Tapes

I wondered where I could find a cassette player? I hadn’t had one in years. Finding a sealed envelope in my parent’s safe deposit box was a surprise, I have to say. It was all the way in the back of the box, and it had never opened after being placed in there over 30 years ago. The items inside the envelope were cassette tapes that were unmarked except being numbered 1-3. I HAD to know what was on them. 

My parents always seemed to have some questionable friends and associates, so the mysterious situation of their death really came as no surprise. After I graduated from High School I distanced myself from them to some degree, but never completely alienated myself from them. The way they attached themselves to “Secret Societies” never held any interest for me. They were of interest to these groups, however, as they were both successful in their careers and monetarily. As a matter of fact, I blame certain members of one of those Societies to have caused their demise after they chose to no longer fund certain group activities, but there isn’t any substantive basis to my suspicions.

My interest in attending a major University on the West Coast had less to do with my desire to get a degree from that particular institution than it did to get me as far away from New York, where I grew up. Plus, as the Beach Boys frequently sang about, there were those California Girls.

I took my sweet time getting a degree, seven years, mainly because I had no course of study in particular that met my interest, or any desire to have an occupation when my parents were willing to fund my lifestyle. 

Raves in the early ‘90s that were fueled by MDMA (aka Ecstasy) and neo-hippie love were quite intriguing, in my opinion. For a few months I found myself actively seeking out the ever-moving location of these parties, trying to find what I hadn’t yet found within myself. 

In fact, the one thing I did find during this time was these drug-fueled parties were not going to supply me with the answer for which I was seeking. But it being California, I had all sorts of alternatives to find “it”. As I continuously careened amongst ideologies including Transcendental Meditation and Hatha Yoga, I started to get a better appreciation of my parents and their participation in the myriad of groups. An insatiable need of truth and knowledge.

 At Christmas time during my final year at the University I decided to spend some extra time with my parents to pitch my desire to travel the world before dedicating myself to a profession. I had chosen to follow a career in Information Technology, so I guess you could say I had found my “it”.   

They requested that I attend a seasonal function one of the organizations was having and I complied. An evening of hobnobbing with some of the world’s “Occult Elite” as well as an excellent selection of liquor could prove to be entertaining. Little did I know what the evening had in store for me.

After we had arrived at the mansion belonging to one of the group’s members and I had imbibed in a few tumblers of some superb bourbons, I felt emboldened and struck out to see what types of activities were being played out on the second floor of the mansion. The goings-on in the first couple of rooms were innocuous enough, consisting primarily of sleight-of-hand illusionists as well as fortune tellers and tarot card readers dressed as gypsies. Evidently these elite enjoyed carnival-style magic as much as “commoners”. The next room proved to be more illuminating.   

People were taking their places at a round table that was obviously set up for a séance, so I inquired if there was room for one more. I was informed that indeed one more participant was needed, so I was welcome to join. I found my spot at the table between an elderly woman and a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties just as the medium took her place at the head of the table and the overhead lights dimmed.

 “I sense there are seven of you who have attended a séance before, and five who have not”, the medium began. “Please, those of you who have attended before, raise your hand”. As she had predicted, seven people raised their hands. “Good, I see that our group is in tune”. She continued with a sly smile, “My name is Emma Scott, but you may call me Cora”. Several in the group chuckled in a knowing fashion.

‘Cora’ proceeded in the typical séance style by asking members of the group if there was a deceased person that they wished to speak with, and then by falling into a trance, she was able to summon this entity and allow them to speak through her. I found her to be most engaging and those that participated seemed convinced by her answers she had for them.

Suddenly a look of fear fell across Cora’s face. “One among you was subject to a possession”, she exclaimed in a shaky voice. “I’m afraid we will need to end this now as we can’t allow the demonic figure to come through the veil”. Many quietly mumbled their dismay of the abrupt ending, but in a hushed manner exited the room as they glanced at the others trying to determine who the ‘defiled’ person was. Cora rose with the look of exhaustion and apprehension and disappeared behind curtains from which she had originally appeared on the far end of the room, across from the main doors. I, too, rose from my seat, inexplicably shaken by what I perceived as charlatanism . It seemed a good time for me to retire to the bar and resume my taste testing of the fine bourbons.

The rest of the evening went without incident. Soon my parents reappeared from where ever they may have been, retrieved me from the bar, and we merrily headed home.

Christmas came and went and I returned to the University with the promise of a year-long sabbatical before I had to begin my life in my chosen occupation.

After my journeys that I had around the world, (that would be several more stories not to be told here), I settled into my new life as one of the masses, eventually starting my own company, getting married, having a child, getting divorced, the story of many others around me. I never developed the interest in the occult my parents had, so the relationship between us remained earnest if not overly affectionate. We spent many holidays together in either New York, San Francisco (where I resided), or various parts of the world and enjoyed our time together.

After they retired they would frequently disappear for long periods of time on archaeological trips searching for arcane items in distant deserts and forests or lose themselves delving into the dusty bookshelves of seldom visited bookstores in far off-the- beaten path small towns. Nevertheless the news of their passing (or so it is assumed as they literally disappeared before their companions eyes while climbing a mountain in search of an item of extreme interest to those of the occult world), left me shocked.

There were no bodies, so empty coffins were placed in the family mausoleum. Lawyers by the handful were retained to put everything in order. In the end, as an only child, I was left with an inheritance that would allow me to retire at the ripe old age of 45.

There were many odds and ends that I needed to attend to, so I sold my company to my closest friend and co-partner and sorted through the archives of my parent’s lives. This brings me back to my original statement. Where to find a cassette deck to play the tapes I found in the sealed envelope in the back of a safe deposit box that hadn’t even been visited in years but paid for through 2030?

The answer is a pawn shop. Pawn shops are an excellent resource for all things archaic and unusual. I purchased the tape deck (for far more than it as worth, I’m sure), and returned to my home where I could sit back with a glass (or two) of wine and listen to the tape’s contents. If I only knew then what I know now I would have made that a bottle (or two) of Vodka.

<crackle of tape lead> “His name is David” are the first words on the tape and the voice is that of my mother.

“And David is our subject today?” An unknown voice asks.

“That is correct”, states the voice of my father, “He is in dire need of help”.   

“What makes you believe my services are necessary?”, inquires the voice unknown.

“Just speak with him”, my mother says in a trembling voice, “and you will know why”.

“David, my name <flutter and wobbly of a damaged cassette> here to help you if I can”.

{Low guttural noises}

<gasping>

“David? Is that you?”

{diabolical laughter}

“I told you that you’d know why”, my mother said in a whispered, desperate tone.

{I defy your worthless God}

I have to turn the machine off at this point. What is it that I am hearing? I was possessed as a young child and have no memory of it? I take a large gulp of wine and turn the cassette player back on…

<click>

“I wish to speak to David, not you Demon”, intones the voice unknown.

{David has been consumed by me now, weakling}, spouts the guttural voice that must be emanating from me as a child.

(sounds of my mother starting to cry hysterically and my father attempting to console her)

“It is time to start an exorcism”

{The words of your god are worthless against me}

(loud weeping)

The unknown voice whom I gather is a priest begins intoning the rites of an exorcism interjected by demonic laughter and profanity.

That was just the first side of the first tape.  

It appears that this exorcism lasted upwards of three days as the demon that had possessed me was a particularly powerful one. I am not sure as to how I became possessed, though I have my suspicions that with my parents being involved in all sorts of rituals with their Secret Societies they caused it unintentionally .

The past few days after listening to the tapes have been particularly difficult. I remember now why occult and paranormal things never interested me. I’m not sure if it’s the large amounts of alcohol, barbiturates, and marijuana that I am consuming that are making me paranoid, or if I’m really hearing voices telling me they want to again possess my body. I guess the drugs are a form of demon too. Regardless, I need help... They are so loud. I can’t hold out much longer. Please… help