands him back the card and then his food without a word. She’s looking glad to see him off. I don’t blame her at all. I wish I could see him off. Bruce drives about a block and then pulls into a lot, parking under a tree. I get the feeling this is a regular thing for him. Without a word he tears through his sandwich and waffle fries. The fries do look good. I wish I could smell them. I know they would smell good. Snitter pays no attention to the food as Bruce powers through it. He can’t smell it anymore than me, and he’s not really a dog. Finished, Bruce crumples all the wrappers and bag inside the paper fry cup and then tucks it into a cup holder next to his ice tea. He then takes out his phone and starts fiddling with it. I want to peek, but I don’t because I am polite. I give up on him being talkative.
“Why can the witches touch spirits?” I ask one of the many questions I have.
He locks the screen of the phone and looks into the rear view mirror at me. “It’s just something they can do. They can do a lot of weird things with the dead. It’s no wonder they used to get burned all the time. Of course, that still happens in some parts of the world.”
“What do I look like?”
Bruce pauses, as if taken aback. “You haven't seen yourself yet, have you? Well you can see yourself in the mirror at home. I have a whole list of orienting things we need to do with you. But today I figured it was better if we coasted a bit.”
“Coasted? You used me as show and tell to all of your friends.”
“No. It was my day to check in with those folks. They are more or less the heads of their perspective communities. And they are not my friends, except for Bob. I like Bob.”
“Is that why you gave him those slippers?” I’m still surprised that he could make such a gesture of humanity, without slapping Bob in the face with them first.
“Aye. Bob is good people. See, he’s gotten old, and he’s crippled. So all he’s got is the apartment DOI provides, and a small stipend. It’s one of the things about werewolves in civilized society. Bob’s in the pack, but he’s at the bottom.”
“I got the impression he was the leader at one time?”
“At one time, yes. But usually when the alpha is replaced in the pack, he’s killed by the challenger. Bob survived, so he’s the least of the alphas in his own pack. He’s also too old and crippled to work, even if he could find someone that would hire a werewolf. There are laws preventing the discrimination, but they don’t help much.” Bruce pauses to take a drink of his tea, and then replaces it in the cup holder. “See, Bob was the best Alpha that pack ever had. He helped them integrate into city life, back when the government started pushing that, and all the other stuff like creating the DOI. The U.S. was a bit late on that. See, Bob was a hell of a fighter from what I hear. Not a brute, but lithe and fast. He’d hamstring and gut another werewolf before they knew it. But he also could choose to not fight, which is very rare among them. His level head is what made the integration possible. If Eric had been Alpha then it would have been bad. Probably one less pack in the world.”
“You keep saying them, and they. But you’re a werewolf too.” I say, waiting for him to bite my head off.
“Not really. I mean yeah, I change on the full moon. My aging has slowed way down, and all the other physical stuff. But I don’t have the bloodlust. I can change whenever I want, not just when I’m angry or on full moons. I keep my mind during the change... for the most part. And I have no need to be part of their pack.”
“Oh, I was beginning to think that was part of why you are mean is because of the werewolf.”
Bruce looks at me in the mirror, the anger plane on his face, and then he sighs. “Mean. That’s what ya think of me? I don't blame you. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Vita, but I knew with you here I couldn't avoid it. I’m also not very good with people. I grew up in a house that hated the supernatural. Called all of them monsters or abominations against Gods divine design. I knew I was a seer when I was little, but I had to hide it. It made me keep to myself, and that’s never changed. It’s not some sad sob story, it’s just the way it is, OK?”
“Yeah.” I actually feel bad now. “And you and Vita…”
“Yeah, we were a thing. We were a thing for a while. A pretty good thing. But her craft takes up a lot of her time, and when the newness of us wore off, she had less and less time for us. Her craft comes first. I didn't see the point in staying. See, she’s really powerful. Frighteningly so. And then you saw how she gets. People don't challenge her much. So my leaving really didn’t go over well. That house used to be ours. Hell, I even ordered a chicken sandwich for lunch, on accident. Fried chicken is her favorite.” Bruce pauses taking a long drink from his tea, draining it. “But I still have Mister Stubbs.” he said with a mischievous grin.
“The cat?” I ask surprised. It sat perched on the couch staring at me most of the night. Until I closed my eyes. I don't know where he went from there.
“Aye. He was hers when we met. After I left he turned up at my house one day. She’s come and stolen him back half a dozen times, but he keeps coming back.” He finishes with a chuckle and a grin.
“What kind of a name is Mister Stubbs for a cat?”
“It’s the name of an old blues singer from way back. My favorite in fact.” It figures Bruce is a blues guy. “Besides, it’s better than what she named him.”
“What’s that?”
Bruce rolls his eyes and says, “Sir, Reginald Von Bartlesby-Weeniebottom esquire.”
I say nothing. I mean, what do you say to that?
As if reading my mind Bruce says, “Yeah she’s mad, but in a good way.” A smile creeps across his face.
“Bruce.” I say looking for signs of annoyance before continuing. “Do you think that there’s anything to you being special?” I’m not really concerned, just curious. If he has super powers of something I’m sure they do something like curdle milk at a glance, or cause rain at public gatherings.
He doesn’t answer. He just stares out the window at the tree in front of the car. Then reaches over and puts the front windows down. “Don’t want the car to smell like lunch, you know. This is mine. There’s a company car we can use, but the paperwork is terrible. I have to pay for gas on my government card, which I then have to fill out an expense report for. And, the car is never clean because the last person that uses it never cleans up after themselves. Better this way, just using mine.” He leans back in his seat a bit, giving a small groan. “I don’t know. Lawrence and Vita know their shit. Lawrence might have been fucking with me for sport. But under it all, Vita was serious. And that she doesn't know what it could mean. That worries me. If she doesn't call me late tonight telling me what it means then I’m going to be really worried.”
“Why would she do that? You walked out on her without even a goodbye.”
“Because I know her. As soon as we left she started working on it. She can’t stand not knowing. She’s worse than a cat.”
“What if it is something?”
Bruce shrugs. “What can I do about it? What can you do about being a spirit? It’s a concern for later, if at all. Besides, we have real work to do now.”
“Oh?”
I’m almost glad for the change in subject. Somehow I don't like him being so open with me. Maybe I’m just safe to talk to, because he more or less controls me. But, I’m not comfortable with this much personal stuff. Maybe Bruce and I will get along after all.
“Yeah. I was checking in on my phone, and we got a request for a drop-in close by. A drop-in is when a citizen calls the DOI hotline and reports something supernatural. It’s a national number, but they get sent to the appropriate office.” he says as if reading my mind. “They are kind of fun because you never know what you might get. Although a lot of times they turn out to be mental, and then we have to call social services. Sad really... Maybe they are not as fun as I thought they were.”
With a frown he starts the car up. Snitter perks up in his seat, from where it looked like he was napping. Bruce drives while I focus on staying in my seat as he moves. I hope I get good enough at this that I don’t have to think about it. After a few minutes we turn into some suburban housing, and Bruce slows down, looking at house numbers. He comes to a stop in front of a single story, dark brown house, with white trim. It looks like it might have been built in the 70’s. The trees are overgrown, but the lawn is mowed. There are some flowers that look recently planted. There’s an aged sedan, that is well maintained in the driveway. We all get out and head for the front door. Bruce pauses and then looks over the house again.
“You’re right.” he says.
“Right about what? I didn’t say anything.”
“Not you, Snitter.” he says with a grin as he looks down at the spirit guide. “He pointed out that the house looks like a gingerbread house with that paint. It’s ruddy awful.”
“I don’t think it’s too bad. And it looks like new paint. Maybe they got a deal on the brown color.”
“Yeah, because no one would buy the stuff.” Bruce says shaking his head and starts to head for the front door again.
As he gets to the doorstep he pauses, and turns to me.
“See or feel anything?”
“Well…” I’m not sure what he’s expecting from me. I start to look around us a bit but I don’t see anything. I’m not sure how I am supposed to feel something. “No, I guess not.”
“Snitter does. Not bad, just something. You need to practice.” Bruce says with a snort.
“Practice what? How exactly do I practice feeling?”
“Beats me, but Snitter can do it.” Bruce says, sparing a smile down at his sudo dog.
Bruce shrugs his shoulders and then rings the doorbell. We wait for a minute and as Bruce reaches up for the doorbell again, the door opens. A small lady, with light brown skin and and black hair looks out the door timidly, and then up at Bruce. Bruce fumbles and then looking a bit chagrined he pulls out his wallet and shows his ID card and badge.
“Sorry. Forgot about this. My name is Bruce Craig, with the DOI, obviously. We got a call asking for us to stop by here.”
If she can see Snitter or I she doesn't say anything.
“Yes, my husband called. He’s not home right now; work. But you can come in. Now’s a really good time. Please come in. It’s happening right now.”
She throws the door open and waves us in hurriedly. I can see the concern on her face. Inside the living room it’s so suburbia it’s chiche, except for the floor, which are ceramic tile. Off to the side there is a small shelf with a picture of Jesus that is shimmering. Two of those tall Mexican prayers are lit on either side of the picture. The candles look perfectly normal. She quickly ushers us down the hallway to a doorway. I notice all of the doorways in the hall have a small cross over them, except for the bathroom. No holy spirit in there, to be sure. The door is open to the bathroom, and it is very tidy. I am relieved that it’s clean, and realize that I was dreading that it would be dirty. I don’t know why, I float. I don’t touch anything, unless I want to, and I’m pretty terrible at that right now. I hope I get better. But I don’t like germs?
The lady has stopped in front of a closed doorway, with a World Cup poster on the front of it. She motions for us to be quiet and she slowly opens the door. The room is obviously a small boys room. Still young enough for the childish toys to be scattered across the wood floor. In the corner, the boy is seated on the floor in front of a closed door that must be a closet, given its location. Silently we watch. I don’t see anything, but Snitter looks like he is on high alert. Bruce looks like he is splitting his attention between Snitter and the door. I see that he discreetly has his hand on that big revolver of his, inside his jacket.
Finally the boy stirs. I pass through Bruce and the woman so I can get a better view. He makes a terrible window. Bruce shoots me a dirty look for a split second, and then is back on the boy. I know the situation is terribly suspenseful, but something about already being dead takes the tension out of it for me. Looking down at the boy I can see he’s got one of those big 50 cent coins flat on the floor in front of him. He slides it across the floor between his hands, and then with a smile he flicks it under the closet door. A few moments pass and it comes sliding back out to him. Ok, that was creepy. I look back at Bruce, and it’s clear he saw it too. He leans over and whispers to the woman. She calls to the boy to come to her. With a whine of disappointment, he gets up from the floor and comes over to her. The woman leds him out of the room quietly and closes the door behind her. On the way out I see the boy look at Sniitter and myself both. He definitely saw us.
“He saw us Bruce. The boy saw Snitter and I, I mean.”
“Aye.” Bruce pulls out his pistol and then nods his head to Snitter. Snitter approaches the door cautiously and looks like he is sniffing around the door. If that sniffing is what constitutes feeling around, I’m not interested. Now that I think about it, I do feel something from that closet. It’s not bad though. It feels awkward, almost scared.
“There’s something in that closet Bruce! It’s timid, not angry or mean.” I burst out with excitement of my discovery. Bruce jerks at my excited shout and gives me a very dirty look.
“No shit. Snitter told me that before we came in the room.”
So much for gratitude from him.
“But spirits, or whatever it is behind the door, can be moody. So be careful.”
Bruce edges over to the door, and with his free hand slowly opens the door. I’m surprised. I was expecting him to jerk it open, all hollywood like. Standing inside is a small boy, obviously Japanese, wearing old looking clothes. Not a kimono, but obviously nice old Japanese clothes. He looks down at Snitter, then at me, and finally Bruce. He looks like he makes up his mind and bolts out of the room through the closed door. Snitter bolts after him.
“Snitter! No!” Bruce snaps. His voice is so commanding I try to stop, and I’m not moving. Snitter stops instantly and comes back to Bruces side. Bruce holsters his pistol and stands quietly.
“What are we doing?” I whisper to Bruce. I have no idea why I just whispered.
“We are letting him settle down. I didn’t feel anything bad from him. Just a scared boy. Maybe he’s just a spirit, but maybe he’s a poltergeist. You stir them up and you have problems, and I am not going to ask Vita to help.” Bruce looks down at Snitter with a smile. “We’ll just give him a minute.” Bruce looks to me and asks, “Did he look Japanese to you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. But kind of a olden style.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought too. What is a Japanese boy’s ghost doing here? He can’t be haunting the place. He looks older than the house.”
“He shouldn't be here in the first place. I mean, he’s Japanese.” I say, mostly to myself.
“What are you going to do, call immigration?” Bruce looks pleased at his remark.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Look, if I know anything about this country, it’s that all kinds of people live here. Let’s go talk to the boy.”
That wasn’t what I meant, but he’s not going to listen to me anyway. Bruce leaves the room, Snitter in tow. I have no choice but to trail behind. At the end of the hallway, in the living room I can see the woman and her son sitting together on the couch. They are whispering, but stop as we walk in.
“Have you ever seen the spirit before?” Bruce asks looking pointedly at the woman. I get the feeling he’s ignoring the boy for some reason.
“No. I have never seen anything. I thought it was just Felix’s invisible friend. Until I saw the coin last night.” The poor thing has a very worried look on her face.
“Do you think I could talk to just you son for a few minutes? Seeing as how it’s his friend.”
The woman looks worried, and not very eager to say yes.
“We’ll stay right here. Bruce says with a reassuring smile. I can’t believed he managed it. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was nice.
“OK. I’ll go in the kitchen. I was cooking before you came.”
“Aye, and it smells lovely too.”
The woman gives Bruce a tentative smile at the compliment. Then she stands, pausing to pat Felix on his head before she leaves the room. Felix just looks down at his shoes. Bruce gives a nod to Snitter, who jumps up on the couch next to Felix. Snitter then climbs into Felixs lap, directly in the way of his determined shoe staring. Without thinking about it, Felix reaches out to pet Snitter and his hand falls through him.
“Can I sit down?” Bruce asks the boy. Felix barely nods his head yes. Bruce takes a seat next to him, and looks down at Felix.
“If you think you’re in trouble, you’re not. I’m here to help your family.” Felix glances up at Bruce, but says nothing. “I can see spirits, just like you. That there is Snitter. He’s my spirit guide.” Bruce carefully watches the boy as he speaks. “Do you know what a spirit guide is?” Felix barely nods his head no. “He’s a spirit whos my best friend. He stick with me through everything, and help push me the right direction. Maybe one day, if you’re lucky you’ll have one.”
“I thought that animals didn’t become spirits?”
“Aye, that’s right. Sometimes they can visit us in our dreams once they pass though. No, my spirit guide became a dog, because I’m really lucky.” I smile at Bruces explanation of Snitter. “Can we talk about the spirit boy?”
Felix nods his head, yes.
“Do you play with him much?”
Yes. When mom and dad aren't around. He likes to play, but we can't talk because he only speaks Japanese. No Spanish or English.”
“Is he friendly?”
“Yep.” and Felixs face gives a smile for the first time.
“How long has he been here? Was he always with the house?”
“No. He came a few weeks ago. He likes our house, and he like to play.”
“Do you know why he came here?”
“No. But he’s always nice. He doesn't like strangers though.”
“Yeah, I gathered. So he’s always nice?”
“Always.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Felix.”
“Are you going to make him leave?” Felix looked up at Bruce as he asked. His eyes were bright with held back tears.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what he is to be honest. I need to find that out before I do anything. I’ll be right back”
Bruce stands up and calls back to the kitchen, “I’m going out to my car to make a call. I’ll be back in a few minutes… um, mam.” Bruce finishes, sounding awkward. She didn’t give him her name though. He goes out the front door and back into the car. Snitter and I following of course.
“Do you really not know what that boy is?” I’m surprised.
“No, not a clue. He’s new to Snitter too.”
“But isn't this your job?”
“Do you have any idea how many different supernatural things there are out there?” Bruce glares at me as he asks. I have to admit I have no idea, so I shrug. If I were alive I would be blushing, I’m sure.
“There are hundreds of thousands. Every bleeding culture has there own folk lore. Even America despite its short history. Let’s see you know them all. Plus they are usually regional. Banshees stay in Ireland, bigfoot up in Oregon and Washington. Stuff like that.”
“That was what I was trying to point out in the boys room!” I interject.
“Oh. it’s a good point. Good job, I suppose. But I don’t know what that boy is, is the point. Too nice for a poltergeist, too new to the house for a haunting. And he’s definitely more than a psychic impression, left behind.”
“So what are you going to do then?”
“Make a call, if you’ll shut your bleeding gob.”
I immediately shut up, out of shock of his rudeness. The fact that is makes it seem like Bruce got what he wanted bothers me. Bruce pulls out his phone and scrolls through the contacts until he finds what he wants.
“Hey Sara, it’s Bruce. Have you ever heard of Japanese spirits around here? Not ghosts, but spirits?” he asks without preamble. He pauses to listen and then says, “A Japanese boy. I’m pretty sure, in olden style Japanese clothes. New to the house, well behaved, plays nice with their boy.” Another pause, and then, “Me neither. No idea what to think of it. Hey, can you do me a wee favor? Text me the internal number for our San Francisco office. I bet they might know more.” He pauses for a moment listening and then says, “I know I can look up the number on our webportal, but you know what a pain in the arse it is to browse it over one of these wee phones.” He smiles and says, “Thanks love. I appreciate it.” and then hangs up. He waits silently for a couple of minutes and his phone vibrates. He push the screen a bit and puts it back to his ear.
“Hi, my name is Bruce Cameron with the Boston DOI branch. I was hoping you folks had someone that specializes in Japanese supernatural, that I could talk to for a minute.” He pauses listening and nodding his head. “Aye, we’re in the same boat. Budget sucks, more with less, yadda yadda yadda. I hate sodding politicians too mate. So I take it you don’t have anybody?” a pause, “No, it’s not sensitive so I can talk to non DOI.” Bruce looks a bit frustrated, but sounds friendly. “Sure, give me the number please. Uh, uh, got it, thanks mate, cheers.” As soon as he hangs up he punches in the number he was told, and then makes it into a contact on his phone. Tapping the contact he puts the phone back up to his ear and waits.
“Hello, my name is Bruce Cameron and I work for the Federal Department of Occult Investigation. I was told that you might be able to help me with a question.” A pause and Bruce doesn't look happy with what he’s hearing. “How about you hear the question and then decide if you can help me?” Another pause, “Ok, small Japanese boy, dressed in old fashioned Japanese clothes, new to the house, not a ghost definitely not a spirit, and is the playmate to a little boy seer.” Bruce looks puzzled by the response. “ No idea. Why would I ask that?” Now he looks ticked off for sure, “What’s that? No, my Google isn’t broken. Zah-shee-kee wah-rah-she. Hello?” Bruce looks at the screen on his phone and a full blown scowl appears on his face. He was hung up on. “Is my Google broken? What an ass.”
“Did you see any signs of wealth in there?” he asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“No. It was nice and clean, that’s all. You did say it smelled good.”
“And? Did I say it smelled like money?” He turns his attention back to his phone and I can just see him open a search page. He’s not going to apologize for snapping at me, I am sure of that.
I watch him struggle searching with his phonetic spelling. I enjoy it really. Finally he seems to be engrossed by something in particular.
Without a word he gets out of the car, with Snitter at his heels. He goes back up and knocks at the door. I drift behind him, trying to catch up. I don’t know why. He can close it on me, I’ll just float through the door if I want.
“Can I come back in and talk with you again mam?” Bruce asks politely.
The lady nods her head timidly and opened the door all the way for him.
Looking down at her he says, “Have you by chance come into some money recently or other good fortune? Like new job, inheritance, stuff like that?”
The lady just nods her head no. The boys says something in Spanish and then the mother and him talk back and forth for a bit. “No, nothing has changed.” she says. Bruce does not look convinced. “That’s not what she said Bruce.” I admit after an awkward moment of noone talking.
“You understood them?”
“Yes.” I say and the boy looks worried now. Clearly his English is just fine. His mother still look concerned, but I don’t think she got what I just said. “They don’t want to say anything because they are worried about her citizen status.”
“Oh? That all?” Bruce looks down at the boy and says, “Tell your mom that I don’t care about that. It’s not my job, and in fact I’m not technically a citizen myself.” He ends looking at the mother and smiling. The boy explains, but she doesn’t look any more convinced. “I’m just here to help with the spirit, that’s all. You called, you must want my help.” He says speaking to her directly. Felix translates automatically to his mother. It obvious that it’s a normal routine for them. She just nods her head yes to Felix and says that he can talk with Bruce.
“The ghost came not long after we got this house. The house was messed up when we moved in. My dad and mom work on it all the time since they can’t afford to hire someone.” The boy pauses for a moment and then says, “My dad just got some money from his uncle a few weeks ago, but they spent most of it on the house. I wanted to go to Disney world.”
“Hm. Well, it fits anyway.” Bruce pauses and looks like he is debating with himself. Then he pulls out his phone. “Ok, so I am pretty sure that you have a spirit called a Zah-shee-kee wah-rah-she.” Bruce sounds it out again, looking at his phone. “It’s Japanese, and they bring good luck. What’s it’s doing here? I have no idea. It likes houses that are happy and well maintained. I take it your parents get along well?” Felix shakes his head and smiles fondly up at his mom. “As long as they take good care of the house the spirit will stay and bring them good luck. The spirit doesn’t like strangers. Just make sure they are always good to the spirit and the house. As long as it stays you will be fine, better than fine in fact. It’s when they go that there’s trouble. Got it?”
Felix nods his head yes, smiling. “He gets to stay and play?”
“Needs to stay.”
Felix grins bigger and then translates it all to his mother. She looks at Bruce. I don’t think she believes what he told her. Bruce taps a picture of the spirit and it gets bigger. He points to the picture, and then the house. Then he smiles big and gives a thumbs up. She still looks wary. Bruce pulls out his wallet and fishes out a card, handing it to her.
Bruce looks at Feix and tells him, “That’s my card, with my number. Do what I say, and if she has any problems with the spirit she can call me personally for help.” Felix translates again, and she looks a little more comfortable. “And Felix. I can tell that your mom isn’t a seer like you and me. She doesn’t really know you are, does she?” Felix’s face darkens. “I thought not. I’m not going to say anything. But you might slowly ease her into the idea. Also, we have a lot of good information on our website for parents of seers. And seers tend to be able to get good jobs. The whole site can switch to Spanish. I did it once on accident. Took me hours to figure out how to change it back.” Bruce explains with a smile. He’s being so kind, I don’t even know what to think. Bruce stoops down and offers his hand to the boy, who shakes it. Bruce then stands up and shakes the woman's hand and turns to go.
As we reach the door, Bruce pauses for a moment and tells Felix, “Oh yeah, those Za-shee-kees, they don’t like brown. Your parents will need to repaint the house.” Then he turns and goes out the door.
I float up beside him and ask as we walk to the car, “They really don’t like brown? Then why would it come here in the first place.”
“I made that up, I hate the color. If there’s one less house painted like a gingerbread house, then I have done some good in the world today. Also, not all seers get good jobs because they are seers. I just told him that because what mother doesn’t want her son to have a good job? Might make it easier when the time comes.”
We get in the car and Bruce fiddles with his phone for a minute, texting someone. Finally he says, “Let’s go back home.”
“But don’t you have more work to do? It’s only the afternoon.”
“Yes I do, but I can work remote over the VPN. I have to write up this drop in, and also write up all of those damned community interfaces, this morning. I’ll be typing till ten tonight.” he ends with a big sigh. “Fucking government” I hear him say under his breath.
madturtlepress.com

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Date: 2014-03-21
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Questions	Answers
Out of all the death scenes in "Transformers: The Movie" Prowl's was arguably the most horrific. How did you feel the first time you saw it?	Dying was easy..since I knew that somehow I would return. Dying is most fun for actors...gurgle gurgle.
Didn't they kill off Duke about the same time? (I think they changed it at the last minute so he was just knocked out or something.) Did you ever feel like the writers were "out to get you?"	The writers did all they could to keep me in the show...at least that's what they told me at gunpoint. I did get knocked out and although I asked for Scarlet or Lady J to give me the breath of life, they chose Serpentor. That almost killed me. Ok, I am getting looney here. Not used to being in front of the computer this long. Cuts into my nap.
TL; DR: I love my mom, her and Duke teamed up to resolve my long-standing childhood trauma, and Duke is here in real life... so I'm thanking him on behalf of us both.	Seriously. Teared up. Nice to know I played such an important part of your life.
I carried around a figurine of Chaz Finster when I was younger. Does that cause any emotions?	Not if you gave up the practice by the time you reached 21. After that, hello sinus.
Did you know chaz was based on mark mothersbaug of devo? Did effect how you did the voice? Is it a very tight nit community in tge voice actors world with everyone applying for the same job? Do you like Mark hamill. Love your work!!	I like Mark Hamil. Smart and talented. I wish I had been in Star Wars instead of just dubbing voices on it. Mark Mothersbaugh wrote a song that Chaz had to sing. I can barely hum on key...but I worked like a mother on it and when we recorded it, I was right on. WRONG. They wanted me to sing off key and never told me. Embarrassed and pissed doesn't cover how I felt. Mark thought it was funny. Good thing I left my truncheon at home.
	And yes, it is a very tight knit community. However, none of us slept together. Most of us are very unattractive. FEH!
	Thinking about your question Did it effect my voice. Nope. I just heard what Christina sounded like and figured like father, like son. Nasel and stuffed up. Worked nicely.
I was born in '73 and Duke's voice is forever in my head. Do you ever talk to Larry Hama?	I met Larry Hama at a convention. He was swamped with fans. We talked briefly and he was generous with his time. Truly a talented gentleman.
He also did an awesome job writing the Wolverine solo comic in the 90's.	That was another Michael Bell. I have a contract out on him.
I just read that in Raziel's voice. Not sure whether to have it end on a serious or flippant note...	Serious is out. I welcome flippant...and love.
What is your fondest memory from working on The Transformers?	Twelve guys and two girls locked in a room for eight hours performing.
I grew up in the 80's and appreciate your work. Do you think your daughter had an easier time breaking into the business having you as a father? Also, do you have any tips for someone wanting to break into the voice over business? And since there arent a ton of questions here, did you get to work with or meet Mel Blanc? and do you have any stories to share if so?	Ash was on her own since I didn't really know anyone by the time she decided to become an actress( which I didn't really want for her. Too hard ). Yes, Mel played an important part in my life. We did Speed Buggy together. There is a story about it on Youtube. Study study study acting and get into improv class...best tip I can give you.
You're going to be on the show Community?	Seems like they get morphed into the world of GI JOE. It's great satire. More fun then I imagined. All my old vo buds are on it.
Harmon is getting the best cameo appearances this season... Looking forward to hearing you in GI JEFF :)	Ok, who the hell is Harmon? Have I wandered off into Never Never Land or am I going dotty?
Wow, i'll have to tune into this for sure!!	It's very edgy.
Dan Harmon. Creator of Community. Link to en.wikipedia.org.	Ahhh, now I get it. NO. But the director of the show was so specific about what he wanted that I knew I was in good hands. Harmon must have trusted him. Rightly so.
Sorry, I should have referred to them as 'Guest Appearance' lol. Did you get to meet Rod Serling when you worked on 'Night Gallery'?? I'm a HUGE Twilight zone fan.	Didn't get to meet him but what a thrill to do that show.
Why isn't this AMA an audio AMA?! I'd love to hear some of these characters come back to life! Which voice was the biggest stretch to do in terms of vocally?? Which one is the closest to your natural voice?	Duke is close to me...as is Rugrats Drew. The hardest ever was this monster in INHUMANOIDS that was a walking mucus. I had to hock up oysters with every line. I cleared the studio. Sue Silo refused to come back to the mic next to me. Really? What's a little spit between friends?
So, I looked up you IMDB profile. I am somewhat in shock at the fact that you're in an unprecedented percentage of my childhood. I not sure if I'm impressed, intimidated, or incredulous at the extent of it. My question to you: Did you/do you ever watch any of the shows you've performed in? If so, which are your favorites to watch?	I have watched a couple of the on camera stuff like Mash and 3's Company and can't for the life of me figure out how I never became a star. I guess it's because my ears were the biggest thing on my body...and I left myself open with that one. I did enjoy watching the Smurfs and Rugrats. Chaz was a complex character. The best kind for an actor to play. Thanks for asking. Stay incredulous. Shocked will make you incontinent.
What do you think of the GI Joe and Transformers movie franchises? Be honest.	KAKA...but that's just jealousy on my part since I wasn't considered for any of the voices.
Fans had to fight to get Peter Cullen in those flicks if I recall. The original (86) Transformers movie is the ONLY movie as far as I'm concerned.	PugBugs you got that right. Wally Burr the Director would love to hear them words.
The new Transformers doesn't have the guts to kill off 75% of my favorite characters in the first 30 minutes.	You mean the animated series WITHOUT ME..or the live action WITHOUT ME?
I mean all of them WITHOUT you :(	Ok, you should be producing. Like your style.
Huge Fan of GI Joe! I was wondering what are some cartoons that you would like to be on? Do you have any cool shows coming out soon?	Would love to be on the Simpsons but not gonna happen. I just recorded a Rescue Bots and also revived Duke on "Community", coming soon. I am presently directing the 3rd season of the webisode, The LeBrons .Other then that, I nap a lot.
I just want to say a huge thank you, Mr. Bell - without you, Legacy of Kain wouldn´t be the same (and many other franchises as well).	Thanks to you Reddit guys for your super response to my request.
Are you any relation to Lake Bell of "In a World..."? If you've seen that movie, how accurate is it as a portrayal of the VO community?	Oh do I wish. SOOO talented. Such a super movie. If you know her, tell her about me.
That movie made it look as though everyone doing voiceovers knew each other. That's not the case?	We all knew each other well, but not in the biblical sense, although Peter did have cute buns.
I watched the entire pilot of Star Trek: TNG thinking, "where do I know this guy from?", not realizing you were Duke! Do you get to meet a lot of people who know you from your voice work, but can't place where they know you from?	I do get that and I never understand how people recognize me from my voice alone when I am so devilishly handsome.
Actually I opted for the 'no perk' option as to not incur cost upon the team. But they've got my dollar and spirit and I wish all the fruits of labor and success that they may find.	Ok, you da bomb...and I mean that. Surreal, years later, a fan helping my kid film her documentary. What a strange and lovely thing.
I've always wanted to get into voice acting because of you and a few other extremely talented individuals. I love videogames and grew up on them (and rugrats and many other things you had a part of). Listening to you as Raziel in the Legacy of Kain series was the first time that I seriously started playing a game just for the story. I have such a respect and admiration for voice actors, I astound my friends by naming voice actors in games and shows all the time, and all of that is because of you. How did you get into voice acting, and what would you recommend for someone trying to get into that line of work?	Matreim611, get into an improv group. Link to en.wikipedia.org Her book has to be the one to get. Also watch as many good period movies as possible. English films really worked for me. Get into an acting group. Learn who you are begin to build characters. I am editing a video I did on one of my animation classes and hope to have it out there at the end of the year. Should be helpful for beginners.I hope that answers your question. My hand is falling off from typing so frigging fast. AHHH. To all of you super Reddit peeps, I am off line for the next couple of hours. Gotta see a doc about seeing. BUT back this evening to answer all questions, and smack a few of you upside the head. YO JOE!
A couple years back there had been a rumor of a Soul Reaver reboot. If this ever happened would you be willing to return as Raziel? Also how was it working with Amy Henning and Simon Templeton?	Don't think that will happen. Love Henning ( in a politically correct way). Same for Simon. Super talented actor. Should be a star and may be yet.
Has your daughter told you any funny or crazy stories from her time in Cambodia?	My daughter is petit. The elephants and mosquitos are hugh. I was so worried and will be again about her being there, I had a hard time listening to anything that was funny...but I think there was something. Gotta give me time to recall.
If you weren't in the entertainment industry, what would you do for a career?	Having spent my entire life working towards my career as an actor, never gave it much thought. OUCH! Stumped. Odd feeling for me. Gonna give that some thought.
Rugrats is my childhood man, Chaz had the funniest voice. What do you think about the absurd fan theory about the Rugrats?	TELL NO ONE WHAT YOU KNOW!
It's on the Internet man, it's there for everyone forever! Also, another question after looking at your impressive IMDB page: What was it like doing voices for MGS3? Did you get to meet Kojima? How did the recording process work?	We recorded first and they created the character around us. Never met Kojima dammit. Love working the game however.Lotta yelling. Left blood on the window. Fun!
Hi Duke! Amazing work in general. How was it working on the GI.JOE cartoon's? Was it hard work or all fun and games?	If you ever hear an actor tell you that acting is hard, you have my permission to challenge him/her to a dual. Especially voice animation. Yeah, all that breathing and stuff. I'm exhausted. NOT!
	And Freaky, it was all fun and games!
O.K. What was your favorite live action role you ever did?	Probably 3"s Company. Not much action but I got to dance, wear a tight leotard and flash my tattoo...and piss off Janet.
I sincerely hope 3's company is on netflix	It may be. Not sure. Strange how some shows live on and others just bite the big weenie.Glad I was on the hot ones.
Say something briefly about each of the characters you played in Transformers "Generation 1" (as they call it)? Prowl. Sideswipe. Swoop. First Aid (I think that was you) Hook. (Umm... did you play one of the Insecticons?) Thanks, and TILL ALL ARE ONE/YOOO JOE!	Prowl was smart and steady. Cool head. Sideswipe was guick to burn.Swoop a bit brainless but ready to take on everything...kind of like Berger's Grimlock. First Aid didn't have much to do, so he spent his evenings at drag bars applying bandaids to blistered high heels. I don't recall Hook, which must tell you that he was a bit of an annoying nerd. I think I was an Insecticon... but can't remember which. It was a hectic time with characters thrown at us weekly. YO JO!
As someone else pointed out, you were Scrapper, not Hook. But thanks for answering anyway! Now I know!	Trying to make me crazy. Probably Peter or Frank.
Thanks for answering! You're 10 times the Duke that Channing Tatum was! (And I'd say that to his face, too!) (Psst! Your line was "And knowing is half the battle!" ;) )	Thanks Davethe3rd. Made my day.
What was your reaction to the intended death of Duke during GI JOE THE MOVIE, and the subsequent rewrite to only gravely injure your character after the negative reaction to Optimus Prime's death in TRANSFORMERS THE MOVIE? (Obviously, I'm sure it was nice to keep working.)	Working is good. Dying is good. All good. Back again on "Community" along with Cobra and Scarlet etc, coming soon.
Who is a character you'd love to voice and why?	I would be thrilled to voice an old bag lady with no teeth on Family Guy. Talk about fun.
Holy cannoli!! You were Lance in Voltron!! What was that like?! That show was my childhood. Thank you, good sir, for all of your hard work!	Lance was a lot cooler then me. Loved playing him. I also voiced lots of children since Peter and Jack and Lennie had much deeper voices. I
Lance was seriously too cool for school. That bomber jacket? Fuggedaboutit! HE should've formed the head of Voltron! (Apologies to Neil Ross...)	Ok, I'm sending this to Neal and he will find you. Seeing him and some of my other VO buds in June for a get together. Should be fun comparing walkers.
Did you voice Dukes death in the unseen footage of GI Joe the movie? If so, what were the lines?	I don't recall but it must have been, " cough, cough, tell Scarlett...cough...tell...Scar...oohh.. plop!
You sir, are the best kind of asshole :)	And clean...and attractive.
I'm afraid I'm in the wrong country for the National Theatre, but those photos show some remarkable production values on stage. Waitaminute, did you say Tony was in the Peter Pan series? I only saw the film a few years ago, but I grew up with the series. Who did he play? Speaking of his inability to stop talking, I remember seeing you recording some lines for Soul Reaver 2 with Tony and Rene. It all looked great fun. For KMR I had to go all the way back to Halo 2 to recognise his work (stuff that I'd actually heard), but he does have a nice, deep voice. Still though, I'm in awe at how much this resembles Tony at times: Link to www.youtube.com. We can always dream, can't we?	Dreaming is my daily activity...and yes Cumberbach is my number 1 choice. You can see the filmed National Theatre production at some local theatre in your area. It plays everywhere. That's how I saw it.
Hmm, I've had a look around for the Frankenstein showings and I've come up with showings for 2012. A bit old, sure, but at least there were showings in France. I may be able to find something current after all. I'll keep you posted...	It's an acting exercise...especially with Cumberbatch as the monster.
How has Chucky been all these years, Kimi too? I assume they graduated college by now?	In Jail.
Duke is in a bitter feud in my GI Joe wrestling federation. Can I get an autograph or a short heel promo video?	I would love to give you an autograph but can't divulge my address or the Army will recruit me again. Yep, I was a real soldier and caused my commander major problems. AND PROUD OF IT.
How did you ge into voice acting? And what was it like working on the cast of Rugrats? I absolutely loved that show as a kid, you're awesome man.	Always wanted to be an actor from the time I could make milk come through my nose. Did stage, improv, studied, got into TV and some films. Went under contract to Universal. Ok, I'm boring the crap out of myself with my life story. In any event, loved playing characters I never got to play on screen, so I switched. Never looked back. The cast of RR was sensational. Talented to a fault. Super direction and what a supportive group of producers. When I balked at a change in my character, they allowed me the room to do what I felt the character would do. Doesn't happen a lot. Network..the bankers... often get in the way. Not on RugRats. Miss it like crazy.
Which "additional voices" did you do for Tangled?	A guy selling small children, a beggar with the clap and a dancing fool. Ok, I don't remember. Are you happy now that you made me look foolish?
Favorite Girl Scout's cookie? This is important.	Don't eat sugar, but if I did, something with chocolate. However, moms keep their girl scouts away from my house. Heh heh heh!
How'd you end up working with David Cronenberg on Fast Company?	Ok, I have no recollection of working with David Cronenberg. That must be my doppleganger. I know I would remember that.
Was it a coincidence that all the things you voiced are awesome?	Naww. I take full responsibility...unless the show didn't come back for a second season, then it was their fault.
What state did you live in when you got into voice acting? I live in Wisconsin and have no idea how to get my foot in the door, living here.	NY, then California...but I bet if you look hard you will find a dramatic club or class in Wisconsin. Pick up some good books on acting and who knows, when i finally finish editing my voice animation master class video, that might be another source of help. In the meantime, start listening to family. friends, talk radio etc and plagiarize their phrasing and sounds. It's how we all begun.
Lol, he is a decent looking elderly gentleman who just got out of jail recently for child molestation. Also... seriously? why the hell would someone not put your voice in their film? i was like wtf.. Also... HOLY SHIT DUKE JUST TALKED TO ME.	Bay and his asst are, like most big Hollywood Directors, Producers, interested in the bottom line. STARS, SPORTS FIGURES, and wait, no...don't tell me...THE KARDASHIANS. ARRGGH.
"we need more tits, and explosions, sacrifice the tits if we can get more explosions. what? voices? why? noone will be able to hear them over the explosions..." -michael bay, every movie he ever made.	Hah. My sentiments exactly...well, close.
Can i just say how happy i am that you are continuing to respond to your ama?	Just don't want anyone to think I'm a shut in. Besides, gotta make sure my peeps are guilty enough about my getting carpal typing away like this, to contribute a few $ to Ashley's Love and Bananas indiegogo campaign.
I have already contributed a few dollars, if i had more i would, i just wish i had the money to go on the journey as well.	You are blessed. Thanks so much for contributing.
How did you feel when you came out of that coma?	I would have felt better if Scarlet was standing over me wearing a low cut hoodie. However, glad I was back for another attempt at slicing Cobra's ugly head off.
I'm a huge fan of your work, and have always been fascinated by cartoons and voice acting. Out of curiosity, when you get a main role like Duke on a hit cartoon like G.I. Joe, is that something that on it's own can sustain you as a full-time job? (Are there long-lasting residuals with things like this?) Or is this something that's more of a part-time job?	Well, aint you the nosey parker. Actually, I wasn't interested in being an actor. I really wanted a full time job working the coal mines. Just my luck!
What was your favorite memory working on Rugrats? Also, seeing that both Transformers and GI Joe both have live-action film series now, do you think Rugrats will get one too?	Love doing the Mother's Day episode when Chaz explained where Chuckie's mom is. Got a lotta mail on that one. They will never do a live action Rugrats. IF we get lucky, they may consider another animated full feature, but that would be the extent of it.
I remember that episode. That was a good one. Unless they revamped the show for a new fan base, that probably wouldn't happen either. The youngest of the original fans are now graduating college. The best they could do is try Rugrats: The College Years.	It seems to have a whole new audience, considering all the fan response I have been getting from new parents. It is an evergreen. Never goes out of style.
I guess at the same time the original fans are also having children of their own now. Glad to hear that it's finding its way into another generation! Also, thanks for taking time to respond to posts two days after the initial AMA!	I have always danced to my own music. Besides, I want to make sure all my fans take my request for support seriously.
Are your nipples the size of quarters, nickles, pennies, or dimes. if you want to shake it up Dollar coins??	Freckles...you sick puppy.
Wait, you were being held prisoner, too? Tatum's just jealous of how sexy we are.	Nice to know I'm not alone.
You don't want me ruining your legacy by making up tall tales now do you? Hell, when I'm senile I'll likely just claim you voice acted every cartoon I watched as a kid. It's basically true anyway :)	It is. I am hanging my head in shame. How long before your senile?
I don't know if you're still answering questions but I would really like to know how you got into the industry?	Grit, refusing to listen to those who told me it was a waste of time, believing in myself...and studying acting til I thought I was ready. It twarnt easy, but I couldn't see myself doing anything else.
Holy crap, looking at your IMDB you're being a bit modest. Being a 32 year old guy it looks like you had a voice in pretty much every cartoon I've ever watched growing up.	Well 95688it ( not your prison number I hope ), thanks for the hug...but I aint stopped yet. Rescue Bots yesterday and Community meets GI JOE last week. Keep watching.
I just did a bit of digging it looks like you small rolls on all sorts of cool shows back in the day. Link to img2.wikia.nocookie.net. Threes company,chips,mary tyler moore,mission impossible,get smart, the monkees,gomer pyle, mash, 2 different roles on star trek.	Small roles??? Why I oughta!!
I don't have a question, I just wanted to say Legacy of Kain is one of my favorite things ever and I love your work in it.	Bless you my child. That was one of my proudest moments.
Having been a latch-key kid, I grew up with your voice work. You will always be the voice of Duke, all others are imposters.	I told Channing that and he decked me.
I listened to your voice more then my parents growing up	I know, they just called me and are suing. Thanks a lot.
I love the sense of humor you're displaying in your answers. Thanks for the AMA! :)	That wasn't me. I was being help prisoner by CTatum. He hates me because I have a better 6 pack then him. I am a very serious person and have no sense of humor. Now, where was I?
I was a kid when i watched g.i joe and transformers I thank you for the fun memories you given me with putting your voice to toys and playing G I Joe with the toy guns they brought out shortly. Its awesome to finally put a face to the voices...	You're welcome. My pleasure always.
Thanks for the replys! Love your work.	Appreciate that. I aint nuttin without fans and friends.
OH GOD IT'S THE GUY THAT PLAYED RAZIEL!!! I um...don't know what to ask.	As long as it's not for money, ask away.
Mr. Bell!!! I'm so excited to see you doing an AMA!!! Raziel from LoK is my idol, and those games shaped my teenage years. :) Thank you!	Loved doing it... however,I hope you didn't run around wacking dead folk.
I can assure you that I did not. :)	Assured.
Read that as michael bay at first, i was all fired up n ready to come in here and laugh at the michael bay directing jokes. Was pleasantly surprised to see you instead. Also you look like my ex-girlfriend's father.	Michael Bay isn't funny. Not casting my voice or putting Prowl in his film is not funny. So your ex girlfriend's father is handsome huh?
I ran into you at NYCC a few years back and you did Grouchy Smurf for my wife and son; it was the highlight of comic-con for us. Thanks!	I hope that didn't mark your kid for life. If he became a bed wetter it wasn't my fault.
Link to s2.postimg.org. :D I'm a huge fan sir. Thanks for being an icon of my youth, honestly.	And hopefully in your dotage.
Will we ever get another Legacy of kain game!!! We know you raziel!!!	As I said to the other Reddit peeps, I doubt it. Amy is a friend and she is no longer with that company, so she is not up on that show. However, I think Matt Yang King, who looks like Raz and has a great voice would be ideal. I could play older Raz in his future who guides him...even though he tells him to F off. Sounds like that could be fun. I would suggest they bring Simon back as well.
WHO IS CHUCKIE'S MOTHER!!!	Melanie Chartoff. She also played grandma Minka grandpa Boris' ( me being Boris ) long suffering wife. Talented lady.
Loved Legacy of Kain. You were fantastic! It would have been very different without you. I wouldn't want anyone else voicing Raziel but you. Always wanted to thank someone who helped make the series and now I can. Thank you so much!	Boy are you welcome. However, if it does come back, I suspect they will go younger. Always happens after a long interval between shows. I do know there's a plan to film another SMURFS, animated... but this time without the star stunt casting and hopefully with some of the original voices. If that's true, say a prayer for old Raz. I told some of the folks involved that although our asses have dropped, our voices are the same. Only time and good choices will tell.
I love your voice. You're a legend	I told my wife that and she told the legend to pick up his socks.
Prowl was the real brains behind the Autobots. He put in the hours and made Optimus look like a million bucks. Thanks for bringing him to life on the small and big screens.	Thank you for watching. Yeh, I told Peter he'd be nowhere without me. He cried. I felt terrible.
I loved GI Joe as a kid. Thanks is all!	VELCOME! ( from vipers )
As a kid, I watched g.I joe the movie hundreds of times. You took a serpentor snake to the heart like a pro. Anyway, as a latch-key kid I wanna say thanks for having a presence in our early lives. You brought a talent and art to a lot of our entertainment that kept quite a few of us out of trouble.	Not all. I get letters from prisoners saying the same thing. So creepy.
It's amazing that you're still posting in an AMA days later.	Not so amazing. I have been kept prisoner by Peter Cullen...jealous bitch. Just me, the computer and 2 fig newtons and a chiclet for dinner.
Transformers: The Movie, is my favourite movie ever. Thanks for being a part of that and helping to make it what it is.	Hah. Trying to steal my work from me huh? Why I oughta! Thanks Bro, I know all the folks involved would love to hear your fav was a result of their hard work.

Last updated: 2014-03-25 18:52 UTC
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